#in the three after the drill sergeant comment

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

#40s bucky barnes #40s bucky #40's bucky #40s bucky barnes x reader #bucky banes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x nurse reader #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fan fic #bucky fan fiction #bucky fanart #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x smut

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 65

Part 1 Part 64

Will wakes up to shouting. He scrunches into a ball, back hitting a warm body that immediately reaches up to rub his back.

“It’s just Hopper, kid,” Eddie’s sleep-ruffled voice rumbles, rubbing his shoulders clumsily.

“–don’t care what’s convenient for you,” Hopper yells, the last three words carrying enough scorn to make Will curl into himself further. “You’re seeing them. Now!”

There’s a slam that makes Eddie’s hand flinch on his back, the atonally ringing telling Will that Hopper had hung up the phone. With prejudice. He can hear his Mom murmuring quietly in the Harrington’s kitchen, too quiet to make out any of the words. Hopper groans at whatever it is, steps echoing across the tile of the kitchen as he makes his way into the living room.

“Everyone up,” he demands, as if all the bodies on the ground aren’t already stirring from his raised voice. “We’re going to the lab.”

That gets everyone moving. It’s a rush of frozen waffles toasted and passed around dry, of slipping back into costumes from the night before. Eddie, Steve, Barb, and Nancy squish into Wayne’s truck, while Hopper drives from house to house, dropping off his friends until it’s just Mom, Jonathan, and Will left in the car. They go home, changing into fresh clothes in a rush to get out the door.

“Let’s go!” Hopper calls periodically from the porch, urging them on like a drill sergeant.

When they finally pull up to the lab, Eddie, Steve, and Uncle Wayne are dawdling at the entrance. The groups converge, walking in as a pack like they always do, if a member or two heavier than usual for these trips.

Dr. Owens smiles his usual, grandfatherly smile, going through the same rictus of tests he always performs. Weight, blood pressure, brain scan, blood draw. Nothing diverges until he settles his gaze on Steve, smile turning plastic in his face as he asks, “now would you like to tell me what prompted this emergency meeting?”

Steve doesn’t meet his eyes, gaze tripping around the room from face to face, before he finally says, “didn’t Hopper already tell you?”

Dr. Owens reaches out, patting Steve’s knee where it’s dangling off the hospital bed. He doesn’t comment on the way Steve shrinks away from the touch, just takes his hand back, smiling genially. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

Steve looks over at Eddie, meeting his gaze. Something Will can’t read passes between them, and Steve starts speaking. He talks about being back there, sometimes. Without warning, about the thing there, about how they were all there, suddenly, until Eddie disappeared. Until they were both back with the slap of Carol’s palm against his face.

Dr. Owens pats his knee again, failing to read the room, even as he assures Steve that everything will be fine and leaves them to get dressed.

It’s almost routine after that. Getting dressed and huddling out on the bench like they’re not talking about all of them in Dr. Owens’ office. This time, Eddie and Steve both stand up to press ears to the door, Jonathan and Will following closely behind.

“Will is not delusional!” his Mom shouts, barely muffled by the thick wood of the closed door. Will flinches back into Jonathan, who wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in.

“Wouldn’t you be the delusional one?” Jonathan whispers, looking at Steve. He continues, when both Steve and Eddie turn to look at him with furrowed brows. “I’m not saying you are! Just, why Will?”

Dr. Owens continues before anyone has a chance to respond. “Ms. Byers, it’s a perfectly normal reaction to the trauma they’ve endured.” He says it like he’s trying to settle a spooked horse.

“Why don’t you explain what the hell you’re talking about here, Doc,” Hopper demands.

There’s a prolonged silence. Will wishes he could see what everyone was doing. If Uncle Wayne is glaring Dr. Owens down as the man shuffles his papers. If Dr. Owens is smiling that same, unsettling smile.

“The French call it folie a deux,” he says, finally. Hopper scoffs. “A folly of two.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” Uncle Wayne demands gruffly.

Dr. Owens sighs, loudly enough that it can be heard through the door. “It’s not a common occurrence, but given how tight-knit your boys seem, I think it would fit. You see, it can happen when a pair, or even a small group of people, have a traumatic experience together.”

“So, what,” his Mom demands, that shrill tone in her voice that means she’s a few seconds from losing it. “You’re saying they just made it all up?”

“Oh, not at all!” Dr. Owens replies, sounding far too cheerful. “I’m sure it all feels very real to them.”

“And they all just happened to see the same thing,” Uncle Wayne says, too deadpan to pass as a question. Eddie leans closer to the door, pushing his ear more firmly to the door and smiling at his Uncle’s words. “Sounds like a crock of shit to me.”

“Mr. Munson, it’s a well-documented phenomenon.” Eddie rolls his eyes, scoffing a little too loudly, making Steve shush him with a finger raised to his lips. “It’s a fascinating little thing, our brains can do. You see, the primary, in this case Steve, forms a delusional belief during a psychotic episode and imposes it upon another.”

“You hear that, baby?” Eddie whispers, grinning at Steve. “You’re the primary in this relationship.”

“Shut up!” Steve says, cheeks flushing. “Didn’t you hear the part where he called me a psycho.”

“He called you all psychos,” Jonathan mutters. Will muffles his laugh into his hands as Steve shushes them all again, like he hadn’t just been talking.

“Let’s say, somehow this all isn’t a crock of shit,” Uncle Wayne says. “Like there’s ain’t a hell dimension right beneath our feet.”

“Mr. Munson–”

“What do you suppose we do about this whole, what did you call it?”

“Folie a deux,” his Mom says, like it’s a bad word.

Dr. Owens clears his throat again in the silence. “The proposed treatment is to admit and separate the affected parties.”

“No way in hell, doc,” Hopper says.

There’s the sound of scraping, like Hopper pushed his chair back to stand. More sounds follow until it’s a cacophony of scrapes, Will can barely hear Dr. Owens voice over.

“Now, I must insist–”

“Can it,” Uncle Wayne says, talking right over him. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Will’s eyes widen as footsteps sound in the room. Will shuffles back quickly, taking Jonathan with him until their backs hit the wall, a respectful distance from the door when Uncle Wayne swings it open.

Steve and Eddie are left holding the bag, stumbling back like there’s any way to disguise what they’d just been doing. Uncle Wayne scoffs, leading the procession out of the room. “Good, now we don’t gotta fill you two in.”

His Mom’s mouth is furrowed. She’s wringing her hands as they walk out into the hall and continue out, ignoring Dr. Owens calls from behind them. “Did you hear that too, sweetie?” she asks, coming up beside where Will and Jonathan are standing beside the wall. She links their arms, pulling them both along.

Will nods and she sighs, shoulders slumping. “I was hoping you didn’t have to hear all of that nonsense.”

“It’s not a delusion,” Will says, shuffling his feet. His Mom’s arm clutches his elbow a little tighter, pulling him along, Hopper taking up the rear and guarding their backs from Dr. Owens stumbling protestations.

“I know, sweetie,” she says, patting his hand. “Kind of wish it was though.”

She says it quietly, but he still hears it. Jonathan snorts, “yeah, crazy’s treatable,” he says. “What’re we supposed to do about alternate dimensions?”

His Mom’s mouth purses. She drags them both into her, dropping elbows to wrap her arms around both of their waists. “The best we can.”

Part 66

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #will byers

[silvercap]

Do you have any leon headcannons?

and maybe some krauser ones too?

I've got a few!! In no particular order:

Leon...

- Leon doesn't use a whooole lot of different products for his hair, but he stays loyal to one very specific brand and it's kind of expensive

- Also think he was a 2-in-1 shampoo kind of boy until he started working at the white house 😞 his hair is just nice like that tho. Thick and shiny

- Bite mark scar on his forearm from trying to push away a BOW who decided it looked more like a snack than defense

- Moles all over his body... and I mean everywhere.

- Suffers from a three-hit K.O. of sleep deprivation from working ridiculous hours (some self-imposed), insomnia, and a natural tendency to be a night owl. He's always tired, and if he feels safe somewhere he's constantly taking naps

- He's always thinking about something and has a tendency to get lost in his memories. I like to think he drinks just to stop thinking in endless loops of guilt and regret for a while :(

- Touchstarved as HELL. was joking the other day that he's the 'even held hostage it's nice to be held' meme lmaoo. Give him a hug, somebody??

- Listens to the most dad-rock-light-emo-90s-early-00s-linkin park-nirvana-alanis-morissette-foo-fighters-evanescence-nickelback music possible. Also Chevelle and The Police because I say so

- Tendency to be late to things on purpose, especially with the government

- Lingering nerve pain for a long time after Spain, and though it's mostly subsided after so many years it still flares up if he's pushing himself too hard

- Achy. So achy.

- Incredibly self-sacrificing. He would die to protect almost anyone and he cares very deeply about people even though he puts up a tough front :') not so much a headcanon as true, but it's important

- I feel like sometimes people can't tell if he's joking or not? Obviously he's got his silly one-liners and sarcasm, but I feel like he also likes deadpan humour and it throws off people who don't know him, maybe intentionally if he doesn't really trust them.

As for Krauser...

- He's such an asshole. Never knows when to shut the hell up and stop making sarcastic, biting little comments. I think he's just in love with the sound of his own voice at this point

- Strikes me as a middle child 🤔 maybe grew up with an older brother and a younger sister? Kind of a jock in high school, but also always a little bit antisocial

- Stubborn.

- Very practical. I don't think he really has much use for abstract or hypothetical discussion, he's a man of action. I think he enjoys following orders and being part of a scheme, too, helping to be part of a well-oiled machine

- Relentless drill sergeant, and again, a dickhead, but he really does care about his men

- He has this... assumption that everyone else is just as insane as he is, and doesn't see why people get caught up on small things. If there's something he wants to do, he's going to do it. He knows his strength and always has this intense desire to make himself better and better by constantly tackling challenges.

- He doesn't fail... until he does, and everything falls apart. His panic in Darkside Chronicles after he gets injured screams insecurity to me. The second his strength isn't enough, he feels weak and powerless and incredibly let down by his own inability to push through

- Arm injury in Operation Javier was super debilitating, maybe even to the point where he was advised to amputate it. Again, though, he's a stubborn SOB

- Very touchy. The kind of guy to always pat your shoulder or your back or knee. Just casually moves people out of the way, or readjusts their fighting stance while training without hesitation. If you're cuddling with him it's impossible to get away from his big heavy arms.

I think that's everything?? I'm always coming up with more ahaha but these are definitely the fundamentals :) Thanks for the ask!!

#headcanons #my fics #resident evil #asks #metaltango

[hotchley]

aaron hotchner disproved his worst flaws time and time again because sometimes, people say things they don’t mean in moments of anger

spencer reid - revelations || aaron hotchner - no way out ii: the evilution of frank || erin strauss and aaron hotchner - doubt || derek morgan and aaron hotchner - mayhem || aaron hotchner - revelations || haley brooks and aaron hotchner - the fisher king, part one || jennifer jareau, spencer reid and aaron hotchner - paradise || jennifer jareau and aaron hotchner - boxed in || jennifer jareau - revelations || aaron hotchner - what fresh hell || spencer reid and aaron hotchner - revelations || penelope garcia and aaron hotchner - compromising positions || derek morgan - revelations || aaron hotchner - a real rain || aaron hotchner - profiler, profiled || the bau team - true genius || emily prentiss - revelations || jennifer jareau - the longest night || penelope garcia - reflection of desire || emily prentiss - elliot’s pond || haley brooks - route 66

#please read these tags :) #the three after reid show he doesn't think he's better #but he will take responsibility for their actions to keep them safe #then it's some of his funny lines because why not #then times where he was kinder than he needed to be #as a unit chief i mean #in the three after the drill sergeant comment #they're technically working so he isn't always one #obviously the ones after em show how he does trust women #even when it's not their job #i.e garcia is not a communications liasion #emily was not unit chief during season five #and haley's comment is to disprove the fandom idea that he's a shit father #criminal minds #web weaving #aaron hotchner

[tamayosclinic]

i love your writing 💛 what’s you’ve posted so far has been great! if you have time could i request something where modern au! giyu is seen by his students being soft/loving with his wife in public? i feel like they wouldn’t except him to be like that since he so strict as a teacher! thank you!!

A Surprising Discovery | Giyuu x F!Reader

Modern AU

Warning(s): Slight suggestiveness at the end

Author's Note(s): Thank you so much Nonny. I'm happy that you enjoy my writing. I had fun imagining the outcome of the Kamaboko squad finding out about Giyuu and his wife. I can see Giyuu being the type to keep his personal life to himself so it would be a shocker to everyone. Enjoy this oneshot.

Word Count: 612

The Kamaboko squad was witnessing a phenomenon. It was mind-blowing, made them question reality, and, in Zenitsu’s case, sparked jealously. The three boys and Nezuko decided to go to the shopping mall after school to commence summer break. The first stop was the food court for lunch which led to them seeing Giyuu Tomioka, the drill sergeant wannabe who instead became a P.E. teacher. The sound of his whistle being blown in intervals rung hauntingly in the boys’ ears.

“Who’s the hot chick?” Zenitsu asked, almost screaming out the question as he pointed to the woman seated across from him. “No way that coldhearted bastard has a girlfriend.”

“Don’t say that Zenitsu and keep your voice down Tomioka-sensei will hear you.” Tanjiro scolded in a whisper; not that Giyuu nor the woman would be able to hear them since they were sitting on the other side of the court. “Besides just look at him right now. Maybe he’s not as cold as you think.”

At Tanjiro’s comment, Zenitsu looked back at the couple and his jaw dropped at the sight. Was he mistaken? Surely, the school’s P.E. teacher would not be capable of looking at a woman with adoration while feeding her icecream. Zenitsu rubbed his eyes then looked again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

“Does Tomioka-sensei have a twin?!” He asked loudly, earning him another scolding from Tanjiro.

“Keep your voice down and to answer your question no but he has an older sister according to Kocho-sensei.”

Inosuke, who had been uninterested the whole time, rolled his eyes impatiently and dragged the four to the line of their favorite restaurant. “Why should you care about Tapioca-sensei? Let’s get some food already!”

While waiting in line, the three boys would occasionally glance back to see Giyuu and the woman feeding each other icecream while talking and laughing. Seeing Giyuu act so soft towards someone felt unnatural especially for the boys after a whole school year of hellish military-like exercise that left their bodies sore and heavy at the end of each day.

Nezuko fangirled at the couple’s public acts of affection and snuck a video of the couple to send to her friend group (bad mistake it got shared). The last thing they saw of the couple was them cleaning up and walking away shoulder to shoulder with the woman’s arm wrapped around Giyuu’s.

…

Bonus:

“Giyuu honey, your coworkers have been texting. You won’t believe what happened.” (Y/n) said while preparing some light snacks and wine for their movie night. Giyuu walked into the living room, refreshed after his shower, and wearing the new nightwear (Y/n) had bought for him.

He hummed as he picked up his phone and opened the chat, scrolling past the latest comments to the top comment that started the conversation. He deadpanned at the video Uzui sent in the chat of him and (Y/n) at the mall earlier that same day.

Tengen: Oi Tomioka, what’s up with this?

Kanroji: *GASP* so cute! Give us details Tomioka! Who is that?! When is the wedding?!

Rengoku: WOAH! CONGRATS TOMIOKA! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD IT IN YA TO FIND A LOVER!

Shinazugawa: Huh?! Well, I’ll be damned. Tomioka has a girlfriend.

Iguro: Well, if Tomioka has a girlfriend then anything is possible. (i.e., Iguro getting together with Mitsuri)

Himejima: Alas, I wish you both a happy fulfilling life together.

Kocho: Why haven’t you told us you have a girlfriend Tomioka?

Giyuu: That’s not my girlfriend. That’s my wife.

Everyone: …

The chat erupted in countless questions about Giyuu’s relationship and why they were never invited to the wedding, but he muted the conversation. He can answer those in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy his first night of summer break with (Y/n). Enjoy the night they did.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #giyuu x you #giyuu x y/n #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #kny x reader #kny x you #kny x y/n

[theeoriginals]

no bc i need a blurb of athena and stefan and damon decorating for christmas like the amazing family they are. then i will be able to die happy

AHHHH— it’d be utter chaos let’s be real

(this is basically like headcanon style sorry love)

Athena would be running the boarding house like a drill sergeant seriously like you don’t mess around with her Christmas decorations

Damon makes one (1) comment about it being slightly overboard and Athena takes his daylight ring from him for three days

Stefan would just smile and do whatever she asked of him because he’s the best little house husband in the world and as long as she’s happy he will do anything

Caroline is used to her holiday strictness and she also is high maintenance about decorating (see: every school dance) so she’s just as bad as Athena and everyone tries to avoid them. Bonnie has demanded at least 4 hours a day without touching a single Christmas decoration, not including when she’s sleeping, and Caroline and Athena are still working on negotiating it down to 2

Klaus is indifferent but he, like Damon, makes one comment about it being unnecessary and Athena threatens to undagger Mikael. He’s quiet after that.

Rebekah loves it. She loves it. She loves all of the girls and she loves that Athena doesn’t take anyone’s shit, so she’s happy to give out orders because it means she gets to be the HBIC for a little and she loves the attention

When it comes to gift giving, Athena is giving you the most heartfelt gift ever, and there is no budget in her mind because she gets a sick joy out of making people cry because their gifts are so good. She gets Damon this expensive, rare whiskey and a framed picture of them that Caroline had taken, and he says it’s dumb but she finds the picture in his room later and the bottle sitting right next to it untouched.

Athena is the type to not want gifts in return, the only person she actually wants anything from is Stefan and he pulls through (like always). He gives her his gift in private because it’s just for them, and he knows she won’t want to cry in front of other people. And if it’s not wearable, she keeps it in her room and doesn’t ever tell anyone what it is because she cherishes the things he gets for her, and only her.

Christmas is a chaotic affair in the Salvatore-Hunt household, but when the day comes, everyone is happy to sit by one of the many trees scattered and decorated throughout the house, with a warm fire and happy conversation going on around them. It’s the little moments they cherish amidst the chaos in their lives.

#channeled my sister for this one because this is exactly how she is during Christmas time #the gift giving one is all me tho #i make my friends cry bc of my gifts and it makes me inexplicably happy #athena #athena hunt #stefan salvatore x athena hunt #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #headcanon #athena headcanon

[velvetcloxds]

WIZARDS IN BEACON HILLS| D.T.

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Fem! Reader,  Harry Potter x Teen Wolf

Word count: 2418 words

Warning: toxic family?

Summary: Dean, Seamus and Neville join the reader to visit her hometown of Beacon Hills for Christmas finding a slightly unconventional family setup.

“Put that away,” I say, sighing tiredly as Neville stumbles to do as I ordered, stuffing his wand into the inside of his jacket. Seamus and Dean share a subtle glance between the two of them, trying to avoid my eyes. “What?” I ask and Dean is the only one to look my way, he smiles slightly as he pushes his hands into his pants pockets.

“You’re nervous.” He notes carefully, stepping closer when passengers start crowding the platform. I scoff softly, rolling my eyes as he watches me carefully.

“I am perfectly calm,” I retort, proving myself wrong as my voice rises in tone, his smile grows and I simply shake my head to dismiss him. “I have no reason to worry.” I say and all three of the boys nod in agreement.

“Exactly.” Dean replies, smile faltering when his eyes linger on something behind me. I tilt my head back to see what he’s looking at, sighing almost instantly when the red-haired little weasel comes into view.

“Ignore her,” I say as I turn back to him, even though his attention remains solely latched on Ginny Weasley as she shamelessly grips onto the hand of Harry Potter. “Dean,” I call and he looks over at me when my hand softly grazes his shoulder. I pull away immediately, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth in my cheeks as our eyes meet. Smile from earlier replaced with the same depressed stare I’ve been stuck with for weeks. I sigh softly. “I mean it, Dean. She cheated on you; she doesn’t deserve another second of your attention.” I tell him surely and he shakes his head in reply.

“Easier said than done when they’re everywhere.” He replies, looking back at the pair again.

“It’s a good thing we’re leaving then,” Seamus notes, a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he turns to me. “Right, Y/n?” He asks me hopeful and I hover for a second before nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes,” I say loudly and put on a smile. “Far away in fact,” I tell him and grab my bag from the ground when the doors of the train open for people to go inside. “And crazy family aside, you’ll all love Beacon Hills.” Dean meets my gaze for a brief second before his smile returns.

“I’m sure we will,” He says, picking up his own bag before reaching over and taking mine, raising a brow when I try and stop him. “I got it.” Is all he says as he nods for me to head inside, looking back at Ginny briefly before following me, Seamus and Neville trailing behind him sheepishly.

“When will the trolley come by?” Neville asks, peaking around the train as people settle into their seats. I smile as he sits back down, flinching when Seamus slaps his hand away from the armrest.

