#i think the eye's still there just with a scar over it

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 7

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (SMUT)

Description: After a close call Cooper gives in to his feelings for Reader.

Notes: This chapter is half smut. For those who don’t want that I don’t think you’d miss anything of importance in the story if you skip it.

TW: p in v, unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, pretty vanilla (sorry pervs lol love you I'm just not good at smut).

His scarred lips were rough against mine, one of his hands on my hip the other tangled in my hair. This was a moment I dreamed about my entire life. Someone who cares about me was never something I thought I’d have. While having a couple of fleeting flings here and there with my brother's friends, I never had a true romance. This feeling? It was straight out of one of my novels. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't help but let out a breathy sound of dissatisfaction. He gave me a teasing smile before taking the vials from my hand and shoving them into his bag.

"Let's go find you some Radaway, Darlin'. We’ll have ya feelin' better in no time." He said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the building.

"Thank god Lucy left the door open." I thought to myself as we made our way inside. 

The place was huge and felt like a relic of the past. The rundown storefronts and flickering lights left much to be desired. I pushed my body against Cooper's back as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Noticing my discomfort, he gave my hand a small reassuring squeeze. He was still in bad shape, clear as day, as he stumbled through the building.

After some exploration, we came across a room full of bodies. "Didn't know Lucy was capable of this." I gasped.

"I imagine these fellas did most of it." He said, kicking the boot of one of the men on the ground. He was holding a gun, but it didn't seem to have done him much good. While Cooper scanned the bodies, looking for anything of value, I started to wander over to some of the other rooms. One room in particular caught my eye, some of the things inside reminding me of the medical center we found Roger in.

"Don't go far," Cooper said as he huffed another vial before rummaging through the men's pockets.

"I won't," I mumbled as I looked back at him one more time before entering the room. I swallowed nervously as I looked around the room before setting my sights on some drawers in a cabinet. After some searching, I could some syringes with the word "Radaway" written on the side. 

"Found some!" I said happily as I made my way back to Cooper to find him shoving vials of Jet into his hat. “That's so much!" I yelled in shock.

The happiness radiating from the two of us could have probably lit up a city. He looked up at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him before his eyes flitted to the syringe in my hand. He dropped his hat on the ground as he held out his hand expectantly. 

"Let me help you with that." He stated.

I was perfectly capable of injecting myself, but I liked the idea of Cooper taking care of me, so after a moment of hesitation I passed it to him. While he was looking over the syringe, almost like he was making sure it wasn't fake, I took the time to look over his face. REALLY look it over. His leathery tan skin and his beautiful hazel eyes. I knew that many people looked at him with disgust, but I don't think that after getting to know him I could ever think of him as anything other than beautiful. I was so lost in thought I barely registered the needle going into my arm.

"There," He said with a satisfied tone. "All better."

"Thanks, Coop." I beamed up at him. I had some Radaway, Cooper had a lot of Jet, and he finally kissed me. Everything felt perfect. 

Cooper knelt down to pick back up his hat when something caught his eye. A rectangular black box with glass on the front. 

"What is that?" I asked curiously.

"That, darlin'." He responded, a look of shock on his face, "That is a television."

I ruminated on the word, trying to figure out if I knew it from anywhere as he grabbed something and inserted it into the television. He slowly made his way to the couch and plopped down. The expression on his face was something I couldn't recognize. Amazement? I sat down next to him as I looked at the television curiously, whatever it was it was affecting Cooper. The box sprang to life, lighting up as he pressed a button on the controller he was holding. The television played a video. "Of course!" I thought to myself as I remembered the stories of moving pictures. The man on the video reminded me a lot of Cooper. The western attire, the confidence, and of course the gun he was holding. 

"Reminds me of you," I said innocently, not realizing the weight of my words.

"Nah, He ain't nothin' like me." He said quietly before looking over at me to scan my face before looking back at the video.

The man in the video was talking and I was trying to pay attention, I really was, but It was so long since I had sat anywhere but the ground, and while under normal circumstances I would call the couch uncomfortable, it felt like the most comfortable thing in that moment. I put my head on Cooper's shoulder and yawned. 

"Tired already, sugar?" Cooper teased.

"Maybe a lil' bit," I admitted. "I could stay up a bit longer, though."

"For what?" He mused, almost like he knew what I was thinking. 

I giggled, blush coating my cheeks as I whispered, "Maybe some more kissing?"

He hummed happily before pulling me onto his lap. I yelped in surprise at his sudden movement, grasping at his shoulders. “Now why would you want to kiss lil’ old me?” He was mostly joking, but an undertone of seriousness hung in the air.

“A better question is why wouldn’t I want to kiss you, Cooper? You are strong, you take care of me, you are handsome-“ I started to explain.

He scoffed, interrupting me. “I ain’t handsome.”

“You are!” I try to explain, “You have pretty eyes.” I said like I did days ago, back when he barely tolerated me. “And the way ya hold yourself is very… sexy.”

His eyes snapped up to mine, they were darkening, hungry. The embarrassment coursed through me and I could hardly stand it, so I buried my face in his neck.

“Awww getting shy, sugar?” He mocked. Before I could respond I felt his lips on my cheek. He stayed there for a moment before he started trailing down my neck, leaving tiny kisses in his wake.

I sighed happily as I pushed myself closer to him. I could’ve stayed that way forever, but Cooper had other plans. His hands were still on my hips from when he pulled me onto him. He slowly started to massage them before pressing me harder down on his lap. I let out a sound that was a mixture between a yelp and a moan.

“You like that?” He whispered in my ear.