“It’s not that type of train,” Dean tells him, skootching in beside me, smiling when our arms brush against each other. “At least not the type you’re used to,” He adds, pulling four packets of peanuts out of his pocket and throwing it towards the boys. “Complementary.” He says mockingly as Neville stares down at the nuts confused. I laugh softly, sinking into my seat as I move to look out of the window, ignoring the feeling of Dean’s arm that rest against mine on the arm rest.

“Tell me about your family?” Dean asks after a long moment, the train starting to move as Seamus and Neville argue softly about whether there should be raisins in the peanut packets. I turn back to Dean, smiling at the already intrigued expression on his face. I shrug.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” He replies quickly, eyes raking their way over my face slowly. “You never talk about them, is all and if we’re spending Christmas with them…” He trails off as I nod.

“Well, my mother is Talia, she’s the best of us, kind and good, never hovers to help someone who needs it. Laura is the oldest, she’s a pain, always trying to keep us in order, no room for mistakes. Derek is my older brother, he’s a sweetheart if he wants to be, but he’s also the most annoyingly protective person you’ll ever meet. And Cora is the youngest, she’s like the female version of Derek if I’m honest, but angrier.” I say, stopping myself when I realize how long I’ve been talking, turning to look at him, he smiles.

“They sound lovely.” He offers as a reply.

“They are,” I retort and sigh. “With the exception of my uncle Peter of course, who is quite frankly the worst of us. Always working some sort of angle, only looking out for himself. When he found out what I was, he demanded I be sent to Hogwarts, as far away from the family as possible,” I scoff. “He made me out to be some sort of disgrace.” I comment, tensing up when Dean’s hand softly folds over mine.

“You’re not,” He informs me and pulls his hand away as quickly as he extended it. “You could never be anything but perfectly brilliant,” He says and shoots a somewhat warning gaze towards Seamus when he looks over at me questioningly. Dean shakes his head, turning to be facing the boys instead of me. “I look forward to meeting them all,” He informs me and closes his eyes. “Wake me when we’re there.” He says and I can’t help but frown as I look at him, confused by the sudden mood shift that is not only completely bizarre, but not like him at all.

“Would you like one?” Neville asks, holding out a packet of peanuts towards me, smiling shyly when I shake my head.

“No thank you,” I say and lean forward to ruffle his hair when he blushes. “You boys should get some rest as well, it’s a long ride.” I inform them before turning back to look out of the window.

The ride seems to pass in a blur, my mind so busy that it felt like mere minutes before Dean was carrying my bag out of the Beacon Hills train station, Neville and Seamus having to be called every few minutes when they get distracted by muggles and their strange accents.

“Don’t you dare.” I whisper angrily when Seamus start trailing away from the set path that leads to the house. He steps away slowly, flinching back when he passes my pointed finger. Dean gives him a serious look as he falls into step next to Neville.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks me and I nod quickly, looking around for the markers I set up years ago to remind me of the way. He passes one bag to Neville before lightly placing a hand on my back as we walk. “Y/n…” He whispers, the sudden closeness of his voice making me shiver. “It’s okay if you’re nervous.” He tells me and I stop. Neville and Seamus stumbling behind me to do the same. I look up at the large Hale mansion that stands in all it’s glory just past the last couple of trees. I breathe out slowly.

“I haven’t been home in years,” I say and look to Dean carefully. “What if it’s horrible? What if everything has changed? What if they somehow hate me even more?” I ask him quietly, knowing that Neville and Seamus have very subtly stepped back to give me some space. Dean’s face softens as he looks at me.

“They couldn’t possibly hate you, Y/n Hale,” He tells me and shrugs. “Everything will be perfectly fine,” He adds and softly pushes me to start walking with him again. “If it helps, I won’t leave your side the entire time.” He promises with a sweet smile and I return the notion as we still at the front door where Derek and Laura are already waiting for us, the scene in the woods probably catching their attention.

Derek is the first to smile as he sees me, eyes catching everything, from the boys behind me to Dean’s hand on my back- where his gaze lingers a little longer before our eyes meet again.

“Little sister.” Laura comments as we stop next to them and Derek scoffs before skipping the stairs and pulling me into a hug, making sure to pull me away from Dean in the process.

“I’ve missed you,” He announces as he pulls away, purposefully ignoring the pure existence of the boys. “Laura has been acting like a drill sergeant since mom left.” I frown at the statement and look to Laura for answers. She shakes her head.

“Later,” Is all the offers before turning to the boys. “I didn’t know you were bringing more wizards here.” She notes, looking them over slowly, I scoff and so does Derek.

“She told us she was bringing friends from school, Laura. What did you think they would be?” He asks her dryly and then turns to Dean with and extended hand. “Derek.”

“Dean.” The two shake hands and Derek does the same with Neville and Seamus, my eyes remaining glued to Laura’s through the entire interaction, the clear disapproval in her eyes making my body ache.

Dean moves closer to me again, making sure not to touch me but hovering close, like he had promised he would.

“Derek will take you to your rooms.” Laura informs the boys, leaving no room for questions as Derek leads them inside, Dean catches my eye before disappearing.

“Is Cora here?” I ask and Laura shakes her head.

“She went with mom to the pack meeting out of town.” She says and knowing I’d ask more she lifts a hand to dismiss me. “No more questions, Y/n. The people who wanted to be here are here.”

“And you?”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice.” She replies coldly before turning and walking into the house. I take a slow, shaky breath before following her inside, the usually busy house silent and empty as she leads me through it.

I ignore the ache in my chest as I pass multiple empty rooms, knowing damn well that the only reason they’re empty is because I decided to return and no one wanted to be here when I did.

“I once tried to make it by using a spell, but it exploded everywhere.” Seamus says as we enter the kitchen, looking into a glass. Neville smiles at his side.

“You’re used to that though, aren’t you?” He questions and Seamus frowns, mumbling something under his breath as Dean and Neville laugh.

“Y/n, have you made any potions yet?” Derek asks when he notices me, pulling something out of the oven in the process, hiding the fact that he didn’t use an oven mitt. I nod with a slight smile.

“Many,” I answer, absentmindedly stilling next to Dean by the counter. “Although none of mine exploded.” I add and Seamus mocks a laugh.

“What type of potions do you make?” Derek asks as well and Neville excitedly starts naming all the different potions we’ve learned since first year, dumbing them down for Derek to understand.

Dean leans closer, turning to whisper in my ear. “You okay?” I look over at Laura who is still hovering at the door, hearing everything, including Dean’s whisper. I hold her gaze as I nod.

“Perfectly fine.” I answer, avoiding Dean’s gaze as the conversation continues, the boys managing to entertain Derek for hours with stories of creatures and spells, most of which not exactly supposed to be shared with muggles, but all of them too busy to remember. Dean watches me through the night, looking away when I notice and joining in on the conversation soon after. Laura went upstairs, not pleased with Derek’s curiosity about the wizard world, the party having moved to the sitting room.

Soon however, it became dark and the fatigue from the long train ride caught up with us, Neville and Seamus stumbling to their assigned rooms to get some sleep before Christmas morning, excited for whatever presents their owls might deliver to them from the other side of the world.

“You can go too, Derek.” I say, arms folded over my chest as he sits on the couch between Dean and I, looking over at us curiously.

“I’m not tired just yet,” He informs me, shuffling to get comfortable. “Besides, Dean hasn’t been very transparent with his intentions.” He announces and I almost swallow my tongue.

“Derek Hale,” I say, trying not to wake whoever might be asleep already. “Dean is my friend.” Derek smiles.

“Maybe. But friends don’t look at friends the way he looks at you,” He notes and Dean is the one to shift in his seat this time, avoiding both my gaze and Derek’s. “See, he’s not even denying it.”

“There’s nothing to deny, he was just trying to make sure I was okay,” I say and get up from the couch. “Which was very much appreciated, because clearly you haven’t gotten the memo just yet,” I announce and swallow as Derek’s playful protectiveness shifts to worry. I sigh, pushing down my emotions to muster up a semi-calm look. “It has been a long day, Derek and I��m tired. Could I please have a moment of peace before bed?” I ask and he hovers, clearly going through every outcome of his reply, looking at Dean who is looking at me and then looking at me with a sigh.

“Okay,” He decides and stands up, pausing to look down at Dean. “Just remember, you may have a wand, but I have claws and I don’t mind using them.” He informs the thoroughly confused boy before slowly leaving the room and threading up the stairs.

We walk out to the terrace, him taking a seat on the wall as I stand in front of him. There’s a long pause of silence as he stares up at me, taking in every movement I make and watching with intense focus as I stare back at him.

“I shouldn’t have come home,” I say suddenly and he tilts his head. “I’ve driven them all away, not even Peter showed up,,” I add and briefly feel the shaking of my hands. “Could I possibly be so damn awful to be around that not even my own mother wants to see me?”

“No,” He answers quickly and jumps up from his seat. “No.” He repeats more calmly and takes my hand in his own. “You’re not the problem, Y/n. Besides, it’s their loss. If they can’t look past something as ridiculous as your magic to see everything else about you then it is most certainly their loss,” He tells me and lifts our hands to be raised in between us. “I for one can’t think of a single thing that would keep me away from you.” He says, voice softer this time, likes he’s thinking out loud and he lifts his other hand to stroke a single finger over my cheek. I look down, cheeks reddening once again as his hand lingers on my face.

“He’s right about that stare.” I whisper, instinctively grabbing his jacket to center myself before closing my eyes.

“He is.” He answers and I shake my head.

“But Ginny…” I say, ignoring the objection of my mind and looking up at him once more. He shakes his head with a smile.

“She isn’t you. She’s never been you, which is why I broke up with her months ago,,” He smiles at my confusion. “She did cheat on me, but honestly I might as well have done the same because how very wrong of me to feel what I feel for you when I’m actually dating her,” He admits and he might as well have explained nothing because at least a hundred new questions pop into my head. He smiles, releasing my hand to grasp the other side of my face. “You’re my best friend.” He says and I nod.

“And you are mine.” I say, tightening my hold on his jacket.

“But I can’t keep denying that I am completely and utterly in love with you.” He says and leans closer, hovering above my lips.

“Thank Merlin.” I whisper, breathless with anticipation before his lips softly meet mine.

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubert. Mxx.

Masterlist

#dean x reader #teen wolf #harry potter imagine #hogwarts #fluff #dean thomas x reader #beacon hills #derek hale imagine

[enigma-im]

Eighth day of Christmas...

Trope: Heat (NSFW) Relationship: Werewolf x Human Word Count: 7,058

I knew the moment I stepped off the bus that I was in trouble. From the horrid heat and melting pot of people, this was going to be a challenge. The dry air nearly made me cough the second I got off the steps. Everyone seemed as annoyed with the environment as I, which is a small relief. Looking around at all the people was both a relief and a nightmare. We all had no idea what was going on but I knew I stood out like a sore thumb.

"You," someone shouts, silencing the crowd. I look around till I spot a hardened older Soldier making his way towards me. The crowd splits before he can charge through. The man glares daggers at me before stopping uncomfortably close.

"Me," I ask, pointing to myself with unease.

"Yes, you," he shouts," what other mutts around here would I be talking to?"

"Right," I nearly drop my shoulders," what do you need?"

"I wanted to get a look at the first werewolf soldier who gets to become my guard dog for this year," he answers, appraising me with discontent," I expect excellence from you, mutt, this few months you will be chewed up and spit out a better dog than a better man. You have big shoes to fill, guiding your kind into the future and not a single one of us will give you an inch or centimeter to make mistakes. Do I make myself clear, private!"

I feel a bit wobbly at his words," uh, yes."

The man leans closer to my face, shouting despite the distance," What was that, mutt? Stand tall, be loud! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I stand at attention, my stomach rolling into knots.

"That's better," he steps back," Now follow me."

The crowd splits again as the Drill Sargent stomps onward. As he passes, the young men and women look to me, a good mix of intrigued and disgust decorates the group. I straighten my shoulders and march after the man, keeping my head held high with pride.

The first werewolf to join the military, I got a lot to prove.

Conversation with the higher-ups of the camp was tense. I didn't expect it to go as well as it did, though a few sly jokes were made at my expense. They were all weirdly supportive of having me at the grounds, looking forward to trying out their new regimen for my kind. Having a stronger and more capable creature in their boot camp came with its own challenges it seems. They all seem excited to see what I can do.

A lot was explained, trying their best to just keep things running smoothly. No one was going to go easy on me and I'm expected to surpass even the best of their squads. I'm oddly invigorated to take on this challenge.

"With everything all situated, is there anything else we may need to know," the Executive officer asks. He is a sweet man, to my surprise, and has been appreciatively thorough with his preparations.

"Yea, we don't want any issues to come about with having you here. A lot of the soldiers are looking to make an example of you already, though you've done nothing wrong. So if there is anything we have to prepare for then please make light of it now," the senior drill sergeant explains.

"Nothing that I can envision happening here. I'm here to work and become the first in a line of werewolves to join the armed forces. Things will remain respectable on my end so if anything does go wrong I promise it won't be my fault," I answer. A big moment like this I can't even fathom screwing it up with some stupid actions. Let the people make their jokes and rude comments, I'm not bothered in the slightest.

"So we aren't going to catch you humping one of the other recruit's legs, right," the senior drill sergeant jokes.

"Don't want you going into heat and trying to fuck every woman in a mile radius of you," the executive officer joins in. I smile despite the discomfort, shaking my head before explaining.

"No, no, I may turn into a big mutt but I'm not so savage as to do something like that. Don't believe the women would be too receptive to me doing such a thing either. When little Fido does it, it's funny. When I do it, it's enough to get me sent to jail," I joke with them. The two laugh, easing some of the tension.

"But you do go into heat, don't you," senior drill sergeant asks," we look out for medical emergencies and if that will become an issue, let us know ahead of time."

I shake my head," no, that won't be an issue. We only go into heat for a specific person and finding them here would be one hell of a terrible time but I highly doubt it will actually happen. I'm sure I would have smelled them in the crowd if so."

"Specific person," the officer snickers," how romantic, Fido."

"Sounds romantic but I've seen some friends go into rut over their mates, it's not that romantic," I wince, remembering all the fights," it's not a hallmark movie moment, sir."

The officer cocks a brow, wary," I'm almost tempted to ask but I'll refrain for now. Either way, I'll have sergeant Crews bring you to your barracks, and hopefully, we won't have to speak again anytime soon."

I drop off my things at my bunk, sorting them into a chest before heading off to P.T.

The first week of basics is easy, though I'm warned about next week after some miss placed words. My squad takes to me nicely, though I can do without the nicknames. It's a better week than I could hope for after the horror stories from active duty members.

We all sit in the crowded mess hall. Murmurs of conversations can be heard over the disgusting chomping of food. In times like this, I almost wish I didn't have such great hearing. The wet slobbering is beginning to turn my stomach.

"Hey, Spot, is it true you transform on the full moon," Casey, a fellow recruit, asks beside me. I snort, picking at the slop on my tray.

"No, I can do it whenever I want," I answer," full moon thing was for you people to pin some other garbage on the magnetic effects the moon has on the earth."

"oh, wow, movies lied to me again," he lightly bangs his hand on the table," what about silver? Does that do anything for ya?" I scoff, looking at him a bit amused. It has been a lot of teasing but I haven't had anyone sit down and ask before.

"No, silver doesn't do anything for me. Neither does holy water, crosses, or garlic," I tease. Casey rolls his eyes, looking back to his meal with a pout.

"I'm not an idiot, those are for vampires," he grumbles. I chuckle, amused by this human's questions. As I tease the man some more I catch a wondrous smell.

"Besides, I know a normal bullet would work on you anyway," Casey points his fork to me. I can't pay him any mind as I slyly glance around. My heart is racing and pounding against my chest as the smell completely engulfs me. Please no, not now. As I'm looking towards the door I freeze as someone walks behind me. As if everything slowed to a halt I look to the recruit walking over to her table. I can't help but gawk though her attire isn't much to be aroused by.

Brown hair pinned up in a bun and terribly fitted brown and camouflaged clothing. It's meant to be plain and nonattention grabbing but she makes it work. My body thrums with need as I watch her sit at the end of the bench. I can't look away as she eats, looking at her lips like a starved man. I want her, I need her. It's the only thought that runs through my mind.

She couldn't come into my life just a few months later could she?

The whole day I feel like I'm on fire, sickly and distraught. I haven't even been here this long and I feel like I'm about to ruin everything. Surely I can just explain to the XO that I have to deal with this and get right back to basics. I nod, it won't be such a long delay, I'll be right back here shortly.

I head straight to the office, stubbornly marching past the groups still running about. The heavenly smell barely permeates the hot dry air but still nearly knocks me on my ass. My attention snaps straight to her doing push-ups with her squad. She makes quite the sight all sweaty and focused. I can't help but stop and watch.

The squad's drill sergeant walks the rows, screaming motivating insults to them all. My little mate grits her teeth as he passes by, her arms shaking each time they straighten. The sergeant stops before her, crouching down as she stays propped up.

"Getting tired there, private," the sergeant baits," want to take a little break, perhaps?"

"No, sir," she barks out.

"Then get that face in the dirt, let's go," he snaps back at her. The urge to run to the man and deck him in his hooked nose is strong. I have to shake my head of the thought to actually get some semblance of control. She gets back to her exercise, going hard and strong into her next set with a stiff focus on her face. It's admirable to see anyone as determined as she looks. It picks at my heart a bit.

I'm not just taking away this chance for me momentarily but her too. Would she want to take the time off to deal with me? It can't be that big of an issue but starting over has to be something she rather not do. I sure as hell don't want to start the week over even if it wasn't too difficult. She is human so it had to be hell for her. I hum, chewing my cheek.

With fist clenched I turn away from the offices and head back to my barracks. I'll just wait this out, three months is nothing. I can keep my cool that long.

I kept that line of thinking all up till I got to my bunk. The barracks are quiet, the snores of the recruits barely registering to my non-idle thoughts. Every part of me is racing, my heart, thoughts, limbs. I have way too much energy to just sit here. Closing my eyes does nothing but let the thoughts keep me up. I've never had such an issue before, especially here.

Staring up at the ceiling I think of my little mate. She's a cutie, that's for sure. Even with the unflattering get up I can't ignore the appeal of her body. She has strength, as does most of the people here, but watching her do exercises with her squad showed more than just basic strength. I smile to myself as I think about the determined look she had while finishing her set. I have a strong little mate.

I groan as my mind keeps replaying the scene over and over. I can only pray that the rest of the month won't be like this. Turning onto my side I force my eyes closed, trying my damndest to get even a few hours of sleep.

The next week I'm weirdly filled with energy. Every morning I wake up excited to do runs, outpacing everyone by miles as I speed down the dirt track. Exercises become a blessing and every moment I spend sitting down is one where I'm anxious to get back up. The nights are no better, my body humming with unspent energy. It feels amazing to get out there and work.

Sitting at the lunch table I shovel food into my mouth, leg bouncing under the table. I want nothing more than to get back out there and get rid of this energy but lunch is kind of important. As I unflatteringly gulp down the muck an erotic scent ceases my tension. Flowing over my body like a warm shower. I close my eyes, taking in the calm.

"So, I gotta ask," a woman before me asks," do werewolves generally have this puppy energy, or is it just you because watching you hall ass down the track is almost inspiring."

As I open my eyes I'm left gawking at the woman. My beautiful mate sitting just across the table, smirking with her arms crossed. I swallow hard, feeling oddly nervous at this moment. What should I say? Should I say something? She quirks a brow at me, waiting for a reply.

"uh," I clench my pants under the table," depends on the person?"

She hums," is that a question or an answer?"

I straighten," a-a answer, ma'am."

"Hey, lighten up," she knocks on the table," don't need any of the ma'am business. I just wanted to ask, you have been buzzing like a bee this past week and I was kind of hoping it was something I could learn instead of it being genetics." my palms feel clammy the more she speaks. She's so casual, I almost wish she wasn't. I can handle stupid full moon questions over this. I wipe my hand on my pants.

"Sorry, it's all genetics," I give her a half-smile," blessings of the father I'm afraid to say."

She props herself up on crossed arms, her breast squeezing together," so was your mom human? I didn't think you can cross-breed like that." my eyes flick down to her pushed out chest, gulping hard I look down to my hands. I wipe my palms on my pants.

"No, a werewolf can b-breed with anyone," I meet her eyes," just has to be their mate."

"Awe, that sounds cute," she coos. Before she can add anymore the sergeants come in to collect their squads. I watch her look to the crowd, her shoulders dropping. She turns back to me," well, was nice talking with ya, Cujo." with that she leaves.

I remain seated as everyone begins filling out. Looking to my lap I groan in frustration, I never felt more like a measly runt than right now. Couldn't even talk to her and I'm sitting here with a full chub. I look to the crowd once more, catching sight of her turning out of the doorway. Fisting my pants I whimper lowly in my throat.

If I knew talking with her would make things worse then I would have never done it. The night we first spoke was tenser than any before. I feel like ants are crawling all over my skin, my body unbelievably hot. My blankets feel scratchy and too rough on my sensitive skin. I can hardly sleep as all I can think about is that beautiful woman smiling at me from across the table. Her ample chest just perched on her crossed arms. My loins lurch at the thought, aching to a degree I've never experienced.

I fall onto my back, panting as I kick the blanket off myself. Looking down myself in the dark barracks I see the tent in my pants. I groan, thumping my head against the pillow. A boner over a minute conversation with a girl, surely I couldn't stoop so low. I peak at my lap, groaning again as I flex my toes. Perhaps a little attention can soothe the beast?

Timidly I slide my hand down my stomach, fingers sneaking under the hem of my pants. I grab the base of my shaft, squeezing it while slowly closing my eyes. Just have to do this quickly and I got to get some sleep. With the task in mind, I aim for fast. I pump my fist, going harder than I've usually started. My callused hand feels uncomfortable, not helping the smooth glide I need. I take my hands out of my pants and lick my palm before trying again.

I jerk off, feeling itchy and frustrated as I do. I try to get it out and done before anyone can wake up to notice but I can't get into it. Trying a new tactic I relax on the bed. Keeping my eyes shut I slowly pump my fist up and down my shaft, pleased with the torturous glide. An image of my mate sitting across the lunch table pops in my head, my cock twitching at the picture. I admire her harden face, the beauty in her full cheeks when she smiles. I wince as my fingers glide over my tip.

The image shifts as I stare at her tits resting on the table. They are laid bare, her sweet little nipples hard from the cold lunchroom. My cock pulses as I think about reaching over the table to grab her, grazing my hand over her little buds. A whimper tries to bubble out from my throat, the sound surprising. I can't pay it any mind as I imagine tweaking her nipples, watching her face twist in pleasure. In my palm my cock aches, demanding more as I pump harder.

The scene twists, she's bent over the table with her tight ass presented to me. I whimper again, bucking into my fist. A bulge nudges against my hand with every descent. It would be something to investigate if I wasn't so tempted to continue. I picture lining my dick up with her weeping slit, gently pressing my tip in with a retrained grunt. Another whine leaves me, the base of my cock throbbing worst than the rest of me. As fantasy me bottoms out inside her I bite my fist to reject the whimper trying to cry out.

"Fuck," I mumble in a cry. I jerk till I can feel my body shiver in its impending climax, utterly debauched at the fantasy playing out. As I reach my breaking point I grip the hard bulge at the base of my cock, squeezing as hard as I can as I cum in my boxers. My grip pulses as I unload all over myself.

My grip eases slightly as I catch my breath. I feel disgusting as the wet fabric sticks to my tip. Looking down my body I wince at the damp stain. I tug down my pants and catch a look at my still hard dick, I furrow my brow confused. Generally, I'm soft shortly after, not still ragingly hard. I look to the bulge still cupped in my hand. Well, that's new. I test a squeeze. A shot of pleasure jolts up my spine making my head feel fuzzy. I nearly curl into myself at the surprise. That's definitely new.

I take one more glance at myself, wincing at the sight. I'm no fresh pup, I know what's pulsing at my base. I just didn't think it would come out without being buried inside someone. Sighing, I tuck myself away and attempt to get some sleep. I wince at the sticky fabric, suddenly regretting not waiting till a more opportune time to do this.

Circling the track for the 2nd time I catch up with the squad. Everyone is taking a breather, panting hard after the three miles. I casually jog up to them, still vibrating with energy.

"How can you even do this, air bud," Scott grabs at his knees," I knew there would be running but…fuck."

I look at him bemused," air bud?"

"Well it's like my dog, Rufus," another squad member claps me on the shoulder," would just run around for hours once I let him outside." I look between the two.

"I just like running," I answer," I feel rather energetic lately."

We all talk as I bounce on my heels. The sergeant rounds us all up before heading off to the next part of PT.

We begin jumping jacks in our lines, listening to the drill sergeant scream encouragements. Looking off to the side I catch sight of another squad doing their miles. They all seem rather calm, must be their first mile. I watch them go by, just briefly catching sight of my little mate in the middle of the crowd. A smile curls on my face as I watch her run along. Her arms pumping and chest bouncing. A raging need thrums into my veins, my cock standing to attention. I watch her in a daze.

"What are you doing, boy," someone shouts, grabbing me by the back of my shirt. I stumble as I'm tugged backward, torn from my stupor. Catching my bearings I realized I've tried to walk out of formations, ignoring my exercises in favor of following her delicious smell.

"uh," I shake my head," Sorry, saw a squirrel." I half-smile, hoping the joke would land. He grits his teeth, tugging me back in line.

"I'd make you run another set but I think you would enjoy that, instead you're on patrol tonight, Fido," he shouts, walking back down the line," Let's start again, from the beginning. One, two, three…"

Lunch has me excited, feeling like my tail is ready to sprout out and reveal my pleasure. I quickly shovel down my muck, looking around like an eager pup for any sight of her. Spotting her coming out of the line and heading my way I can't help but wipe my face and straighten my clothes. I nearly bounce in my seat as she gets closer.

"So you do have a tail," Scott tugs on something behind me. I grunt, twisting around with a growl. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my fluffy black tail.

"Ah, fuck," I grumble, looking to her coming closer then back at my tail. Without much thought, I pin it between the bench and my thigh.

"Hello, Cujo," she greets," you're endless energy for exercises will never cease to amaze me." she sits down at the table, her tray clanking against the metal. My tail tugs, wanting to break free. I open my mouth to answer, interrupted by someone clapping me on the back.

"Yea, it's making the rest of us look bad. He makes three miles look easy," Tyler jokes as he sits beside me.

"well, it is easy, you guys are just out of shape," she jokes back. I snort, glancing at the offended men on either side of me. My mate has a sense of humor I see.

"haha, hilarious, G.I. Jane," Tyler deadpans.

"It's funny you should say that because I caught you slacking behind your crew today," Scott props his smug face on his hand," it's bad enough they let dogs in the military but you women have a lot more to prove." I can't help but sneer at Scott.

She glares at him, crossing her arms and leaning forward." yea, well what's your excuse, cadet?"

Scott leans forward as well," got a handicap, love, hard to run with three legs."

My mate snorts a chuckle, shaking her head as she grabs her food," What kind souls the higher-ups are to let you join with such a clear handicap."

Scott bounces his brow," you know it, baby. I'll be happy to show you my treatment options, perhaps you can help?" I stiffen at the suggestion, my limbs and chest tightening as Scott continues to flirt. A low rumble climbs up my throat, back arching as I glare at him.

"Think I'll pass, I heard that men with large dicks tend to need too much prep work for a minute of entertainment," she bites back. Scott shrugs as Tyler chuckles, them all going back to their meal. The growl comes out louder, my teeth pricking at my lip as I snarl at him. Scott looks at me, recoiling at the clear aggression.

"You ok, Fido," Scott asks," looks like I'm trying to take your food or something." I feel everyone's eyes on me, confused and concerned. A possessiveness boils under my skin, demanding action against this male. I swallow hard, shaking my head as I glare down at my tray. Reigning back the shift, I shake my shoulders.

"Sorry," I growl," just feeling tense today." everyone nods, quietly eating their meals. I pass a glance to my mate, worried I pushed her away with my lack of control. We look to one another, the edge of her lip tugging up. She looks away with a shy smile gracing her beautiful face. I smile to myself as I eat.

After lunch I go for a run, feeling more anxious than yesterday. I dig hard, making record speed over my fifth mile. My body feels invigorated but anxious as I run. My brain goes a mile a minute, demanding attention to the one person driving me crazy. With Scott's words ringing in my ears all I can do is think about the threat. Someone is encroaching on my territory, challenging my claim.

I shake my head, I haven't claimed her. Hell, I don't even know her name. I run harder. Pictures of her flash through my head, my fantasy of the other night forcing discomfort to my groin. I shake again. Just running isn't doing enough, I need more now.

Slowing to a stop I take off my shirt. Crouching and pressing my fingers to the ground I allow my skin to break. I grunt with my bones snapping and rearranging. The pain feels great, an action my body agrees with greatly. With my claws digging into the dirt and fur bristling in the breeze I bolt down the track on all fours.

cadets and Sergeants gawk as I high tail it around the trail. I breathe heavy, tongue lulled to the side as I hear the air roar in my ears. Everything feels so open and free. This is something I've missed all week. Changing in front of everyone made me feel embarrassed, self-conscious. I'm not like them and proving that could lead to problems. Right now, I couldn't care less. I have other issues to deal with.

After running around for hours I fall in the grass near the tree line, laying on my stomach to bask in the sun. I should be exhausted now, all this mating energy out for the time being. Closing my eyes and resting my chin on my paws I relax. It's a lovely day out.

Sitting there for a moment I feel a burst of energy. I growl. Two hours of running on top of PT this morning, how can I be nearly vibrating with need? This mating business is getting harder and harder to ignore. All I think, hear, smell is her. My cock stirs against my stomach, the hot length pinned to the ground. I growl again.

Making my way to the showers I angrily toss my torn shorts and turn the water on. I step into the cold stream, shocked at the temperature. This should help, I can chill out before patrols tonight. Closing my eyes I press my head against the tiled wall. Not even a second in and I see her. I see her wet and naked before me, giving me eyes and beckoning me forward. I clench my fist and grow as my cock throbs.

"Fine," I grab my erection," you win again."

I jerk myself hard and fast, snarling as I picture pounding into her sweet cunt. Bucking into my fist I imagine her bouncing breast and wonderful cries of pleasure. I need her, I need her so damn bad. Baring my teeth with clenched eyes I feel my base ache. I grab at my knot, pinching it in a tight grip. I can feel my seed go up my shaft, spraying the wall. Whimpering, I pulse my grip on my base, sighing as each drop is let out.

"I can't keep doing this," I whimper," I'm so tired." my cock doesn't soften, even as I turn the water off and dry myself it still aches for her.

Walking the perimeter I look around the dark camp. My uniform feels scratchy and tight as I step. There are bags under my eyes and I'm still filled with energy. I'm tired and hyper at the same time. The walk around the base feels like a dream, hollow and dazed. I'm so sleepy.

The sound of a door opening catches my attention the same time a wonderous perfume punches me in the nose. My head snaps to a shed out a bit of way from the main building. A light is shining out the open door, a shadow cast on the sidewalk. I take another inhale of that sweet scent, my cock pulses.

Like a zombie, I shuffled to the shed. The corners of my vision are distorted as I turn into the doorway. My eyes snap to the person standing at the opposite end next to a shelf. She looks over her shoulder, smiling when she realizes who it is.

"Hey, Cujo," my mate greets," you look like shit, you ok?" she takes a step to me, concerned. A growl snaps out my mouth, my shoulders sagging forward. She recoils, taking a step back. I match her, taking one forward. "Cujo," she tries to say casually but comes out a little worried," you need something from the shed?" I take another step. Her back hits the shelf, startling her as she watches me stalk forward. With all my control out the window, I storm towards her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. My face buries against her neck, taking a large inhale.

"What's your name," I growl out, using the final bit of control I have to ask.

"S-Samantha, my friends call me Sam," she jokes with a timorous hilt. I lick up the taunt tendon of her throat, she shudders. "Cujo," she timidly runs her hand up my arm," what's happening?" I nearly purr at her touch. Her words barely register as I lap at her skin, drunk on her already. I hear the smallest whimper from her, making my ears perk up.

"W-what's your name," she asks as her hand glides up my back to card her fingers through my hair.

"Trevor," I bite at her shoulder," and I can't take it anymore."

"Take what," she says nearly breathless. I can't answer, only having enough thought to grab her thighs and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist easily, pulling me against her heat. My eyes nearly roll with the friction. With little thought I slowly rock my hips, my tongue licking up her neck to her cheek then licking over her lips. Her fingers tug on my hair, scratching at my skin.

"You want me," she asks. I buck hard into her in answer, she chuckles. "Am I your mate," she asks. A spark starts in my loins at her saying such a thing. Does she accept this? Accept me?

Aching and primed I get her on the ground, licking her as I feel my tail stuck in my pants. My brain is muddled and unfocused, wanting to tear her clothes off and mount her right here. It feels wrong- it feels right. I bite at her shoulder again, frustrated beyond belief as I grind into her.

"S-sam," I whimper," Please."

She tugs on my hair again, snaking her hand under my shirt to pet at my sprouting fur. "What do you want, Trevor," she asks.

"You," I dig my teeth into her skin," you, you, you."

She laughs, rubbing her cheek against mine," then have me, big boy."

In a flurry of need, lust, want, I rip her shirt. I can't bring myself to feel guilty as her nearly naked torso is before me. I lather at her chest, plucking the little strap between her cups with my clawed finger. My tongue wets her nipples, chest, stomach, listening to her little adorable whimpers. I feel frenzied as I shove her pants down and bury my face against her cunt. She smells sweet, tastes like ambrosia.

"Oh, good boy," she grips my hair too tightly. I lap are her folds like a dying man, feeling my body pulse and rejoice. She is amazing and all mine, open and pleasured by me. Her body wiggles and grinds against me, forcing me to hold her hips. Her thighs clamped around my face, nearly covering my ears. I'm pleased to hear her cries and feel her tighten around my tongue as I force it inside her. Oh, by the gods, she's divine.

I continue showering my attentions upon her as she tries to push me away," that's enough, Trevor, I need you." my head perks up at her words. She needs me? I sit up, ripping my already torn shirt off my shifted body. I rush to undo my pants, tearing at them enough for my cock to poke through. I look down at her cunt, licking my chops with excitement. I fall over her, hands framing her head. My hips gravitate towards her, needing her more than air. I whimper as I can't bring myself to plunge into her like a savage. Whimper again I meet her eyes, begging her.

She smiles, reaching up and petting my cheek," go ahead, Trevor, I think I understand." overjoyed I lick her mouth, tail wagging freely now.

Now free to do as I need I look between us and nudge my cock against her. My tip spreads her folds but delving into her awaiting heat is hard. I can't think, instincts taking all my control. I whimper again, looking at her. She smiles sweetly, reaching down and guiding me. I wait eagerly for her to lead me, feeling her place me at her entrance. I shove forward, engulfed easily. I whine and growl as I push as far as I can go. I try to nudge further but my base is already swollen. I chuff.

With my new addiction wrapped around my cock I withdraw before plunging into her divine heat with a heavy breath. This is what I've needed, what I've craved. I can't stop myself from bucking into her hard and fast, demanding everything with each thrust. My ears ring as I'm taken to a world of pure bliss.

Samantha writhes and whimpers with me, grabbing at the fur on my chest. I lean closer, pressing my body to hers. My thrusts begin to shorten till I'm rutting into her with shallow humps. Short uncontrolled bucks that leave my knot knocking at her entrance. An overwhelming need overtakes me. I bump my knot harder and harder against her, demanding entrance with every nudge. With a hard push, she opens more for me. I grunt as I force it, locking her to me with a satisfied sigh.

We both wriggle against each other till I'm left whining against her shoulder, with a well-timed clench on her part I'm bursting inside her. I bite down on her shoulder, marking her as my cum paints her insides. Her walls flutter around me. I listen to her melodious cries as I cum. It's too perfect, too beautiful.

With my cock locked inside her I can't help but wag my tail and lick at her face. She giggles, allowing me to shower her in affection as she rests on the floor. I pamper her, licking at her sweat and cleaning every part I can reach. She is mine now, my wonderful mate.

As my knot begins to deflate I feel the week catch up with me. I collapse on her, my cock softening and falling out. She grunts as my weight is on her. My eyes begin to flutter, my body coming back to its original state. I drift off to sleep without a care in the world.

I awaken in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar clothes. Without much thought I sniff out my mate, wanting to roll into her comforting arms. A disgusting chemical smell greets me instead of her warm scent. I jump awake, scared, and worried immediately.

"Whoa, cool it, Spot," someone catches my attention. I snap my eyes to them, seeing a skinny man in normal military attire. The brown shirt and camo pants.

"Where is Sam," I growl, disoriented as adrenaline fills my veins.

"The girl? Probably talking with the XO," he shrugs," should be back here soon." the man looks to his computer on his medical trolley. Feeling he is distracted I jump from the bed and bolt to the door. I can hear him shout but I'm too busy taking in the scents around me. I look left, nothing. I look right, I smell her.

Charging down the halls I turn this way and that as I follow her trail. I feel stressed and angry, to an unbelievable degree. I need her in my sight, in my arms. Her scent leads me to a door, the words on the sign not registering in my mind. I slam it open, spotting her immediately.

"Oh, hey," she smiles as she turns in her chair. She has more to say but I interrupt her. Plucking her from her seat I slam her against my body and bury my face to her neck. I take in her scent, assess her health and the environment. The smell of another makes me stiffen but her fingers scratching behind my ear makes me purr. I can feel my tail wagging behind me.

"Tamed the dog, how cute," someone says. I snap my head to them, nearly growling at my XO. He sits at his desk smug, but still intimidatingly powerful. Though I hold back a sound I can't help but bear my teeth to him.

"Let's not antagonize the pup, alright," Sam jokes. She guides me over to the seats, parting to take her own. Looking from her to the XO I feel the urges again, a primal need to get her out of sight of this male. I shake my head to put myself back into a normal mindset. Reluctantly I sit down.

"Now the excitement is over, Cadet Trevor Galius. You are relieved of training till further notice along with Cadet Samantha Backster," he says calmly. I stiffen at the dismissal, looking at Sam in clear worry. Will she be mad? This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, taking her choice away. Sam glances at me with a disarming smile. I remain wary.

"For how long," I ask.

"Till next January, that's when winter training starts. For now, I encourage you two to settle all that needs to be settled before then," he glares over to me," I'd hate to have a repeat of this semester." I wince, looking down at my lap.

"Will this put a delay on werewolves being allowed in the armed forces," I peak up at my XO. He smiles to himself, dropping it quickly.

"I admire your dedication to this cause but no, there be no delay for werewolves. I hope you don't mind too much not being the first one," he answers. Most of my worries melt off at his words. The only person I'm potentially holding back is Sam, no one else has to suffer for my lack of control.

"That won't be a problem, sir," I answer.

With no final notes, we are dismissed. I walk with Sam out into the hall, fidgeting all the while. We walk out of the main building in silence. Should I say something? Is she mad? I pass glances at her, looking for any signs of distress. She gives nothing away.

"Just ask, I know it's killing you," she bites her lip to stop her grin. I fall apart, reaching out and pulling her against me. I can't take not touching her.

"Please don't be mad at me. I didn't want to force you out of training like this but trying to hold back was killing me. I'm so sorry," I whimper into her hair. She awkwardly pats at my back as I apologize.

"I'm not mad," she answers," far from it. I'm rather excited about all this. Like, it's not every day something like this happens."

I recoil from her, confused," you're not mad?"

She shakes her head," no, I actually had some guesses around our second conversation."

I look at her bemused," you did?"

"Yea, I knew about the werewolf mate thing from my cousin. I went to her wedding about two years ago and she was mated to one of your kind. She wouldn't shut up about how they met and the utter romantic garbage she experienced from him," she scoffs," it was almost sickening how sweet they were but I got to learn some signs. You have been tense and full of energy lately. I figured that was normal but you perked up a lot when I showed up. It was really cute. Still, I had some guesses and when you came to the shed it was heavily validated. So in the end, I'm not mad. Lowkey a little happy you didn't do some over the top romantic gestures like my cousin's man did."

I listen to her rant amused and amazed. She knew? A part of me thinks she just had some hopeful thoughts and wanted the signs to be for her. Or maybe I'm not as good as I think at hiding this. Either way, it doesn't matter because she doesn't hate me. She wants me and I can't do anything but be thrilled.

With a snort, I pull her into a kiss, ecstatic with the turn of events. She smiles against my lips, pulling me close. As we kiss a few people walk back, whistling and making sly comments at us. We part, chuckling with one another at their jokes.

"So you aren't mad you have to join back next year," I ask just to be sure.

"Maybe a little," she shrugs," I guess your just going to have to make me forgive you."

I growl, leaning down and nipping at her neck. Her shriek of laughter makes me giddy. I have my mate, and she's perfect.

#12 tropes for christmas #12 days of christmas #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #werewolf boyfriend #heat

[mrsalwayswrite]

Little Lady (Bull Randleman x Reader)

So this is based on this post by @problematicfavesareproblematic​ and my own headcannon that Bull is super chill in his relationship and doesn’t get jealous easily but will go from cuddly teddy bear to terminator in a hot second if someone hurts his girl...and this was an excuse to write some Bull & Martin friendship. 

Warnings: swearing, forced/coerced kiss, threats

Words:4400

Tag List: @happyveday​ @evelynshelby​ @saritanotserena​ @sydney-m​

"I can do it."

 "I don't mind helping."

 I rolled my eyes at Arthur but handed him the crate. "Fine, but if you drop it, I'm gonna kick your ass."

 He laughed, falling into step with me as we headed towards the supply trucks. "I would suspect nothing less from someone as fierce as you."

 "I can't decide if you're flirting or trying to start a fight." I narrowed my eyes at him, even as we walked side by side. 

 "Oh, I would never fight you...you'd kick my ass, remember?" He winked those baby blues at me, the scar on his upper lip twitching at the movement. 

 "Mmm...so you're flirting?"

 "Why? Is that a crime?"

 I sighed. This was not the first time we had this discussion and honestly, I was getting sick of it. "Arthur, you know Sergeant Randleman is my man."

 "I know. I don't know what you see in him though.  He just looks like a country hick and I..."

 "Stop," I interrupted, already knowing what he was going to say. Some flirting was fine but when someone began to question my relationship or degrade my boyfriend, then I took offense. Especially from someone I considered a friend. "We've had this discussion before and it won't change anything."

 "Fine, I just..."

 "Jesus Christ! Enough!"

 "Ok ok, shit. I'm sorry. I just want you to be happy, alright?" He mumbled. A couple minutes passed between us in a tense, awkward silence as we continued walking before he bumped me cheekily. "So, he's your man? You're not his girl?"

 "Damn right he's my man. I'm no one's girl."

 Arthur laughed and followed me to the trucks. He shoved the crate on the flatbed of the one directed too. I adjusted the other crates, making room for the ones I still needed to grab eventually. We were supposedly leaving Aldbourne soon and I had volunteered to organize our extra supplies. I liked keeping busy and being organized came easy to me. 

 Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him run his hand through his black hair, a nervous habit of his I had noticed. Soon he probably would need to get it cut. I wondered if someone in his company cut hair or if I should mention Liebgott to him. I bet for a pack of smokes Liebgott would cut it.

 His voice jolted me back from my musings as he took a step closer to me. "Some of us are going out for drinks tonight at the bar. Come join us."

 "They call them pubs here. Remember, we're in England."

 "Pubs, right. So... you coming?"

 I sighed, trying to figure out how I could nicely say no. Again. Most of the other companies did not like having a female paratrooper amongst them. More than one had gotten in my face about it, especially back in Toccoa. Now it just made sense for me to stick with Easy. 

 Arthur was one of the few exceptions. We had bumped into each other on the troopship over and next thing I knew we had been talking for hours, comparing different books, plays and films. His family was a huge advocate for the arts and it showed in his passionate rants. He also had an easy-going, if flirtatious, manner about him, always trying to make me laugh and check up on me whenever we saw each other. Though lately, he had begun making his intentions known and while flattering, I only saw him as a friend. 

 Before I could let him down again, he was frequently asking me to go to the pubs with him, I heard my name called loudly. Glancing down the road, I saw several members of Easy's First Platoon sitting or standing around a table, with most smoking or playing cards, or both. More importantly I saw HIM. 

 I could not help the stupid smile, not even paying attention as a frown appeared on Arthur’s face. "I'll see you around, Arthur." 

 Without waiting for his response, I started towards the group. Although technically they were not my platoon, they welcomed me with open arms as I frequently found myself in their company. 

 "Hey! It's our favorite Corporal!" George Luz announced, passing out a new round of cards to those at the table, a cigarette hanging between his lips. 

 "That's only cause I get cigarettes for you guys."

 "Eh, you're an angel."

 I laughed with the guys as I finally reached them. It was nice to see everyone relaxing under the shade of the large tree, finally receiving a much needed break from drills and field trainings. I did wonder where they stole the table and chairs from since I had never seen it out here before. 

 Denver "Bull" Randleman stood on the other side, watching me with a slight curve of his lips, even around the cigar. My heart skipped a beat as I met his eyes, moving around the table towards him. Automatically, he raised his arm just enough for me to slip under it. It was a practiced, almost subconscious, movement between us by now. "Hey, little lady."

 "Hey, handsome.” I smiled up at him, a wave of happiness crashing over me. A very familiar feeling whenever I was in his presence, even more so since we started a relationship.  

 "Who was that you was talking to?" Johnny Martin asked, standing on Randleman's other side. His typical scowl on his face, eyes narrowed, as he stared from me back to where I had just come from.

 "Oh, Private Arthur Cox." I supplied, not thinking much about it. 

 "From Charlie Company?" Floyd Talbert looked up from the card game. 

 "Yeah."

 "I heard from a reliable source that he's been flirting with you." Talbert continued, trading two of the cards in his hand.  

 "Is that so?" Luz looked back at me, a mischievous grin on his face. "Know anything about that?"

 "It's not a big deal. He's just friendly." I shrugged, feigning disinterest. I really did not want them to know all the things Arthur had been saying lately. 

 "Hear that, Bull! He's just friendly. You better watch your girl." Luz chuckled. 

 "Hey! I ain't his girl!" 

 Bull pulled the cigar from his mouth, giving me a small squeeze as he spoke. "It's alright, darlin'. They know I'm ya man."

 "Damn right."

 "Still, he's been talking about you." Talbert stated, tossing his cards on the table then looking over to me.

 Dammit. Why couldn't he just let this go? The others were paying far too much attention to the conversation to my liking. "He knows I'm with Bull."

 Talbert shrugged. 

 "What?" I snapped.

 "Might not be enough."

 "Tab, what are you saying? He knows I'm not leaving Bull for him." I tried to stay calm. I knew the guys were just looking out for me. They did not trust anyone who wasn't Easy. Randleman's hand slowly rubbed up and down my arm, trying to soothe me. I took a deep breath and leaned my head against his side. 

 "Maybe. He might keep trying for you though."

 "Is that what you would do?"

 "If I saw a girl I really wanted...maybe." Tab winked at me, earning a few chuckles from the group. Everyone knew Talbert was a flirt, but a respectful one. If any women were not interested, he always backed off. Though most women never said 'no' to him. 

 I groaned. "Save me from the stupidity of the male species." I mumbled to myself. 

 "He ask ya to be his girl?" Bull asked, a smirk on his face.  

 "Yeah...sort of."

 "No proposals?"

 I rolled my eyes. He just would not let me forget when a Private from Able Company dropped down on one knee and proposed two weeks ago. Bull had laughed when I told him the story, saying if they really knew me, they would know to bring chocolate. That was my biggest weakness. 

 "Not this time. He does like to compare the two of you though." I admitted, guilt tainting my voice. 

 "I ain't worried.” He winked at me. “We know ya just like me for my body."

 I patted his chest. "Don't you forget it."

 Luz threw down a winning hand, causing the others to groan and the attention to focus back on the game.

 I absent-mindedly watched the next game unfold, my mind though on Arthur. Sure, more than once he had made comments about me; and he had made even more comments about how he did not think Randleman was good enough for me. I thought it was harmless or just annoying. Now I was beginning to wonder if I should take it more seriously, if I needed to stop talking to him. If he really was gunning for me, I needed to set him straight once and for all. Right? 

 There was about a snowball’s chance in hell I would be leaving Randleman. Ever since Toccoa, we had somehow just clicked. At first it had started off as a close friendship, looking out for one another amidst the tortures heaped upon us by Sobel. When some of the other companies would cat-call or yell things at me, he always stood between us, glaring at the men until they backed down. Though I never asked him to do that. More than once I know he took matters into his own hands, or at least orchestrated it so some of the other Easy paratroopers could have their turn swinging punches to defend me...even if none of them ever admitted it later. It was not until one night that I found him at the aid station, getting his knuckles looked at by Doc Roe that he subtly admitted to seeing me as more than a friend. So logically, I kissed him right then and there. If his response said anything, he did not mind too much. After that, things just fell into place for us.

 "Hey."

 I turned my face up to meet Randleman's eyes, still tucked into his side. My favorite place to be. 

 "Ya alright?"

 "Yeah, just thinking." I slipped my hand into his and squeezed three times, letting him know I was ok.  

 "Ya want me to talk to him?"

 I smiled thinking of my boyfriend confronting Arthur. "No, it's ok. I'm sure this will blow over."

 "If you say so, little lady." He pressed a chaste kiss to my temple. It was sweet how whenever he had the chance, he always took it to affectionately touch me. A sweet kiss on the forehead here, an arm tucking me into his side there, even a gentle squeeze of my hand. A silent reassurance of his affection for me. He was not a man of romantic monologues or one-liners. Instead he always reminded me through the simple gestures. I still teased him about it occasionally and he would reply that it was damn near impossible to keep his hands to himself with how beautiful I was and how much he adored me. That always won a kiss from me, even as I blushed crimson.  

 "You tell us if he tries anything." Martin stated, drawing me back from my thoughts, wary scowl on his face. 

 I nodded. 

 "I'm serious."

 "You always are." I quipped back, earning a chuckle from Randleman. 

 Martin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why I put up with you two, I don't know."

 "You love us." I teased, fluttering my eyelashes at him. He narrowed his eyes at me but I could see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Back in North Carolina he had admitted one night I reminded him of his baby sister. When I laughed and told him she was lucky to have a brother like him, that seemed to seal our friendship. Since then he had easily stepped into the role of a big brother. 

 "C'mon, let's get some food." Bull guided me around the table, arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist. Martin followed us, walking on my other side, grumbling about how food here was shit and he missed his wife’s cooking.  

 *****

 I stared across the field at the sunset. The warm colors transitioned into the cool tones of night right before my eyes. Colors so perfect they would make even the most talented artists zealous to try and capture their beauty. I absent-mindedly wondered how much longer I would be able to appreciate the sunsets. Or would war take that away from me. 

 It is only at the call of my name did I retract my gaze from the beauty in the sky. I knew who it was by his voice. And also from the fact that all of Easy knew to leave me alone while I was watching the sunsets. I loved my boys dearly but sometimes a girl just needed to get away. I saw Arthur with his hands in his pockets standing a few paces away from me, the tips of his shaggy hair almost covering his eyes.  

 "Can I join you?" 

 I shrugged, turning back to watch the painter's sky. It seemed fate had a hand in events today. A conversation needed to happen between the two of us and here he was. Dammit. Silently, he sat next to me, our shoulders almost brushing. Several moments went by like that, both of us just staring at the first of the stars to emerge. 

 Sighing, I turned to face him, not looking forward to this conversation. "Arthur, I think-"

 His chapped lips interrupted me, slammed against my lips with an almost desperation to them. His hands cupped my face, pulling it closer to his. The sharp burn on alcohol was on his breath. I vaguely wondered if he needed liquid courage before doing this. 

 I sat there stunned for a second. I had thought he was all talk. I never would have expected...this. 

 In the next second, I tried to pull back, putting my hands on his chest for leverage. This had to be a drunken mistake. I was sure he would apologize after. Instead of releasing me, his grip on me tightened marginally and his tongue forced its way into my mouth. 

 This time, I roughly shoved him away with both hands on his chest, making him rock back and almost fall over. Before he could recover, I reared back my fist and slammed it into his eye. Pain exploded from my hand but I did not care. Anger and revulsion fueled me. How dare he?! 

 I rolled back and onto my feet putting necessary space between us otherwise I would be tempted to hit him again. He knew I only saw him as a friend. He knew I had no plans to leave Randleman. Yet he still kissed me without my consent...forced himself on me! 

 Staring wide-eyed, anger and betrayal warring within me, I watched him right himself and placed a hand over the eye I had hit. 

 "You're too good for him." In anyone else it might have sounded like begging, but from him, someone I had thought was my friend, he made it sound like he was stating a fact. "You deserve better. Please, give us a chance. I could-"

 I turned on my heel and fled before he could finish. If I heard another word from him, I would not be held responsible for my actions. Right now though, I needed Randleman. I needed comfort and someone to soothe the ache in my heart. I needed the taste of someone I did not want off my lips. The feeling of his hands erased from my memory. Of his tongue awkwardly plundering my mouth and leaving a lingering hint of beer.

 The barn door slammed open as I shoved it, not even caring about how loud it was. Most of the men should still be awake. The barn they were billeted in was nice enough. There was a cot for each person and plenty of blankets. My feet moved on autopilot, eating up the ground beneath me. I knew he would be on his cot, waiting for me to return like every night to say goodnight before I headed to the house I was billeted in.  

 "Hey! What's got-"

 Whatever Luz saw on my face immediately shut him up. A heavy silence filled the barn as I stormed over to where Bull reclined, cigar in his mouth. He slowly sat up, pulling the cigar from between his lips. Before he could say anything I pressed my lips to his in a bruising, passionate kiss. Something we NEVER did in front of others. I did not care though. I needed the taste of Arthur off my lips. I needed to trade the taste of alcohol for a cigar. 

 Soon as I released him, I felt loathing towards myself. Bile stung my throat. I just forced a kiss on him. Not to show my affection but in demand to mask the taste of another. What was wrong with me? This was the man I loved. How could I have done this to him? It was selfish. Disgust flooded me, aimed at myself and now all I wanted to do was hide and cry. 

 Panicking and without a word, I turned to step away but before I could move further, a firm grip wrapped around my wrist, holding me in place. 

 "Talk to me." He softly said in that calm drawl of his. I could not help but instantly feel some of the tension loosen inside of me. 

 Tears blurred my vision, disgust at Arthur's actions and my own. I could only stare at the ground, shaking my head. My chest was tight, throat thick with suppressed sobs. 

 "Little lady, what happened?" He asked quietly, dipping his head to try and catch my eye. 

 Martin, who had been sitting on the next cot over, spoke up. "Why are your knuckles bruised?" A second later, his voice turned hard and demanding. "Who hurt you?"

 The hand holding me, tugged me back, pulling me into his lap. Comforting warmth enveloped me as Randleman wrapped his arms around me. I laid my head on his broad chest, his heartbeat a soothing sound under my ear. I forced the treacherous tears away. This was not something I would let control my emotions. Arthur was not worth it. All this did was show his true colors. A gentle kiss on the top of my head reminded me who mattered most to me. Who promised to always have my back and never doubt me. Like I promised to never doubt him and always be there for him. He was my best friend, my lover...maybe even one day my future. 

 "He kissed me." I finally muttered, my face still buried in his chest.

 "Mmm?"

 I leaned back slightly to meet my boyfriend’s concerned gaze. "Arthur….he kissed me and said….well, it doesn't matter now."

 "So ya clocked him?" He asked.

 I nodded. 

 "Good."

 "I never thought… I didn't think he would force me and…"

 "Shhh, s'alright." He rubbed my back, holding me close. "I'll take care of it."

 I did not even question his statement, caught up in my own emotions and soaking in his comforting presence. I could not tell if I was overreacting. I felt justified to be upset and angry at Arthur. At the moment, I did not want to think about it anymore. I wanted to forget Arthur and what just happened. I just wanted Randleman, his soft touches and calming aura. 

 Above my head Randleman and Martin's gazes meet with a darkness simmering underneath. Martin nodded and got up, stalking out of the barn after telling the others to leave me alone. 

 *****

 "Heard ya kissed my girl." Randleman stated, watching the black-haired Private who had made you almost cry. An unforgivable sin in his eyes. A little flirting never bothered him, he usually found it amusing to watch their faces when they realized he was your man. He could practically see the wheels turning, questioning how someone like him could have caught himself such a beautiful, smart, talented woman like you. Often he questioned it himself but thanked his lucky stars daily for blessing him with you. 

 But when someone actively hurt you. When they made you cry. There would be hell to pay...and he had no qualms about doling out justified retribution. 

 Arthur looked over his shoulder before turning back to counting boxes next to a supply truck. "Yeah? Who told you that?"

 "She did and some of the stuff you've been saying to her." The Arkansas man chuckled. "Got a nice shiner there too."

 "So? It's true.' Arthur whipped around, eyes blazing. Though, one eye was distinctly bloodshot with a fantastic array of colors around it. "You're nothing but a redneck that can't-"

 "You're gonna need to shut the fuck up before you say another word." Martin interrupted, moving to stand next to Bull in silent support. 

 "Who the hell are you? Some bodyguard? Redneck here can't fight his own battles?"

 Martin glared, crossing his arms over his chest.

 The Private sneered. "Your grim reaper look don't scare me."

 "That's where you're wrong." Martin stated, rolling his shoulders, signature glare still in place. "I'm not the grim reaper. He's on holiday. I'm his replacement….and I don't need a sickle to beat your ass."

 "I don't need to hear this shit." Arthur tried to move around the side of the truck only to come face to face with a grinning Guarnere and smug Toye. 

 "Hi ya, cowboy."

 "Who the fuck are you two?" Arthur demanded, eyes hard and fists clenched. 

 Toye shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "Concerned citizens."

 Arthur tried to move around them but Guarnere shoved him back. 

 "Shut the fuck up, cowboy, and listen to the man before I kick your teeth in."

 "You can kick your leg that high?" Toye asked, looked over to his friend casually. 

 "You know what- shut up, Joe."

 "I'd rather see Martin go grim reaper on his ass." Toye shrugged. 

 Martin grinned wickedly. "Would be my pleasure."

 Randleman spoke up, drawing Arthur's attention back to him. "Ya stay away from my woman. I hear ya talkin' to her again, I can promise ya, they won't find ya body."

 "Are you threatening me?" Arthur drew himself up to his full height, which to most guys might have been a challenge, but he was still shorter than the taller than average Randleman. 

 With the way this jack-ass was acting, Randleman almost wished he would try and take a swing. Give him a reason to knock his arrogant ass on the ground. 

 "No, son. That's a promise." Randleman exhaled, smoke drifting lazily out of his mouth from his trusty cigar. "We'll be lettin' ya get back to work now." 

 "Run along, boy." Martin leveled a hard look at Arthur that would have even the devil himself reconsidering his options.  

 Leveling his own less-than-impressive glare, Arthur looked at the four guys that surrounded him before turning on his heel and walking away. 

 "I gotta ask." Toye started as they watched the Private leave. He turned to look at his friend. "Can you really get your leg up-"

 "Shut up, Toye, before I kick your teeth in."

 "I mean maybe Perco or Luz you could but-"

 Randleman chuckled as Guarnere tried to put Toye in a headlock. He could only hope this Arthur was smart enough to heed his warning. 

 *****

 I sat in the mess hall, well, the building that had been converted into a mess hall for the Airbourne. Randleman sat on my right, hand holding mine underneath the table. Smoky on my left was arguing across the table with Skinny about something dumb. Honestly, I had already zoned their conversation out. Further down the table, Buck was telling a story from his Rose Bowl days that had those listening in absolute stitches. 

 A smile teased my lips as I glanced around the table. Sometimes it would randomly hit me how lucky I was to be in Easy Company. They were idiots, but my idiots. Except for Bull. He would always be my man. 

 I looked up to peek at the other table of Easy boys but froze when I noticed Arthur walking down the aisle, trying to find a seat. As if feeling my gaze, he looked my way. Instead of flashing me his signature smile or a quick wink and continuing on….he glared. Anger flared in me, ready to explode once again. Our paths had not crossed since the day he kissed me, which I was infinitely grateful for. I was unsure how I would handle it if he tried to approach me. Now seeing him, all I could think of was hitting him again. I could tell the black eye I had given him was not as bright, the colors dulling into yellows instead of black and blue. There was a sense of pride that he somehow had to explain his black eye to any who asked. 

 Then I realized his glare was not aimed at me but to my right, at Randleman beside me. Confused, I glanced up expecting to see Bull listening to Buck with the corner of his lips turned up slightly in amusement. Instead he was staring back at Arthur with a stoic expression and stern eyes. My gaze darted between the two, wondering what was going on. As far as I knew, they had never spoken; though the tension radiating between the two practically screamed confrontation. After a long moment, Arthur gave a curt nod and walked on by. 

 "What just happened?" I murmured, eyeing my boyfriend. 

 "Nothin'."

 "Bull…"

 He glanced down at me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and tucking me into his side. "Told ya I'd take care of it."

 I stared expectantly, waiting for the explanation.  

 "We just came to an understandin'." He finally said. 

 "Did you threaten him?"

 His reply was a brief wink. 

 I laughed, snuggling closer into his side. 

 "I told ya, little lady. I'm ya man and I don't take too kindly to others tryin' to take my position."

 "Mmm...I think you're a keeper." After a moment, I smirked. "So I probably shouldn't tell you about the Sergeant in Dog Company who tried to give me flowers yesterday."

 "Flowers, huh?" He grinned down at me, eyes alight with mischief. "Least he's got class. What ya do?"

 "I pretended to be allergic and kept sneezing whenever he tried to talk to me after."

 He laughed, planting a kiss to the top of my head. "Do I need to start gettin' ya things too?"

 "No," I reached up to kiss his jawline, making him blush. "I just want you...and maybe some chocolate."

 "I think I can manage that, little lady."

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #bull randleman #bull randleman x reader #denver bull randleman #johnny martin #george luz #floyd talbert #bill guarnere #joe toye #reader insert #based on tumblr post #mzwrites

[buckyskorpion]

11 Hours - part one

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: um yes so hello another au and another wip..... dont hate the player hate the game. i hope you enjoy this though! this is my take on a biker!bucky au because we definitely dont have enough of those. let me know your thoughts on this, critiques, predictions, anything! my ask is open. also i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask. 

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

You lie on your stomach, sheets pooled by your ankles, and watch Bucky watch you. One hand propping him up on his side, the other tracing slow, hair-raising circles on your bare back. He’s not really seeing you though, eyes glazed over so they look shiny and huge, big enough to get lost in. You roll away from him, off the edge of the bed and onto your feet.

“Going?” he asks, voice rough. You can’t remember the last time one of you spoke - the time between breathless moans and now seems stretched, like a liminal space you’ve both been sitting in for far too long.  It’s time to get back to the real world. You shrug one shoulder, rooting around his bedroom floor for your clothes to redress.

“It’s late,” you say. He huffs an agreement. The two of you didn’t get back to his apartment until after midnight, so who knows the time now.

“Let me call you a cab,” Bucky says, rolling onto his back to pat around the bedside table for his phone. You toss him a look over your shoulder, chosing to ignore him as you pull your skinny jeans up over your ass. Bucky pauses to watch, tongue flicking over his lips and not bothering to hide his grin when you catch him. You throw your jacket at his head which he catches with ease, laughing himself back into the pillows. Ugh, he’s such a menace.

You walk back over to the bed once you get your last shoe on, closing the distance you’d created that was so obvious in the contrast between his bare skin and you, fully dressed. You lean over him, letting him tug you close with a hand on your hip while you pull him up with a grip on his dog-tags. You kiss him, a hard press of lips and a quick swipe of your tongue that he tries to follow but you pull away. He lets you go, rolling his eyes at the tease.

“See ya later, tough guy,” you say, backing up to the door. He tosses your leather jacket back to you, and you catch it with one hand as you head down the hallway. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to a goodbye from him, so you let the front door click shut without another word.

You shrug into your jacket as you race down the stairs of Bucky’s apartment building, heading for the laundry room. It’s not like you know Bucky - all you do is fuck on any day you both happen to be free, starting at a grungy bar in downtown weeks ago and ending here, in some strange friends with benefits situation (minus the ‘friends’ part). He’s hot, and you’re not looking for a relationship, so it’s perfect. Only, something about the scars on Bucky’s knuckles and the motorbike he drives you home on after the bar makes the hair on the back of your neck raise. Something about Bucky is bad news, and you’re not about to get caught up in it just for some (mindblowingly good) sex.

So, you head to the laundry room and climb out the window rather than using the lobby doors. Nobody sees you, and it’s easy to get to if you stand on the dryer in the far right corner. You don’t know why you think someone might be watching Bucky’s apartment, or following you from your late night visits, but your dad always said you were paranoid and it’s never hurt you this far in your life. You swing a leg through the window and drop down into the patchy grass below.

From here you scale the fence into the gym parking lot next door and enter the street that way, nobody the wiser. You stuff your hands in your pockets as you walk down the street, itching for a cigarette or some gum or a pair of earphones, something to keep you company as walk home in the middle of night in New York. There are still people out and about, because of course there are, it’s New York. You make it home without a hitch and immediately head to the shower to wash off the night.

Naked again, before you get under the jet you check your phone. Bucky has texted you - probably a joke or something, his pretence for checking you get home safely. Tough guy my ass, you think as you open the picture he’d sent. He’s holding up the black lace panties you’d been wearing, the one’s he’d pulled off with his teeth and tossed aside without a second thought. Under it, he’s sent another message. Think you forgot something.

Did I really forget them? You try to bite back a grin, because it’s sad to be standing in your bathroom smiling at your phone, but you’re unsuccessful. You watch the three dots under Bucky’s name start and stop, then start again, making your heartbeat pick up. You’d made the oh-so-confident Bucky ‘dont know his last name and don’t need to’ falter. It still gives you a thrill.

Don’t think you’ll be getting them back.

Consider it a present, perv.

You like it

No comment.

You jump in the shower, leaving your phone on the vanity. You can’t leave the shower until you rub one out, the rounds of sex you’d had a mere hour ago long forgotten at the thought of Bucky doing the same thing as you to the panties you’d left behind. Maybe you don’t want to get caught up in whatever shit Bucky is in to set off your paranoia radar, but you certainly want to get caught up in him. If you aren’t already; irreversibly tangled.

***

You never find Bucky, he finds you. Or rather, he gives you a call and you know within a few hours you’ll be at whatever bar or diner he asks you to meet him at, building up the tension until you both can’t take it anymore and go back to his apartment. It doesn’t matter what you say to him, or how many times you say no - you both know you’ll be there.

This time he catches you leaving your dad’s place, pushing through the gate as you put the phone up to your ear. You turn to wave goodbye to your dad in the window he always stands at to see you off towards the subway, and say, “So soon?”

“Hello to you too,” Bucky grumbles, but you know there’s no heat in it. You’re grinning as you dodge pedestrians, tugging your puffer jacket tighter around you with your free hand - the New York winter chill has started to set in and it’s biting through even the hoodie you’re wearing under the jacket.

“Hello, Bucky,” you say, hoping he can pick up on the thick condescension you’re handing him, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I can hang up,” Bucky warns, and you smirk. You’re winning this round, at least.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby.” You jog down the subway stairs, hoping your line doesn’t cut out as you move underground. It doesn’t, Bucky’s reluctant laugh filtering clear as day through your phone.

“Baby, huh? Moving onto pet names are we, doll?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Ugh, not if they’re from the nineteen forties, no thank you.”

“I’m sure you hate it,” Bucky says, sarcasm heavy. You can hear his eyeroll from here. “What are you doing?”

“Getting on a train,” you say, as you do indeed slip through the almost-closed doors and try to avoid any and all surfaces around you. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” Bucky says, grin audible. It’s your turn to huff now - Bucky never tells you anything about his life, what he’s doing, who he’s with. It’s another thing that makes you think he’s hiding something, but instead of finding it infuriating and a dealbreaker like you should, instead you’re fascinated. Your mission is to figure Bucky out, piece by piece.

There’s a muffled voice on the other line, someone talking to Bucky and you imagine him covering the receiver with one big palm. A hand that you want on you, running down your skin and pressing down over your throat and dipping between-

“You there?” Bucky asks, jolting you out of your daydream. You’re blushing, suddenly too-hot in the layers that were previously not doing enough to ward off the chill.

You clear your throat and say, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, what?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky says, clearly amused. “I said, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Something a bit different.”

“Oh?” It had been weeks of going to dive bars and underground diners, meeting Bucky in dark corners to drink rum and cokes and eventually fuck each other senseless until you’re sure Bucky must get noise complaints. Never had he once indicated he might want to change the routine you’d set up. Never had he asked you for a favour. To say you were intrigued was an understatement.

“Come to a party with me tonight?” he asks. You have to replay his voice in your head to make sure you heard right, stunned into silence. He takes your pause for a ‘no’, hurriedly filling it with, “I get if it’s a no, but my friend Nat is a drill sergeant and she’ll give me the third degree if I don’t bring-“

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you say, interrupting his nervous ramble. You’d never heard Bucky sound anything but aggressively confident before. It’s throwing you for more of a loop than his invitation. A large part of your brain tells you to say no. You don’t trust Bucky, really - you barely know him. But thats why you want to say yes. Going to this party might change that. “I’ll go. What time?”

“Eight tonight,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh. You organise to meet at his apartment, not quite ready to give him your address yet, and hang up. Your mind is reeling, sure everyone on the train must feel the impact of that phone call, too.

They’re all going about their business as if something monumental hasn’t just happened. Bucky has invited you into his life, to meet his friends, as his date. What happened to not-friends with benefits? What if this changes the arrangement you’ve carefully cultivated, so perfect for your independent lifestyle and Bucky’s obvious commitment issues?

The temptation is too much. You practically run home when you get off at your stop, anxious to get ready. You’re about to get a few more pieces of the Bucky puzzle and you have to look good for it.

***

Bucky stops you in the front hall of the house, a hand on your arm as he stares down at you. He looks comically large in the tiny Brooklyn town house, even if it is ten times nicer and more beautiful than your place will ever be. The party filters in from further inside the house, loud music and laughter and the obvious clink of beer bottles sounding muffled through the bubble of you and Bucky.

“My friends are… a lot,” he says, drawing his lip between his teeth. You tilt your head at him, amused by what you can only assume is nerves radiating off Bucky. He rolls his eyes at you, kisses you on the forehead quickly, and adds, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I can handle myself, tough guy,” you say as he tugs you by the hand through to the living room where the party is in full swing.

“I hope you’re not calling that punk ‘tough’, lady,” a man calls out from the couch, pointing the neck of his beer at Bucky. His tone sounds aggressive but the wide, gap-toothed smile he gives says otherwise. He gets up and pulls Bucky into one of those manly half-hugs. Bucky doesn’t drop your hand as he pats the guy on the back, and you try in vain not to read too much into that.

“Sam, this is (Y/n),” Bucky says, and to your surprise Sam pulls you into a hug as well. You make wide eyes at Bucky over Sam’s shoulder but he just smirks, clearly amused. He’s still holding your hand.

“Nice to meet you!” Sam exclaims, a bit too loud in your ear but you don’t mind. His happiness is infectious. “Come meet Natasha, she’s going to love you.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, letting yourself be led by Sam with an arm over your shoulders to the couch he’d just vacated. Bucky drops his grip but follows too-close behind you, his body heat almost like a physical touch on your back, reminding you he’s there. You wonder if he’s nervous about what you’re going to say to his friends, or what his friends are going to say to you.

“Because,” Sam says cryptically. You roll your eyes - he’s sounds just like Bucky.

Sam stops in front of the redhead woman he was sitting next to when you entered, dropping the arm from your shoulders. She immediately stops her conversation and stands up, giving you a once over with a smirk tucked tight in the corner of your mouth. You try not to feel intimidated but it’s hard - she’s beautiful, and scary, and did you mention beautiful? She shoots an amused look to Bucky over your shoulder, and in response Bucky rests his fingertips on the small of your back. Barely there, but just enough.

“You’ve brought someone, James,” she says, turning her attention back to you and holding a hand out. “Natasha, lovely to meet you.”

“(Y/n),” you say, taking her hand. It’s soft -  you half expected her to break your hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, you’re adorable,” she says, and you don’t bother hiding your frown. You don’t like feeling condescended and Natasha seems to be exuding that in palpable waves. Bucky must feel you stiffen because he steps closer, if possible, and slides the hand on your back around to grip your hip.

“Nat,” he says, with warning, and you glance up at Bucky to find him having some kind of silent stare off with Natasha over your head. Eventually he looks back down to you, smiling a bit and squeezing your hip, don’t worry about her. To you, he says, “Let’s go say hi to Steve.”

“See you later, (Y/n),” Nat says, wiggling her fingers in a wave as you follow Bucky to the kitchen. You ignore her, stepping closer to Bucky on instinct as you weave through people packed wall to wall. That was weird, but what did you expect? Bucky did warn you.

Steve turns out to be a giant blonde teddy bear who sweeps Bucky into a hug that lifts him onto his toes. It’s endlessly funny to see huge, muscled, intimidating Bucky being manhandled by a touchy, clearly tipsy behemoth. Bucky doesn’t let it stand for too long, though, bringing Steve into a headlock and sending them both tumbling into the kitchen bench.

“Jerk,” Steve gasps when Bucky lets him go, eyes narrowing. Bucky grins, breathless, and punches him on the shoulder.

“Punk,” he says fondly. You’re mesmerised. You’d wanted to see more of Bucky’s life but you never expected this. It’s like watching him with his family, and it makes something soft and fuzzy swell in your heart which is bad. Very, very bad. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

Steve finally notices you’re there and you do the normal introductions, watching your hand disappear in his huge one as he shakes it. They’ve all been very welcoming, in their own ways, you notice (bar Natasha, but something tells you she’s always like that). They don’t seem to question your sudden appearance at their party or with their friend, holding Bucky’s hand and being tucked into his side as he passes you a beer and gets to talking about things you have no hope of following. You’re happy just to watch Bucky, smiling and laughing with pointed teeth and crinkles by his eyes. You still don’t really understand why you’re here, but you’re not going to question it. This feels like a stolen moment, something you’re not meant to see and might not see again so you try and commit as much to memory as you can.

The night goes on, talking with Sam and Steve and Natasha who appear to be Bucky’s closest friends and the only ones he bothers making time for. Bucky doesn’t stop touching you the entire time. At first you think it’s nerves, but the more you observe the party around you when the conversation turns to something you can’t contribute to, the more you think it’s for everyone else rather than Bucky’s nerves. You catch a lot of people eyeing his hand on your hip or his arm around your shoulders, or just looking at Bucky in general. Hardly anyone interrupts your little party of five but not for ignoring you - it’s almost like they revolve around you, in tune to the groups’ every movement, but they wouldn’t dare approach. It’s weird. You try not to look too hard into it but your dad is right. You’re paranoid.

Eventually it’s just you and Bucky sitting on a bench outside, a canopy of fairy lights casting shadows from his unfairly long eyelashes as he looks down at your entwined hands in his lap. You tug against his grip, causing him to look up at you and you almost lose your train of thought. Bucky’s eyes are searing blue, the hottest part of the flame.

“You’re being very possessive tonight,” you say, squeezing his hand for emphasis. He doesn’t look away from your eyes, cocking his head to the side and you have the distinct feeling you’re being tested.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer straight away. Truth be told, you have no idea what’s going on. You went from fucking Bucky on a semi-regular basis, keeping it at strangers who bone and nothing else, to being glued to his side at a party with his closest friends in what feels like no time at all. Whiplash, is what you feel. You don’t think you hate it, though.

“I never said that,” you tell Bucky, and watch as his face morphs from calculating to that shit-eating, confident smirk you’ve come to know. You’re relieved to see it, the sparkle of his eyes as he leans closer to you in the dark of the garden. This, at least, you know.

“You’ve done well tonight,” he says, and you hate how you glow at the compliment when you should be rolling your eyes. “I know I’ve asked a lot.”

“It’s alright Bucky,” you say, smiling at his seriousness. You’d think he’s asked you to commit a crime or something. “Although, I don’t know why you needed me here. I’m glad you did, but…”

“But you thought I only wanted you, to fuck you?” he finishes, kicking his eyebrows up in amusement. You hate the way you blush, ducking your head from him to try and hide it.

“I feel like that was a very logical conclusion,” you say defensively. What else had he given you? You didn’t even know his last name.

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back up to look at him. He’s smiling soft, not condescending at all, and he moves his hand to cup your cheek in his palm and hold you there, looking at him.

“Maybe this was a test,” he says, licking his lips. Biding time. “To see if I can trust you.”

“Do you?” you ask, eyebrows kicking up.

“Jury’s still out,” he says with a grin, light-hearted, playing it off as a joke but you know from the look in his eyes that he’s being somewhat serious. He looks out at the garden then, still holding you close, and says almost thoughtfully, “My friends like you, though. Even Natasha.”

You scoff at that, and he turns back to you with that crinkly, squishy smile he gave to Steve before. It catches you off guard, enough to not see the kiss before it comes but you catch up as fast as you can. You want to slide into his lap and run your fingers under his shirt, but that’s probably a bit inappropriate in front of a bunch of people you just met. You settle for a frustrated groan against his mouth, biting his lip and tugging so he’s forced to chase you against the back of the bench, crowding your space. He drops your hand to slide his up your thigh, fingertips dangerously close to your crotch, kissing you hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth is scalding, stubble against your skin a delicious burn, and you would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for the very pointed cough from behind Bucky’s shoulder.

It’s Natasha, standing with her arms folded and a smile hidden somewhere in the green of her eyes. You try to mentally will away the flush in your cheeks as Bucky pulls back, hand still on your thigh but turning to glare at Natasha. You find yourself somewhat hiding behind the bulk of his shoulder despite yourself, letting him take the reins.

“Steve is puking,” she reports, raising one eyebrow. “Sam requests your assistance.”

“Fucking ‘course he does,” Bucky grumbles roughly, getting to his feet. Right before he storms away he pauses, leans back down to kiss you again, and then he’s back on a warpath through the house. Other guests part for him like the red sea, and you watch with furrowed eyebrows as they also seem to watch him go. He never goes anywhere without an audience. Perhaps you were right to be paranoid about him.

Natasha is still standing there when you blink yourself back to the garden, watching you with an unreadable expression. You straighten your holey, vintage t-shirt under your leather jacket and stand, not enjoying the power difference with her standing above you. You wish Bucky had taken you with him, even though you didn’t particularly want to watch Steve throw up everywhere. It would be preferable to being stuck under Natasha’s x-ray vision, though.

“I like your boots,” she says. It takes you aback - such a typical girl thing to say at a party to someone you don’t know, and Natasha doesn’t give you ‘typical’. You glance down at your Docs, and then back up at her pretty sundress with a sexy v-cut.  Sure you do, you think sarcastically, as you both stand there like night and day.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, “And again, for inviting me. The party’s been great.”

“Has it?” she asks, and why do you feel like she’s asking three questions at once? As if sensing your apprehension, she smiles and adds, “Just, I know we’re a bit full on and being the new girl at a party is always difficult.”

You blink, surprised once again. The sincerity throws you for a loop, as everything seems to with Natasha. You say, “I mean, yeah, but you guys are great. You all seem really close, it’s- nice. Like  a family.”

Something flashes in Natasha’s eyes, that amused little smirk returning to her face that fills your gut with dread. Was it something you said?

“Come on,” she says, and just as you think you can’t be surprised by this woman anymore, she winds her arm with yours and starts leading you back into the house. Throwing you a conspiratorial look you’re not sure you’ve earned, she says, “Let’s go find the boys. I’m sure Steve’s finished throwing up by now.”

Part Two

~~~~~ please let me know what you think!

#bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader #reader insert fic #biker!bucky #biker au #avengers fic #pov fic #au fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes #natasha x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #11 hours

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter 2

Next chapter for my Duke Thomas Big Bang fic is up!

(Once again, a hearty thank you to my betas @queerbutstillhereand @theycallme-ook)

Read On Ao3

It was four am on a Friday morning, a week after Duke had decided he’d had enough of Bruce’s - and the other’s - incorrect opinion of him.

It was so early in the morning, that the main group of bats had been trickling back from patrol over the past hour or so. Stephanie and Cassandra had arrived first, followed by Jason ten minutes later. Then Tim had gotten back from his route with Harper, and Kate and Bette had stopped by for a bit (but eventually left for their own homes). Dick came home next, and Bruce had returned last with Damian.

Everyone was in varying states of winding down, with Stephanie at one end of the spectrum wearing silk pajamas, a fluffy robe which Duke was sixty-seven percent sure was Bruce’s, and bright pink bunny slippers Duke was positive were Dick’s. On the other side, Bruce hadn’t even pulled off his cowl, and was sitting down in front of the Batcomputer to work on a case.

Though Duke thought that Tim deserved his own category, dressed in a strange combination of disco track suit and kevlar body armor, and was hunched over three cans of energy drinks and a quart jug filled with espresso shots.

Duke leaned down to double check that his boots were laced up - one time he hadn’t, and had then proceeded to trip and fall into a garbage pile. Not. Fun.

He looked up, however, when Bruce clicked open a case file. So did everyone else, as if drawn by some invisible force.

They all clearly saw as Bruce hovered his mouse over a link which had been typed in sometime while the big bat had been away. The only hint to what it could be was the note reading “New Evidence.”

Bruce grunted in what for anyone else would be an exclamation of curiosity and went to click the link.

Which clearly went to YouTube.

In unison, all the bats’ eyes widened in realization. You see, in a family such as this one, pranks abounded. So they all had painstakingly memorized that series of letters and numbers.

They all knew what it meant.

Suddenly, the Batcave lit up with the dancing form of one Rick Astley. It was everywhere. On the several large monitors that made up the Batcomputer. The various screens spread across the caves. Everyone’s phones somehow were affected. As well as the X-Ray machine in the med bay, which was showing a skeleton dancing.

Bruce jumped up, rage full on his face. “Who did this? Make it stop!”

No one answered, all too frozen in shock at what had happened.

“Who…” Dick whispered from beside Jason, “Who would be that brave?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered back, “Rick Rolls were banned at the 2015 family reunion after you played it two hundred and thirteen times in a row.”

Dick grinned, “those were good times.”

The two eldest boys began to bicker, Jason complaining that Rick Rolls were a part of the war crimes banned by the Geneva Convention, and Dick saying he “liked it: so there.”

Meanwhile, the song was reaching the chorus, and the other bats finally began to react. The three girls were dancing on top of exercise equipment, popping bottles of sparkling cider - or was that champagne? For their own sakes, they should hope it’s the former - they had pulled out of what seemed to be thin air.

Damian was in the corner, trying to get Titus to dance to the music - though he glanced around every so often to make sure that no one was noticing his moment of fun.

Tim was still nursing his collection of drinks like an alcoholic nursed a bottle.

Bruce was practically foaming at the mouth by that point.

“This is NOT FUNNY!”

That, of course, made everyone just start laughing harder. In the corner, Steph started to do the macarena completely off-tempo from the music. Cass seemed to be chugging the cider that Harper was pouring into her mouth.

Just then the holographic training simulations lit up, and Rick Astly began making his way across the cave, dancing all the way.

Bruce glared up at the semi transparent form of the singer, as if trying to force him into submission.

“T-pose to assert dominance!” Jason called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Yeah, that’ll totally work, B! Trust us!” Dick called as well.

Bruce took a moment to turn his head and glare at the two former Robins, who only smiled like the angels they clearly thought they were.

The image was not aided by the two giant stuffed swordfish just pulled from Jason’s utility belt.

“En guarde!” He cried, and tossed the one in his left hand at Damian, who had been trying to reassure his dog that the giant man wasn’t real.

The thirteen year old screeched, but caught the four foot long fish by its fin.

“This is animal abuse!” He cried.

“It’s not abuse if it’s dead!” Jason countered, and attacked the youngest bat with a passion.

As the duel progressed, Cassandra tried to raise her hand and gurgle out a bet on who would win, but began to choke on the liquid.

Harper cursed as she tossed away the sixth bottle of cider and tried to give Cass the heimlich maneuver.

Dick, meanwhile, pressed a button on one of the many consoles spread around the cave, and several stripper poles came out of hidden storage via hydraulics. He grabbed the nearest one, and began to dance.

“I THOUGHT I DISABLED THOSE?!” Bruce bellowed, as Dick began a twirl.

Stephanie, however, didn’t seem nearly as dismayed at the sight of the poles. She herself smacked a button next to her, and several disco balls dropped down from among the stalactites to join the fun. She then began to morph her macarena into an epic macarena. A few flips here, and a few pantomiming choking your enemies there. And a whole lot of randomly throwing glitter bombs at, well, everywhere.

But especially at the nearest authority figure.

Damian tripped over a bucket during his fight - apparently left over from Alfred’s earlier cleaning spree - and the soapy liquid spilled across the floor.

But, of course, them being the bats, Alfred didn’t use normal soap.

Huge bubbles began to farm from the liquid, the longest almost three feet in diameter, and rise up to the cave’s ceiling. The suds spread around, eagerly began to mingle with Stephanie’s glitter.

A solitary bubble, relatively small, floated over to Bruce’s head, and popped on one of his cowl’s ears. He was not amused.

*****

Five minutes later, everyone was lined up next to the Batcomputer with heads bowed in either shame or disappointment.

Bruce walked up and down the row, the perfect imitation of a drill sergeant. His glare matched as well.

“This is an outrageous breach of protocol,” he was saying, “the Batcomputer is not a toy, nor something to use for your own amusement. It is a serious tool-”

“Then why’s it called the Batcomputer?”

Bruce froze and whirled on Dick, who had chosen that inopportune moment to speak up.

“Because you were nine years old and saying no to you would have gotten me a meltdown.”

“It seems to me, Bossman,” Stephanie began, tenting her fingers in an attempt to act serious (the effect was strange combined with her bathrobe and slippers) “That you are perfectly happy to let Dick get away with things. But in this situation, with women present, you are strangely cold. This shows blatant sexism on your part and in this essay I will-”

“That’s enough, Stephanie.” Bruce cut off as a round of snorts and giggle erupted from the group of bats.

“You do realise that no one here is going to speak, right?” Jason asked, “You did teach us to resist torture. And - pardon my french, Alfred - but you are no fucking way close to the level of torture I’ve gone through. Namely waking up to Batcow sitting on top of me.”

“Are you commenting on her weight?” Damian demanded, glaring daggers at Jason.

“I said no such thing.”

“ Boys .” Bruce demanded, rubbing his temples. “Jason is right - not about Batcow’s weight - but I’m not going to get any of you to talk willingly.” He paused and made eye contact with every single bat present, trying to reach into their souls.

“Therefore,” he continued slowly, “I’m giving you one last chance. Otherwise: No one gets cookies from Alfred for two months. ”

The shock was immediate. Alfred’s cookies, of all kinds, were worth more than gold in the Manor. The ability to not have them? And for two months? Bruce truly was a cruel hearted tyrant if he was willing to go to such lengths.

Duke gulped.

“Fine, then.” Bruce said simply when no one answered. “I guess we’ll just have to check the security footage of the Cave.”

Why didn’t Bruce think of that earlier? He clearly wasn’t trying to give the kids an easy way out.

Bruce stalked over to the computer and began to furiously type at the keys, pulling up the footage for the past few days. The group watched in a tense silence as Bruce rifled through the multiple recordings, searching for the culprit.

“AHA!” Bruce grunted, upon finding a specific time stamp. There was a figure emerging from the shadows. He paused and then slowed down the video so they could all see who it was.

There were several gasps as the figure came into the light, looked around, and made his way to the computer. They had shown their face, not even bothering to hide.

Everyone whirled to Duke, then back to the screen.

“No way,” Harper whispered under her breath.

Because the person on the footage, who was now adding the link to the case file and hooking up bluetooth speakers, was Duke Thomas himself.

Bruce’s eye twitched.

There was a general consensus among the resident vigilantes in the cave at that time: Duke wasn’t going to live to tell the tale.

Duke felt uneasy under their scrutiny, unsure of what to do. This was his plan, after all. To be seen differently. But so far the lack of accusations or uproarious debate was disconcerting.

He looked up at Bruce, awaiting his reaction. Bruce didn’t meet Duke’s eyes.

“Hrn,” he grumbled angrily instead and whirled on Tim. Said teenager was barely standing up straight - well, he was leaning on Steph heavily - and blinked wearily around the cave. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed for a long moment before he whipped around and furiously began to mess with the playback settings on the footage. Everyone stood still, not daring to move while Bruce grumbled under his breath.

Finally Bruce straightened and pointed dramatically toward the screen.

“There,” he grunted out, and everyone subconsciously leaned a little bit forward.

They didn’t see anything different from before, though Bruce’s finger did bring their attention to one of the bats that flew across the upper left hand corner. A few seconds of footage later, and yet another bat flew across in a similar pattern. Not exactly the same, so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. Lord knows the bats would randomly fly out and into their hair much more than necessary.

“Note how the figure is disturbed when each bat flies across the screen,” Bruce said in the same voice he used when talking about a case - cold, impersonal, and yet like he was giving a college lecture.

No one spoke, not really sure what to say. I mean, what was the correct course of action when your father figure suddenly refuses to accept reality, and is grasping at the most unlikely of straws?

“I know this technique anywhere,” Bruce said more to himself than the line of vigilantes. He turned, completely passing over Duke, and set his sights on Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bruce growled, stalking forward, “What possessed you to doctor this footage?”

Tim didn’t respond, only mumbled incoherently and leaned onto Steph some more.

Bruce was furious, bearing his teeth as he spat out his response: “Now is not the time to use the anti-torture training I’ve given you.”

Tim nodded slowly and draped his arm on top of Stephanie’s head.

“You should know better than this,” Bruce began, “pranks are strictly forbidden in the cave, as you very well know. And in addition, I taught you better at framing than this. You choose a victim that could actually be considered as a suspect. Trying to pin the blame on Duke was your undoing - he would never do something like this.”

Duke cringed slightly, as the rest of the bats glanced Duke’s way. All were a mix of confusion and awe.

This … was not how this was supposed to go. No, screw that. That was an outrageous understatement. Things ‘not going according to plan’ would have been Jason randomly blaming Harper for the mess on no grounds - or maybe Bruce not bothering to check the cameras, opting instead to just ground everyone.

But blatantly ignoring evidence and then lecturing someone completely unrelated? No, this was too much. It couldn’t be real. This was some kind of scare-tactic wasn’t it? Duke was too much of an adrenaline junkie to be bothered by the usual ‘hanging upside down over a busy road’ schtick.

But then Bruce moves on to possible culprits Tim could have chosen instead - did he seriously think that Ra’s Al Ghul would Rick Roll them?! - and Duke lost hope.

“Uhh, Bruce?” Duke asked after the ten minute mark.

The Dark Knight turned and faced Duke.

Duke scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think I could head out for patrol now? It’s getting light out, and since you’ve clearly got this covered… I thought I could scoot out?”

Bruce was nodding before the end of Duke’s request. “Yes, go. I’ll deal with Tim. You don’t need to worry - you won’t be blamed. It clearly wasn’t your fault.”

Duke nodded slowly, and covered his disappointment with a small smirk. “Thanks, B.”

He jogged over to the edge of the platform and dropped down beside his Signal-Cycle. A routine mounting, a quick putting on of his helmet, and he was off.

Duke was scowling as he left, wondering what on earth had gone wrong.

*****

“Did you see that smirk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did he blame Tim on purpose?”

“How, though? To make such a tactical move -”

“It would have taken a shit ton of planning.”

“Can we get back on the fact that Bruce was fooled?”

“Or who fooled him?!”

#duke thomas #duke thomas big bang #batfam #fanfiction #my fanfiction #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #harper row #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batfamily

[griff-us]

Title: Being So Normal Part: One Pairing: Black!Reader/Bucky Barnes Summary: Neither of them are very good at being normal. Good thing the spectrum of normalcy these days is anything but the definition of the word. In other words: two broken people mend together. Warnings: typical canon level violence, mentions of past abuse both physical and emotional, alcohol abuse and mentions of, drug abuse and mentions of.

Chapter Theme: Being So Normal, Peach Pit

Notes: Just a little self-indulgent series that's been sitting in the back of my brain that I have finally decided to work on after kinda scraping the previous one.

Sort of a Neighbors's AU mixed with a Coffee Shop Au. Lots of character introspection for the reader, and Bucky, and some fun and drama along the way. This will no doubt be a slow slow burn.

Hope yall enjoy and feel free to leave any comments or hit me with questions! Oh, mood board slapped together by me! Also, no Beta. Tbh I'm lazy and impatient so excuse any mistakes.

Saturday: 11:30pm

Sam was the one who convinced him to come---or maybe forced would be the better word. Life has been returning to somewhat normal for the two of them; Sam shouldering his mantle as Captain America, and James slowly easing into his role as Sergeant Barnes rather than The Winter Soldier. But, it’s not all easy, at least not for James. Normalcy is not his strong suit, not when the urgency of survival had been drilled into his skull for the past hundred years or so. Sure, he was comfortable, but not necessarily happy. James is lost, and no one can tell that more than Sam.

And that is how he’s found himself in this crowded club with flashing lights and a bass beat that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that the environment is too much---it’s just that he feels so...odd out. After all, Jame’s idea of a night out used to be something more akin to a jazz bar and dancing. Not whatever gyrations and wiggling around the kids called dancing was these days.

God, he really is old.

“You gotta loosen up man, you’re killing my vibe.” Sam, as if on cue, shoulders into him. James scowls, making sure to keep a tight grip on his beer---if you could even call it that. The brewery it was from managed to pack so many damn spices and fruit in it that it tasted more like a cocktail than any beer he’s come to like.

“You’ve got a weird vibe then, Sam.” the other man laughs, elbows resting against the bar top behind them while he scopes out the scene. It’s a typical New York club; fashion being the forefront of it all, the entire reason anyone is out right now is to be seen and admired. Among other things.

“That cutie over there keeps tossing you looks, you should go say hi.” James follows Sam’s gaze across the bar. A gaggle of young women crowds around a booth, all of them eyeing them and whispering to one another. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer.

“I think you mean they’re looking at you, Sam.” The super soldier turns back toward the bar to push his empty glass to the bartender who only nods his way and produces a refill without another word.

“Eyes up, Sergeant, they’re coming over.”

James doesn’t pay any mind to the coming onslaught; it’s always the same really. Sam is descended on by a group of gals excited to meet the new Captain America and even more enthralled when they realize he’s pretty damn charming. Not that he’s jealous in any way. Annoyed? Sure. See, he just isn’t one for new people---especially the kind that Sam tends to attract sometimes. The airheads, the young ones just waiting to hook up and never talk again. He just can’t vibe with it, can’t grasp it. Maybe he is too old for this modern age of love and romance.

James just turns his attention to the muted TV over the bar, his back facing the chatty group of women behind him while they flock to Sam like vultures starving for a meal. The news flashes between stories from all over; follow-ups on the last of the Flag Smashers, some weird disturbances in a tiny town somewhere far off, and a local story on a stray cat that is just “too cute to not have a home.” He snorts, lips smacking from the twang of his beer.

“Sorry about them.” The tiny voice from his left nearly makes him jump, and James can only blame the blaring music for his lack of attention.

“Huh?” He peers down to see an average height woman; with big brown eyes and skin a deep tan and sunkissed. By all accounts, she is stunning---and looks nearly as out of place in this massive club as he does.

“My friends---” her head jerks towards the group of women still fawning over Sam, who no doubt is loving all of the attention. “I tried to explain to them that you guys are just normal people too," she thinks they're normal? "but the alcohol made them all braver than they normally are.” The woman rolls her eyes but by the soft smile she wears he can tell she means no malice.

“And what about you?” James leans his full weight on the bar top now all the while inching closer to the woman. He can read the confusion on her face. “Are you feeling braver than normal?” she flushes at his clarification, and an easy shrug rolls from the shoulder.

“I’m just the mom friend trying to make sure my friends don’t end up dead, in jail, or worse.” James can’t help but laugh at that.

“A mom friend, huh?” gloved fingers pluck the pint glass from the bar and neither of them breaks eye contact while he swallows nearly half the glass.

“Yeah, kind of how I’ve always been; just an eighty-year-old woman at heart I guess.” James gives her a crooked grin: he could understand that.

“You’re too young to talk like that.” he elbows her gently, suddenly so comfortable with her presence that he can feel himself loosening up a bit.

“Then what’s your excuse?”

Brows cock high, that twisted little grin never once wavering from his face. He likes her---the idle and quiet wit, the way she matches his quips with equal stride.

“What’s your---” but before he can finish the group of girls are flagging her down, yanking her arm in one direction while they all gossip about how someone managed to snag Captain America’s number. James watches while she shoots him an apologetic smile while she is all but dragged back to their booth across the dance floor. Before he knows it, her face is lost in a sea of people.

“You would pick up the prettiest one.” Sam’s voice yanks James from his thoughts, and he looks up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little flirt session. You get her number?”

“I’m going home.” James slaps a crisp bill on the bar top and Sam laughs, all loud and boisterous.

“You didn’t even get her name, did you, man?”

“Good night, Sam!” with hands shoved deep in his pockets, James turns heels and heads home.

Sunday: 8:am

The mornings were his favorite time to jog. Consider it a coping mechanism---not that he necessarily needed to go for mile-long runs or work out, what with the serum, but it was the only time his mind was truly quiet. So, James kept to a strict schedule of an hour or so run every morning followed up by a tall dark roast. Only today, he is late by nearly an hour to get to his usual coffee spot; which wouldn’t be terrible but James lives for routines. Without one, his entire day is skewed.

It’s eight in the morning when he strolls into the coffee shop, a tiny little place sat precariously on the corner of two streets only a couple blocks from his apartment. Clad in joggers and a simple black t-shirt, he strides up to the counter; eyes glued to the menu board for any new sweets that may catch his eye.

“Well hi again.” brows grow taught at their center---he knows that voice. James looks down to see the same woman from the night before. Black hair is piled high on her head and rather than the slim little dress from the night before she sports simple leggings and a graphic shirt of which the reference he is utterly lost on.

“Oh. Hi...uh....” blue eyes look for a name tag, and he finds none. Damn it.

“Y/N” she smiles wide at him, much like she had in the club only this time, with better lighting, he can make out the dimples that crease each of her cheeks.

“Y/N.” he repeats her name back slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, or see you again. I guess.” he points to himself, “I’m Bucky.” said so lamely, so simply, he really can’t blame her for laughing at him.

“I know. What can I get for you, James?”

James.

That throws him; tosses him so off-kilter the man can hardly remember his order. Sure a couple people call him James, well really only his mother and his therapist when he’s in deep shit but…. To hear a name nearly forgotten to himself, and from her? Well, it turns his brain to static.

“Just a large black coffee and one of those brownies please.” She nods and starts to prep his order, all the while he stands there like an idiot with a ten-dollar bill in his hand and his heart in his throat. Finally, he finds a safe landing back on earth.

“How was the rest of your night with your friends?” Y/N groans while she pours him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Catty. I finally got the last one home around three in the morning. Got home just in time for a nap before I came in here.”

“That sounds---awful.” James trades her the coffee for the ten, and watches while she works the register.

“Wasn’t so bad. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Y/N offers the change back to James but only nods his head toward the tip jar.

“Sounds like you earned it. Did you just start working here?" he's never seen her working here before, and per his routine, James is here around this time at least five times a week.

"Covering for a friend, I usually work the closing shift if I'm not teaching." Teaching? James would assume she'd be on the younger side to teach.

"I'll have to come more often around that time then." he watches while round cheeks twitch, and flush.

“Deal. I’ll uh...see you around, James?”

“Y-yeah. See you around, Y/N”

#james bucky barnes #james barnes #reader insert #bucky/reader #bucky/you #james bucky barnes/reader #james bucky barnes/you #mcu fic #mcu reader insert #reblogs more than welcome #actually encouraged #thank

[backdraft-bimbo]

rule number two

After years of avoiding his trauma, Bucky finally confides in Sam. 

Words: 2893; Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson; Episode: s01e02 The Star-Spangled Man Coda

ao3 link

“Why don’t you get some shut eye, Buck? It’s gonna be a long ride home.” 

Bucky glances at Sam from his makeshift cargo perch across the fuselage. The bags under his eyes must be getting bad. Leah gave Bucky the impression last week that he needs concealer for his skin or something. But he’s a 106-year-old ex-assassin; who the hell is he trying to impress at this point?

After a few seconds pass, Bucky notes that he should probably respond instead of just staring blankly, because that’s what people do, right? They talk to each other, they share, and they trust so easily. It’s such a simple question, but Bucky’s urge to deflect any possible social interaction has decided to rear its ugly head tonight. Sam can’t be a fan of it either, since he’s the charismatic one of the two of them. He’s not the guy with the staring problem.

It’s just… Bucky doesn’t have normal conversations without being reminded of the restored freedom to speak his mind. The habits HYDRA drilled into his brain incite an unpleasant knee-jerk reaction– don’t speak or they’ll beat you –but Bucky has gotten better at managing the vestiges of his trauma. At least now he’ll be able to defend himself if his careless mouth puts him in hot water. And maybe he could just be honest with Sam; it wouldn’t hurt anything. But that almost kindles a burst of laughter in Bucky: the concept of himself not hurting somebody. What a world that would be.

Don’t get him wrong–Bucky used to like talking to people. He used to be good at it. But that was a long time ago; far longer than anyone should be able to recall. Even now, Bucky’s early 20th century days as a staff sergeant feel like a distant dream. He almost misses the wartime; when everything was simpler. Sure, it was bloody and violent and horrible, but at least Bucky knew how to fucking talk to people he considered friends. When it comes to his loose tongue nowadays, there’s an ugly history waiting to make an unwanted appearance; bared teeth and all.

“I don’t,” Bucky answers finally, his voice trembling a fraction more than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t think he can do more than two syllables right now. If Bucky somehow musters up the courage to tell Sam about his nightmares, he won’t make it through a single sentence without bursting into tears like a twelve-year-old.

The fact that Sam could somehow see Bucky’s eye bags across the shadowy fuselage does not convince Bucky that Sam didn’t hear that slight embarrassing waver in his voice. But even if he did, the guy doesn’t comment on it. Sam has been laying in a supine position on the flight seats for the past hour, drifting in and out of sub-consciousness, and really, he’s the one who looks damn tired. It’s been a long day for both of them; they’re bruised and achy after their loss against the Flag-Smashers–more proof that Bucky shouldn’t bother Sam.

But this is here and now. The sky is starless as a humming inky black abyss, the RS-834 cruising about 40,000 feet above sea level, far beyond the stratus clouds, and everything feels tranquil in that seldom gentle way it does sometimes. It’s as if the world consists only of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, and that illusion is a tremendous comfort to the ex-assassin. When it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to elaborate, Sam lets his neck muscles relax, drooping his head back to face the opposite wall that reflects the drowsy slur of his voice.

“C’mon, man...I know at least three percent of your body is metal, but that don’t mean you never sleep.”

Bucky pauses. Tries not to glance at his left arm. He has to be careful; guys like him have a tendency to overshare when it’s late. It’s just that something about the night brings a facade of protection, as if anything he says can be written off as a dream, so he can bare himself to the bone in front of anyone he wants. It doesn’t matter since it will be forgotten in the morning. The night is unreliable, thus Bucky uses that to his defense.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna like...”

“Kill me?” Sam snorts, a bit of energy returning to his voice. “I think if either of us really wanted to kill the other, one of us would be lying in a heap by now. Just saying.”

Bucky can’t argue with that. Like Dr. Raynor so elegantly puts it, it is so sad, but Sam is probably Bucky’s only real friend at this point. Add that with the fact that he doesn’t really want to kill anyone anyway, and someone who doesn’t know better might call what Sam and Bucky have a “healthy relationship.” Bucky swings a hand around Sam’s vicinity, willing his voice to level out this time.

“Are you tired? You should go to sleep.”

A deep sigh resonates out from Sam’s dark corner. “Man, I forget sometimes how good you are at that.”

“What?”

“Changing the subject.”

Oh.  

Bucky wonders which part of him that came from: James “Bucky” Barnes, or his HYDRA-conditioned brain. Perhaps it was just a defense against people trying to crowbar their way into his thoughts. As long as he can distract them, he’s safe. Bucky exhales a heavy breath, combing a hand through his greasy hair.

“Look, I just... I’m not the most pleasant person to sleep with.”

A moment of unwonted silence passes. Bucky’s gaze wanders away from his hands and toward Sam. By the time his eyes have adjusted, the guy has propped himself up on his elbows, teeth shining through the dimness in a quiet grin. The suggestive phrasing of Bucky’s words finally catches up to him. His cheeks redden. Well, if Sam decides to take it that way… Bucky technically hasn’t gotten laid since the 1940s. From what he remembers, it hadn’t even been very good. But hell no–that’s the kind of mental rabbit hole Bucky isn’t in the mood for. He coughs and slaps his thighs.

“We have like three more hours. Go to sleep, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Now you gon’ make me feel bad about it,” Sam smirks. “Shame on you, Barnes.”

Bucky ducks his head in exasperation. “You’re an idiot. What, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Sam visibly brightens at that. “Ooh, for real? You know any?”

Great , so now Sam is standing up, walking toward him, the grin on his annoying face widening. And because Bucky is a fucking mess, his tongue gets tied up in about fifteen knots before he gets the chance to open his mouth, and he’s already forgetting what he was going to say. Hell, if Sam smiled any brighter than that, he’d be the fucking sun.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Bucky says eloquently. “HYDRA was kinda lacking in that department.”

Sam laughs again, making himself at home on the red seats adjacent to Bucky’s perch, and Bucky feels a miserable sort of swell in his chest. Why is Sam purposefully gravitating toward him? Who the hell wants an ex-HYDRA assassin in close proximity?

“You gettin’ shy on me, Buck?” Sam tilts his head slightly downward, gazing up at Bucky with his big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, and what the fuck. “You ain’t gotta look so shook up; I don’t bite.”

“That’s a surprise,” Buck replies weakly, trying to force his face to cool down. There’s so much spit caught up in his throat right now, and Bucky knows it’ll look weird if he swallows in front of this guy, like he’s some nervous teenager with a school crush. Sam just laughs softly, the corners of his cheeks tightening, his lips curling up in a way that is too fucking charming to be on the face of a man sitting right across from a mass murderer. But honestly, Bucky can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore; any time Sam laughs because of him is a win.

God, maybe I am good for something.

An overlay of silence reigns over the two men, and the white noise hum of the plane almost makes Bucky want to doze off. When he blinks himself awake for the fifth time, Sam’s familiar cadence cuts through the air like a knife to warm butter. He sounds wide awake.

“Nightmares, huh. So that’s why you don’t sleep.”

Bucky pales a shade, shifting atop his crate in discomfort. He supposes he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. Sam lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his voice much more benign now. “I used to get ‘em sometimes too. Hell, even nowadays I do; service will do that to you. Not tryna say I completely understand what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours, but…I get it, to a degree.”

Bucky wonders if Sam behaves like this whenever he’s talking to veterans in his therapy group, or if he’s reserved this for Bucky alone. He finds himself craving the latter to a degree that is both confusing and hopeless. “I…” he mutters, pointedly not looking at the other man. The miserable swell from before is morphing into something much more sad, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with it.

You’re alone. You have no friends, no family.

The harsh words bounce around Bucky’s head like a game of Pong, contrasting starkly against Sam’s kind and gentle tone. A spark of indignation thaws the insides of his chest. It’s not fair, it’s not true; Bucky’s got proof right here. Fuck you, Dr. Raynor. Despite all you think, at least I’ve got this dumbass with me.

Sam speaks again, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just lettin’ you know that you ain’t gotta fight this alone.”

Bucky hates tip-toeing around his trauma like it’s some massive landmine. Part of him just wants to lay it all out; explode with everything he’s never willingly told another soul; reopen his wounds and expel all the ugliness in the hopes that maybe he’ll heal up properly this time. He wants to scream to Sam that he never got a fucking break; it was abuse upon abuse. HYDRA buried him alive just to water his grave in guilt and horror and self-hatred. There had never been the option of peace for the Winter Soldier. He was the asset, the weapon, the tool, the plaything, taken out of a dusty closet any time somebody wanted a turn with him.

“It was never a fight,” Bucky whispers. “They never gave me a chance.”

Sam looks slightly taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting the ex-assassin to actually respond. Bucky would be surprised too if he didn’t feel so utterly lost right now. Instead, he settles for staring past Sam’s shoulder into the back of the fuselage, trying to find answers in the dim blue lights blanketing them. Despite how hard Bucky tries not to see it, Sam is shifting, his face crumpling into...something. He can’t put his finger on it but hopes to God it’s not pity. Steve used to give him that look, always catching himself doing it, and then getting all guilty about it afterward. So before Bucky can stop himself there, let his words fester in comfortable ambiguity, he’s taking off and nothing is going to stop him.

“So yeah, Sam,” Bucky continues, gritting out the words, “I get nightmares. I remember every single human being I murdered with this stupid fucking metal arm, and now I have to deal with it for the rest of my ‘overextended life.’ Is that selfish? Is it selfish of me to say that I wish I died in that fucking ravine when I was supposed to? I don’t belong here, Sam. Just the fact that I’m alive in this era is unnatural. But I’ve gotta make amends with my laundry list of everyone I hurt, because dying just isn’t going to cut it. ”

Bucky still isn’t looking at Sam by the time he finishes, snapping his mouth shut like an animal being muzzled before he can bite anyone else. Even though Bucky can’t tell what Sam is thinking, can’t see how his expression has undoubtedly contorted from pity to hurt, Bucky is overwhelmed by instinct. He doesn't know which side is currently winning over: the Soldier’s desperation to submit before his handlers put him through “corrective treatment,” or Bucky’s longing to apologize to Sam for hurting him. Make amends, make amends, don’t hurt anyone. Rule number two.

The latter ends up taking the tug of war, and Bucky whispers out a choked, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I–”

“Hey.”

Sam is standing close beside him, their shoulders almost level while Bucky is slouching. He can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through his body like lightning as a hand carefully grips his flesh arm. “Hey, man, look at me,” Sam says–somehow firm and gentle at the same time. His thumb brushes over the fabric of Bucky’s sweater, and Bucky wants to let his hand come up to clench Sam’s, but hell if he doesn’t know how that’ll end. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t end in bruises.

“Hey, hey… Listen to me, man. I hear you,” Sam says warmly, burnishing the chasm where Bucky thinks his heart used to be. “And it’s gonna be all right. You may not think it yet, and I should’ve said something earlier, but…” Sam trails off, pauses, then nods to himself. “You’re a good man, Bucky.”

A tight, burning ember of anguish flares up in Bucky’s throat.

A good man.

The Winter Soldier seldom got oral approval from his handlers, and even when he did, it was for chaos and carnage disguised as HYDRA’s regurgitated “gift to mankind” bullshit. To James “Bucky” Barnes, praise was a concept he never considered, since he’d have to be deserving in order to get any. Goodness is reserved for people , and Bucky crossed the line of humanity a long time ago. He isn’t a person anymore–just a monster.

People who fall under the category of “good” are the ones like Steve. Like his sister Becca. And like Sam Wilson specifically, standing here next to him with the true mantle of Captain America; a man so much damn worthier of that title than Bucky is, and he thinks Bucky is good . The same guy who has killed more innocent people than he has fingers and toes. And that’s not counting the unnameable ones–the collateral damage–caught in the crossfire.

Just the thought of all he’s done makes Bucky want to fervently deny Sam; to prove him wrong; to show Sam his track record with big red letters at the bottom of the page emphasizing that Bucky isn’t good . In the memories of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, he’s the cruel, terrifying mercenary with a history uglier than most want to comprehend. If Sam saw all that Bucky had done, would he change his mind? Would Sam look at Bucky the way he looks at himself in the mirror?

Sam is saying something now–maybe his name. But Bucky can’t hear him. He doesn’t know when the tears began, so he quickly ducks his chin so Sam can’t see them streaming down his face. God, it’s so fucking cold. Sam lets out a soft hum–not sad, but caring–and Bucky knows he’s failed at hiding again. Sam’s hand brushes up his arm and around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Sam’s warm body. Eventually Bucky leans into it, shutting his eyes tight.

“Been a while,” Bucky mutters, almost a whisper; it might just be a vivid thought.

“Yeah, I know, Tin Man. I mean it, you’re a great guy. And before you start, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m gonna keep reminding you till you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sniffles, voice muffled as he buries his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”  

The words, the touching–it’s all too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, because if it’s real, then Bucky might just have a bit of hope left. And if he has hope, then he can’t jump into battle without care for his own life anymore. He’s going to have to exist correctly this time around. So if Sam means what he says, if he really thinks Bucky is a good person, then Bucky is going to live up to that image or die trying.  

Once they pull away, it’s felt like hours. The plane is still going steady through the early morning, the lights still that calming shade of blue, but something has shifted in the air, something neither Sam nor Bucky can seem to put their finger on. It’s a certain kind of rawness; an ache Bucky is thoroughly familiar with; a feeling that always comes with the moon and foolish amounts of trust. Bucky mumbles a flustered apology for the wet spot now stained into Sam’s sweater, but the guy just shakes his head and grins in a way that makes Bucky fall in love with him.

“Anytime.”

#sambucky #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fanfiction #angst #hurt comfort #winter soldier #ptsd #ao3

[whump-town]

The Physicality of Love

Touch Starved Aaron Hotchner

Words: 3,591

No warnings, no pairings, just hugs and stuff

Aaron Hotchner was knee-high to his father the first time he suffered the consequence of his physical proximity. For existing in the space that someone else did. He learned nothing from this interaction. How could he? At three-years-old his only care in the world should be the slow progression into “big boy” underwear and figuring out which book he wants to be read at night. 

Not cowering from his father’s too tight grip around his wrist. 

But he learns quickly that people don’t want him around. 

That never changes. 

“What are you reading?” He tries not to jump as Emily comes from behind the curtain that separates the kitchenette on the jet from the sitting space. He’d seen her disappear back there but he’d become immersed in the book before him. Not giving her a second thought. So, when she’d rounded the corner unexpectedly his heart rate spiked. That primal fear of someone in his personal space being set off. 

Forcing even, steady breathes as she inches ever closer he has to wrap his mind around what she’s asked. After a moment, he holds up the cover of the book for her to see, knowing she’ll recognize the cover. She had gotten him the book for Christmas. Garcia had them do Secret Santa this year but they’d managed to get one another. She’d come up with the idea with a book swap. 

She smiles at him, a beaming smile that’s so warm he feels it in his own chest. “Slaughter-House Five,” she says with a nod of approval. She takes a seat beside him on the couch, curling her legs underneath her with the ample room he’s left sitting as close as physically possible to the wall. “You enjoying it?” she asks, offering him one of the two mugs of tea she’s made. 

He’s trying to conceive thoughts-- but he can’t. He’s taken aback, the air knocked from his lungs, and reason captured from his mind as he takes the mug she’s handing to him. No one makes him tea. 

She takes a sip out of her own and grimaces. “This is the wrong cup,” she mumbles. 

She switches his mug for her own and this time she nods her head after she sips it. As if it’s nothing at all for them to drink out of cups after one another but… Well, he supposes, that is more or less true. It’s nothing for Emily. She does it with all of the others. 

He’s seen her do it with the other’s plenty of times. Sipping the coffee she’s made specifically for Morgan before handing it to him. Splitting a sandwich with JJ. This is nothing to her but… what is it to him?

He’s pulled from his thoughts as she kicks her boots off, wrapping the blanket they keep draped over the side around her shoulders. As she’s moving she ends up leaning close to him but she doesn’t so much as blink when they bump shoulders. 

She yawns, around her hand she asks, “how are you still functioning?” 

He blinks down at the book in his hands. She’s got a point. They’ve worked two serial killers back-to-back hunting kids like sport. Luring them from their rooms to just… He sighs and he realizes he’s exhausted. When was the last time he ate? He can’t even… this tea is going to be the first thing he’s even had to drink in days. It’s a wonder he hasn’t passed out. 

“Get some sleep,” Emily reaches over and squeezes his hand. Her thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

When she pulls away he slowly pulls that hand to his chest, stretching out the shaky fingers. It’s weird, strange. When was the last time anyone held his hand let alone gave it a gentle reassuring squeeze? 

When he looks back over, slowly but poorly recovering from the touch, Emily’s already curled back into a ball and sleeping. He looks down and her feet are tucked against his thigh, just casual touch. Like it’s nothing at all. The most natural thing in the world.

The jet lands two hours later and he doesn’t move an inch. He just sits there. 

From then on out he notices the way the other’s interact. 

Garcia smacks Morgan’s shoulder, kisses Emily’s cheek, and squeezes Reid’s arm. The casual affection amongst them is so easily shared. He sees Emily squeeze JJ’s hand the same way she had his. The way they share smiles like jokes and touch like… like nothing. They don’t even flinch. 

But this one observation allows him to see that he’s wrong about his initial leanings. They do it to him too.

JJ has a tendency to walk close to him. The first time he notices it, she brushes hands with him twice and ends up running into his shoulder. With time, he realizes she only does it to him. 

“It’s freezing--” she comes up from behind him. The only warning he gets is the crunch of snow under her boots but with everyone walking around and the sun having set hours ago she surprises him. He doesn’t see or hear her coming.

Without comment he tugs his fingers out of his gloves, offering them to her. 

She shakes her head, “no, Hotch.” She pats his bare hand, trying and failing to get him to take them back. 

“JJ,” he says, lowly and this time, with a sigh, she takes the gloves. Raising his eyes back to the crime scene, he doesn’t see her hands slip into his gloves. 

She sighs at the warmth that they provide. “Thank you,” she mumbles, knocking her shoulder against him. His gloves are nice but leaning against him is even nicer. Given that they’re frozen-- quite literally-- in this spot until the scene is cleaned up it’s not a bad idea to get comfortable. And she is comfortable, tucked against his side. 

He looks over at her in surprise. He’s not surprised by her proximity. That, he gets used to. It’s nothing for JJ. She brushes against him as she passes. A hand on his shoulders when she’s moving behind him or bicep when she’s trying to get his attention. What takes him by surprise is how relaxed she is and… the way it doesn’t bother him at all.

Together, backs to the wind, they keep warm in the face of the freezing night.

It’s not just JJ and Emily though.

Emily’s got this habit of stacking her legs over his. He doesn’t mind it but it’s certainly strange to have a leg, or both, kicked up on to his. With time, he starts to expect it and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips when she does it. It’s their thing.

JJ stops calling his name when they’re sitting close. She’ll just reach over and pat his arm, showing him whatever it is. She doesn’t do it to anyone else. It’s their thing, too.

Derek is who takes him by surprise. As to how they went from “Drill Sergeant” and “Agent who doesn’t trust the members of his team” to arms slung around Hotch’s shoulder and congratulatory fist bumps… he has no clue. 

Sprawled out on his back, Hotch can see the stars high above his head. Thick, heavy smoke clouds billowing out above and fogging up what should be a clear night. A perfect night, really. Pulling in a pained breath, his chest hitches when the smoke hits the back of his throat. He grunts in pain, hips twisting as his chest heaves and his lungs burn as he works to expel the air.

Two hands reach out and Hotch’s head spins as he’s pulled upright, his chest limply falling forward into the body in front of him. Derek. He can feel the younger man’s tense muscles, hear his voice calling out when Hotch is unable to initially answer him back. Everything about the muscle dense arms wrapping around his back and the hand cupping his neck-- of course,  it’s Derek. 

“Come on, man,” Derek pleads. There are tears pooling in his eyes, making his voice thick with emotion. He squeezes Hotch’s body. “Say something!”

Hotch rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, sinking into the comforting feeling. To be held, even if it’s in the middle of a street. He manages to lift his head, turning it so he’s not speaking into Morgan’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he rasps, “I’m okay.”

Morgan squeezes him tight. “I thought you were dead,” he rasps. “You--” Morgan pulls him back, his hands working over Hotch’s sore chest. Hotch winces and Morgan’s movements become much more controlled, easier as he probes the area Hotch is failing to protect from Morgan’s hands. “Sit still,” Morgan warns, his voice deep as the sound comes from the back of his throat.

Hotch… listens. He deflates, leaning back into Morgan’s shoulder and letting him press on. He tries to fight the exhaustion wearing him down but he can’t. It’s definitely passing out but he leans into the warmth of Morgan’s body and gives in to the darkness creeping into his vision. Giving in and letting Morgan just hold him. He’s too tired to fight it.

He only has to stay in the hospital for a day. They can’t do much for his re-ruptured eardrum besides painkillers and a sedative for the jet-ride home. Not that he’s supposed to be on the jet either but they’re making due. He needs to get home sooner rather than later.

The worst part is that his hearing is gone. Unless the ringing counts. 

Reid is trying to tell him something. From the looks of the way the genius is speaking, Hotch thinks he’s supposed to do something with Reid but he doesn’t understand. He can’t hear the instructions and he’s still tired and the ringing in his ears--

He blinks dumbly down at his hand when Reid huffs a sigh and just grabs his hand. He follows where he’s pulled and, he finds, Reid smiling back at him. Good, he thinks, this is what Reid had wanted. Together, Reid lets Hotch set a staggering pace for them. Occasionally, Reid will squeeze his hand and pull him in a different direction but Hotch’s head is still recovering from a nasty concussion so he needs all the help he can get escaping this maze of a police precinct.

Reid doesn’t let go of his hand until they get outside and then it’s only for a moment. Reid puts both his hands on Hotch’s shoulder, making sure his attention is with the genius before Reid motions that he’s going to get the car and that Hotch should stay right where he stands. 

Hotch does.

When Reid pulls up with the car, he’s beaming. So happy that Hotch stayed right where Reid told him to. 

Hotch smiles back. It makes him feel good. When Reid steps out of the car, Hotch offers him his hand and Reid takes his hand without a second thought. Even if they both know right where they’re going. 

On the jet, he’s given the couch but he stays sitting upright instead of laying down.

He’s exhausted but he also knows that laying down is going to make his head hurt and laying any way but on his back is going to hurt his ears to the point of tears.

Crouching down in front of him, JJ squeezes his bicep to get his attention. She flips the notebook in her hands around for him to see what she’s written: “You have two pills to take, do you want tea or water?”

He shivers as the air kicks in above him but struggles to decide if he should verbally confirm or just point to the words. So, he looks up around him, his cheeks flushing as he whispers, “water.” 

JJ nods her head and reaches up to pat his cheek affectionately. 

No sooner than she’s gone is she replaced by Derek and Dave. Armed with a thick blanket-- one that Hotch knows has been pulled out of someone’s go-bag--, a heating pad, two pillows, and the pills he’s expected to take they offer him small comforting nods. 

Derek places both pillows down on the side Hotch’s is closest to and just as he does, Emily comes up behind him. The two argue-- Hotch watches with a strange fascination. She’s trying to show him how to lay the heating pad down, the two arguing over her tactic compared to what Derek thinks is best.

Dave interrupts them with a finger pointing to the cockpit. 

Hotch shakes with his confusion, anxiously shifting as the others take their seats around him. There are a few sympathetic glances but no explanation. Not until Dave comes to stand in front of him and starts to buckle the lap belt around his hips. 

The jets taking off. 

He can feel the jet start to shake and he keeps his lips tightly pressed together, so he doesn’t make a sound and give away the fear causing his hands to shake. Unable to hear, he’s uncomfortably aware of how much the jet shakes as it takes off. 

Dave takes his hand. 

Hotch’s knuckles turn white with his grip on Dave’s hand.

JJ crouches down beside him and Hotch realizes that he’s not only crying but his head is now resting in Dave’s lap. She offers him her palm, two pills resting in the middle and in the other 

His head feels like it’s trying to split apart as they grow steadily higher into the air. He can feel a cry of pain leave his mouth and Dave reaches over and pulls him tight to his chest. Dave places his hands over Hotch’s, both planted firmly over his ears. 

With his head tucked into Dave’s chest, there is a slight reprieve from the intense ringing in his ears. It’s just the smallest difference but it’s better than nothing. 

He knows they’ve balanced back out when Dave starts rubbing his back. The hot sting of his tears falling down his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed but he hurts too much to bother to care about them. 

The amount of guilt that they all feel is immense. His doctor had amply warned that the pain would be unbearable if they didn’t get Hotch unconscious before the jet took off. His ears simply can not stand the pressure change and the added pain of his concussion… They had one job and now he’s suffering because of them.

JJ tips the water bottle back when Hotch takes a minimal sip from it to swallow the pills. He scowls and tries to push the bottle away but she presses on and he looks displeased but takes a good drink from it. She kisses his forehead for his compliance and he can’t help the small smile that spreads across his lips. 

With nothing in his stomach, the sedative works fast. 

He fights it a little too long and finds himself swaying with exhaustion he can’t fight.

A hand wraps around the back of his neck and he limply follows it. His face pressing into someone’s side-- Emily. Her fingers scratch at the back of his head.

Someone else wraps a blanket around him. Reid, he thinks. That probably means it’s his blanket too. Actually, it has to be Reid’s blanket. No one else packs a blanket. 

Emily removes her fingers from his hair and he grunts at the loss of contact. 

Dave pats his shoulder and Emily pushes him upright. He hunches down into himself, swaying without the stability of someone to hold him upright. After a second, Derek holds him upright by the shoulders while Dave and Emily get the couch set up a little better. 

Gentle and steady, Hotch lays down on the couch. 

He’s asleep within seconds. 

The team plans ahead this time and Dave sits on the edge of the couch as the jet descends. He takes Hotch’s hand, rubbing over his hand when Hotch shifts in his sleep, wincing. “Shh,” Dave moves his hand through Hotch’s hair, soothing him back to sleep.

They don’t wake him until they’re all packed up and ready to get off themselves. 

He’s too groggy to fight too much so it’s not hard for Derek to hold him close and set a slow and easy pace down the stairs. They’re met at the bottom of the jet’s stairs by Garcia and a wheelchair. As much as he’d like to put up a fight, the stairs are beating the hell out of him and he’s really just falling down them with Derek’s help. 

It’s cold in Virginia. 

In nothing but his white undershirt, the autumn breeze is wreaking havoc on his bare arms. Derek hadn’t let him put his suit jacket or even his dress shirt on when he’d checked Hotch out. But now, as Hotch’s teeth chatter, there is a jacket wrapped around him. It’s not his own but he recognizes it’s Derek’s immediately. 

There are only two people who own leather jackets in his unit and that’s Derek and Emily. This one smells like cologne so he’s assuming it’s not Emily’s-- a good point of commonality is that Derek and Emily both wear the same old spice deodorant. At first, he’d found this odd but now it’s kind of funny. 

Garcia frowns at him, worriedly checking him over for wounds she can’t see. Just as she gets close to his very sore ribs she stops and, thank God. Hotch can vaguely hear the rumble of a deep voice and he assumes it’s Derek advising her to leave his sore side alone. 

Gently, he lifts his chin into the palms she presses to the sides of his face. She smiles down at him. With her right hand she points at her chest: “I”. She draws a heart over her chest: “love”. Then she turns it around and pokes his chest with a grin, “you”.

He smiles. His own response comes out slurred from the medication still in his system and his inability to hear his own voice but Garcia understands his clumsy, “I love you too.” And he’s still smiling when she plants a kiss on his forehead.

The affection doesn’t end there. 

He learns to reciprocate. 

It starts with Reid because he knows and understands the genius. 

“I don’t understand,” Reid says, turning to Hotch expecting the older man to cave and explain Morgan’s rather vulgar statement. 

Hotch shakes his head, “you don’t want to, buddy.” 

Reid pouts and Hotch can’t stand the sight so he reaches over and rustles his hair. It’s enough to lift the corners of Reid’s mouth and the genius bumps his shoulder with Hotch’s. There’s no definitive, verbal proof but Hotch knows Reid liked it so he does it again. Adding pats to Reid’s shoulders and, the occasional, hand placed between his shoulder blades.

With the other’s he learns to mirror them.

He sits close to Emily, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye when he kicks his feet up. Waiting for her to kick her own up. She always smiles when she realizes what he’s doing. He likes that and he likes it, even more, when she puts her files away and pulls out a book. Then they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, legs stacked and read. Sometimes she even puts her head on his shoulder and ends up falling asleep. 

He doesn’t mind sitting still so he doesn’t wake her.

JJ is pretty easy too. She just likes leaning against him so he makes a habit of standing behind her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. It’s not that hard to pick up on when she wants to lean and when she’d rather not. Typically, it’s as a case is winding down and as the adrenaline fades and the end nears. 

They stand in the precinct or in the middle of the woods with her leaned back against him. Silently, they watch. 

The first time Hotch offers Morgan a fist-bump, he laughs and quickly bumps his fist against Hotch’s. It’s highly amusing and it doesn’t matter how many times they do it, Morgan never gets tired of it. 

Garcia is the easiest by a landslide. 

He just hugs her and lets her hug him. She’s very tactile and it takes him the longest to get used to but after a while, he starts to look forward to their hug after a case. It relieves his stress and it’s amusing when she pulls him down to her height so she can properly give him a good squeeze. 

It takes a few years to really break him of this habit of keeping himself distant. 

People do want him around. 

People miss him when he’s not around. 

His favorite thing, though, is when they seek out his comfort.

Derek smiling when Hotch pats his shoulder, silently asking if he’s alright. 

Reid sitting beside Hotch on the jet and drawing his legs into the seat and watching until his eyes droop down and his falls to Hotch’s shoulder as Hotch does paperwork.

JJ pulling him into hugs before he even realizes he needs it.

Emily raising an eyebrow and showing him her book to ask if he’s in need of a break. 

Dave’s hand on the back of his neck or his shoulder, a small smile as they pass. 

Garcia’s smothering hugs. 

He’d always thought physical touch as a love language was overrated. He just didn’t know the right people, is all.

Tagging everyone who voted for this idea last night:

@hotchsbabygirl, @genevievedarcygranger, @jaspersthebomb, @perpetual-goodvibes, @emotional-goblin, @alexismarie262

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareua #spencer reid #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia

[seymour-butz-stuff]

Caron Nazario, a lieutenant in the U.S. Army Medical Corps, was driving to Petersburg, Va., from a drill weekend the night of Dec. 5 when he saw police lights flashing behind him.

Too nervous to stop on a darkened road, Lieutenant Nazario, who is Black and Latino, drove about a mile to a gas station, pulled over and placed his cellphone on his dashboard, according to a lawsuit and video footage of the encounter.

Immediately, two Windsor police officers can be heard yelling orders at him.

“Get out of the car,” one yells as Lieutenant Nazario, remaining seated, repeatedly asks why he had been stopped and why the officers had drawn their guns. He positions his empty hands outside the window.

“I’m honestly afraid to get out of the car,” Lieutenant Nazario says.

“Yeah,” says one of the officers, Joe Gutierrez, according to footage from his body camera. “You should be.”

Seconds later, Officer Gutierrez doused the lieutenant with pepper spray. Lieutenant Nazario’s hands remained up as he coughed and pleaded with the officers to undo his seatbelt and make sure his dog, Smoke, was not choking in the back. Liquid from the spray dripped down his hands and face.

Lieutenant Nazario, 27, a graduate of Virginia State University, filed a lawsuit this month in the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia. It accuses the officers of illegally searching his car, using excessive force and violating his rights under the First Amendment. The lawsuit seeks $1 million in compensatory damages.

Lieutenant Nazario also accused the officers of threatening to destroy his military career by charging him with multiple crimes if he complained about their conduct, according to the complaint, which was reported this week by The Virginian-Pilot in Norfolk.

Officer Gutierrez and the other officer named in the lawsuit, Daniel Crocker, did not respond to requests for comment on Saturday. Chief Rodney Daniel Riddle of the Windsor Police Department did not respond to messages.

The police force in Windsor, a rural town of about 2,700 people about 30 miles west of Norfolk, consists of six members: a chief, a first sergeant, a detective and three officers, according to the town’s website.

The police officers did not arrest Lieutenant Nazario and have not filed charges.

In a report from that night the officers said they had pulled over Lieutenant Nazario because his S.U.V. did not have license plates. Lieutenant Nazario said he had recently bought a Chevrolet Tahoe and was waiting for license plates. Temporary ones had been taped inside the rear window and were visible, according to the lawsuit.

The police report also said Lieutenant Nazario had “willfully and wantonly disregarded” police lights and sirens before pulling over, and “was actively resisting” when Officer Crocker attempted to open the S.U.V.’s driver-side door.

Lawyers for Lieutenant Nazario filed copies of video footage from his cellphone and from police body cameras that showed both officers approaching Lieutenant Nazario’s vehicle at the gas station with their weapons drawn.

“I’m actively serving this country and this is how you’re going to treat me?” he says in the footage.

“What’s going on?” Lieutenant Nazario then asks.

“What’s going on is you’re fixing to ride the lightning, son,” Officer Gutierrez yells. (Later, after striking Lieutenant Nazario behind his knees, the officer told him to “lay down or I’m going to tase you,” as the officers appeared to struggle to get Lieutenant Nazario on the ground.)

After he was sprayed, Lieutenant Nazario began crying and cursing.

After two volunteers from the town’s emergency medical service arrived, Officer Crocker approached Lieutenant Nazario, who stood handcuffed near his S.U.V., and asked why he had not complied with their “simple” commands.

“What would have been a two-minute traffic stop turned into all this,” Officer Crocker says in the footage. “I’m not out to hurt you and I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

Lieutenant Nazario said that when the police had stopped him before he had made a point of pulling over in well-lit areas.

“I never looked out the window and saw guns blazing immediately,” he tells Officer Crocker in the video.

Officer Gutierrez later told Lieutenant Nazario that his chief had given him the discretion to let him go so long as the lieutenant did not “fight and argue.”

Officer Gutierrez said he would not have to write a summons for obstruction of justice and failure to display a license plate “if you want to chill and let this go.”

If he wrote a summons, the Army would have to be alerted, Officer Gutierrez told Lieutenant Nazario.

Lieutenant Nazario said he would be alerting his supervisors about what had occurred.

“I get it,” Officer Gutierrez says. “The media spewing race relations between law enforcement and minorities, I get it.”

Lieutenant Nazario’s lawyer, Jonathan Arthur, said the lieutenant had told his supervisors about the stop almost immediately.

“He’s still really shaken up,” Mr. Arthur said. “He’s very, very worried about retaliation.”

Yeah maybe it’s the media isn’t the source of the problem, maybe police escalating every encounter with citizens is the problem.

This is why police refuse to hire smart candidates and only go for dull ones.

#black people #ftp #acab #fuck the police

[carnelianns]

hey i really enjoyed your hc awhile back about ikesen mc who struggled with eating and fear of gaining weight could you possibly do it with the ikevamp boys? like le comte, leo, theo, arthur and nepo please? i’m recovering from an ed and your writing have really helped me alot but i totally understand if it’s too touchy ily and stay safe

it’s such an honor to hear my writing has helped u! i hope you recover well, n please know that i support u & everyone else struggling from this. the boys do as well uwu

tw: starvation

Napoleon Bonaparte

Napoleon isn’t very observant, much less at the dining table wherein he eats his meals for a solid 15 minutes tops before he’s retiring to the comforts of his room once again.

But it doesn’t even take observation skills to see how you barely eat at times, how the most you’d do is shove a spoon of food, maybe two, into your mouth, hastily swallowing it down as if you’re being forced to.

So then he asks. Plain and simple, tilting his head and furrowing his brows as his arms wrap around your waist, your paced breathing the only sound resonating through his room. 

“Why don’t you eat that much?”

Napoleon feels the way you tense up underneath his strong arms, hears how your breathing seems to quicken. In an instant, you’re wriggling yourself out of his grasp, he propping himself up on his elbows to stare at you and the sudden distance between the two of you in confusion.

“Nunuche, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if—”

“It’s fine, Napoleon.” Your voice is all sorts of tiny and wavering, unable to look him in the eye as you fidget with your fingers — the sight only causing his heart to clench. “It’s just… I, uh, don’t like gaining weight. I want to be, uh, thin — perfect, if you will.”

You don’t look up. You couldn’t. If you did, you would have seen how the past Emperor of France — no, not even — how the man who loves you and only you breaks, cerulean eyes glossing over and a lump forming in his throat.

And he says, plain and simple, tilting his head and furrowing his brows as his hand reaches out to caress the warm skin of your cheek.

“But.. you’re already perfect. Maybe not to yourself, but to me. And… you’re all I need, in all honesty.”

It’s too much, you think. Being loved like this. Because that’s all it took for something inside you to snap, for you to start sobbing, Napoleon pulling you into his arms as he rakes lithe fingers gently through your hair, pampering the crown of your head with light kisses and sweet nothings.

He holds you like that all until you fall asleep, and even after.

Ever since then, Napoleon had taken it upon himself to dine with you, waiting patiently for you to finish your food before even thinking of going anywhere.

It’s slightly embarrassing, how he watches you with such a proud smile on his face, one he denies having whenever you point it out.

Leonardo da Vinci

The first time Leonardo finds you asleep when he gets back to his room, he simply brushes it off as exhaustion from your many chores.

And he’s not fully wrong, just has a full chunk missing. He happens to find said chunk out when you proceed to collapse in his sturdy arms, wearily mumbling for him to carry you back to the bedroom. 

When he finally sets you down into a comfortable position, sitting down beside you on the bed, Leonardo’s simply staring at you, a frown on his face and creases forming on his forehead, yet remaining silent.

“... Aren’t you gonna ask me why?” Your voice is small, unable to meet his gaze.

He speaks slowly, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face, “You’ll tell me if you want to, cara mia.”

And god, how blessed you are to have such an understanding man. It takes a while before you finally say, “I just… don’t want to gain weight. Every time I look in the mirror, I loathe what I see.”

It’s momentarily silent, though his fingers never cease moving around your face. Then, finally, with his gruff voice the softest you’ve ever heard, he sighs.

“You know, cara mia, I look at you, I see beauty.” Before your mouth is opening, ready to spew denials, he continues, tilting your head to his. “Not just in your face, or your body, but in your soul as well.”

Leaning in closer, inches away from your face, you can only hold your breath. Then, he smiles — a real, genuine smile that only makes your heart melt. 

“And I know you might not believe it, but I have all the time in the world to show you what I mean, don’t I?”

He helps you through any and every challenge the both of you face — because it’s not just your struggle anymore, it’s his as well; you are the one he loves, after all.

Most definitely spoon feeds you with that teasing smirk of his at times. It’s enjoyable for him, really, but you have to stop yourself from slapping that damned smirk off his face.

Arthur Conan Doyle

It’s no secret that Arthur was a rotten flirt before your relationship, or that women practically fling themselves onto his arms even after you two had gotten together.

You can’t help but to think each and every girl that tries to hit your lovely boyfriend up seems to be getting prettier and prettier, thinner and thinner. Of course, Arthur politely pushes them away to link himself back to you, but that doesn’t stop your thoughts from running wild all the way back to the mansion.

Try as you might, you’re unable to hide anything from a writer — and not just any writer, the famed writer of Sherlock Holmes who just so happens to be the one you’ve shared yourself with over and over again. 

So when you find yourselves back in his room after a long day, resting quietly on his soft bed, it’s no surprise when you feel his hot breath on your cheek, or the slight creak of the bed under his added weight. Your eyes crack open to Arthur’s face inches away from yours in a position you’re well-acquainted to, though the expression on his face differs.

Worry gleams in those normally jovial eyes of his, unthwarted even when you run your fingers through his hair soothingly, just the way he likes it.

“What were the thoughts going through that pretty little head of yours earlier?”

His voice is hushed, though clear as day in the empty room. The question has you pausing momentarily, before dropping the hand previously lost in his messy locks.

You hum, caressing his face, though a faraway look sets itself in your eyes, “Those girls are really pretty. And they’re so thin. Should I lose some more weight? Sleep in tomorrow to miss breakfast? I absolutely hate my bo—mmph!”

Your words were muffled when Arthur’s lips crash onto yours, silencing you in mere seconds. When he pulls away only leaving the both of you breathless, you almost wish his face wasn’t so close — the pain etched in every line of his face was horrible. 

Wordlessly, he kisses every part of your skin, intent on leaving nothing untouched, slight tingles following in its trail. As if saying “I love this, I love you.”

He had never really been good with words when it came to his own emotions, and yet that night had him repeating three simple words over and over, as if saying a prayer he wished to ingrain into your heart and mind. 

Arthur proceeds to act like an overexcited puppy with you, bringing you any and every type of food he thinks you’d like. 

You never have the heart to say no, especially when his chest puffs out in pride after you take a bite.

Theodorus van Gogh

You estimated that it would take about a week or two for someone to notice your regressing eating habits. But having Theo as a lover pulled your estimations way back.

So here you are, awkwardly staring at the man, his eyebrows raised and the words he’d previously uttered racing through your mind. 

“Do you think I wouldn’t notice how you’re barely chomping anything down anymore?”

Your actions are stiff, fidgeting with your fingers while you avert your gaze. “I.. thought you’d be busy, is all.”

“Busy enough to ignore the fact that the one I love is starving?” You wince at the edge in his tone, one he notices, only causing him to sigh. 

Covering the distance between you two, Theo gently pushes your chin up to meet his gaze, all sorts of worry clear in his bright eyes. With pink tinging his ears, his tone softens, not once breaking the eye contact.

“I care about you, schatje. You’re the only one I can ever love. Remember that, yeah? So I don’t have to keep repeating it…” He trails off, cheeks flushed a hot red and bottom lip caught in between his teeth in a way that only induces a watery chuckle from you. 

Theo never forces you to eat anything you don’t want to, but he serves as your cheerleader — more like drill sergeant, in actuality. He always finds subtle ways to get you to eat a bit more, bringing you home some food he deems healthy whenever he goes out.

Though he doesn’t comment on it, he’s extremely happy whenever he sees you eating more than usual, desperately trying to hide the smile on his face from you. 

He offers you some of his pancakes at times — he doesn’t even offer them to Vincent. It’s a heartwarming gesture coming from the tsundere. 

Comte de Saint-Germain

Do not underestimate this man — Comte is far more observant than he lets on, so the very moment you decide to revert back into your starvation habits, he’s immediately right behind you. 

He, however, is also very understanding, and it takes him a good portion of the day to conjure up a way to tackle the situation.

Finally, when you’re languidly running a brush through your hair, Comte takes it upon himself to snake up behind you, pressing his warm body against your back. 

“I’ve noticed how you haven’t been eating as much.”

His voice has no trace of accusation — only a simple, no-nonsense statement, bringing you to relax your tense form once more. 

Gauging your reaction, he continues carefully, “Do you mind telling me why?”

“It might sound silly but… I’m afraid you’ll leave me if I gain weight.”

Your soft reply only has his eyes widening, mouth gaping ever-so slightly in a way you thought unfit on his regal face.

Then, gently tilting your head to face him, his golden eyes meet yours, smile not-all that bright — slightly pained, if you will — yet he still tries. 

“Although you might not believe my words now, this heart of mine belongs to you and only you, ma chérie.”

He must have seen the slight hesitancy in your eyes, the thoughts whirling in your head. A gentle smile sets itself unto his face, his large, smooth hand moving to grasp your own. 

“Besides, I have all this time on my hands, and I wouldn’t mind spending it all on you.”

Comte’s with you every step of the way, getting every and anything you need or want   

He also takes it upon himself to cook you some meals as well — ones bordering on the thin line between digestible and inedible; apparently not all immortals have cooking skills — but it’s the thought that counts. 

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #napoleon bonaparte #leonardo da vinci #arthur conan doyle #theodorus van gogh #theo #comte de saint germain #comte #headcanons