I shook my head yes, my face still hidden in his neck.

“I wanna see you, darlin’.” He stated, his southern drawl slurred. He wasn’t demanding it, the tone in his voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried he was going to scare me off.

Holding my breath I slowly pushed myself up. I was sure my face was red as a tomato as I made eye contact with him. When our eyes met, it felt like a damn had been released, lust flowing through me. “Coop,” I whisper before I start moving my hips on my own.

He let out a growl as he squeezed at my plush hips. “So soft.” He said.

“All for you, I’m all for you,” I say before crashing my lips into his.

The kiss was heady and passionate, I felt like I was drowning in him.

“Too many clothes,” I mumble against his mouth. Before I started to tug at his tattered duster jacket.

“I agree,” he sighed. Instead of helping me with his jacket, he ripped my hands from him and quickly tugged off my shirt, almost tearing it in the process. He sucked in a breath as he took in my bare chest. It was a sight to behold. Hair messy, half naked, and pupils blown. There was no way he could question if I wanted him, not anymore.

“God damn.” He groaned before leaning forward to kiss my chest. It’s like he wanted to kiss every inch of my body and I was starting to get impatient.

“Stop your teasin’,” I grumbled out, tugging at his jacket again.

This time, he obliged, quickly shucking it off before his hands started fumbling at his vest buttons. I cursed at him for wearing so many layers. I took this time to slide off his lap to take off my boots and pants, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. His hands stuttered as he threw off his vest and pulled off his shirt, distracted by the view in front of him.

“You, sugar, are way too good for me.” He muttered, his hands reaching out to pull me back onto his lap.

I moaned at the feeling of his rough jeans rubbing against me through my underwear. I could feel myself getting wetter, smearing my arousal on his pants. I rubbed my hands down his scarred chest before finding myself fiddling with his buckle.

“You want me?” I asked as I bit my lip. “Then take me.”

This seemed to flip a switch in him as he quickly spun me around so my back was on the couch. He hovered over me before kissing me fervidly. I undid his belt before popping open the button on his pants. He briefly pulled away from me to pull on his pants completely before slotting himself back on top of me.

“Darlin’,” he moaned as he rubbed his erection against my core.

I was so lost in the feeling I could barely respond, “Yeah?” I moaned out.

“There was more Radaway, right?” He asked. It was sweet that even in his lustful state he was still worried about me.

“Yes, Coop.” I responded, “Now fuck me already.”

He chuckled before mocking me, “So eager.”

He continued to tease me as he slowly pulled down my underwear, kissing down my legs as he went. I started to get dizzy, the arousal was becoming too much to bear. Finally, he pulled my panties off completely, kissing his way back up my body. I widened my legs as far as they could go, silently beckoning him inside of me. I heard him curse under his breath before slowly pushing himself into me. We let out moans in tandem, reveling in the feeling.

I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him down so our foreheads were knocking against each other. I looked deeply into his eyes before I started to plead, “Fuck me, Cooper. Make me feel good. Please!”

“I could never say no to you.” He whispered before sheathing himself completely, his head brushing against that sweet spot inside of me.

He gave me a peck on the lips before trailing down my neck again, sucking as he went. The idea of having marks on me that everyone would see made me moan loudly. He was claiming me as his. I started to wiggle, silently begging him to move. After a few moments, he gave in, starting slow. It was intimate, sweet even. He wasn’t fucking me he was making love to me. He had barely started but I was already a babbling mess. Repeating his name like a prayer I begged for him to go faster. It didn’t take long for him to oblige, picking up his pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The bodies on the floor were long forgotten as we got lost in each other.

“Y/n,” he groaned my name, causing me to squeeze around him. “Sugar, you keep feeling this good I’m not gonna last long.”

I was feeling too good to respond, letting out soft squeaks and moans as he pistoned in and out of me. He snaked his hand down my body to start rubbing at my clit, causing my body to tremble. I was close and he knew it, trying to get me to the edge before he arrived there himself.

“Cooper!” I cried out as I convulsed underneath him, succumbing to the pleasure. I could hear him swearing above me before he stilled, letting out one last moan as he came inside of me.

The both of us were breathing heavily. Saying we were exhausted would have been an understatement. He took a moment before starting to pull out of me. I let out a sad whimper at the lack of contact, grasping at his arms. He let out a breathy laugh at my actions. “I’ll be back.” He said, reassuring me. I watched him with half-lidded eyes as he went into the medical room for a moment before coming back to me with another syringe of Radaway.

I snorted, “That could have waited.”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to give me a smirk before sinking the needle into my arm. Once he was done he grabbed ahold of me, rolling us over so he was underneath me on the couch.

As he was rubbing reassuring circles on my back he told me, “Sleep, darlin’.”

I hummed happily into his chest before giving way to his request.

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#cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout #the ghoul smut #cooper howard smut

[elexaria]

könig stares at the bathroom door, wry blonde eyebrows furrowed as he hesitates, raising his knuckle close to the door. for a moment, he just stands and listens— hearing you hum quietly, the gentle splash of water blending in with the hearty laugh track coming from a cheesy sitcom playing in the background. the sound of your relaxed sighs and giggles make könig’s lips twitch ever so slightly, seemingly standing before the door for what feels like forever, just wanting to bottle up the moment and savour it all while he can, when he’s not away with blood on his hands.

a rasp to the door almost brings you out of it, blinking out of your relaxed state as you hesitantly reach over to pause the show playing on your laptop. “yeah?” you call out, cocking your head slightly to the side to listen for your fiancé’s voice.

“you doing okay in there, love?” he asks softly, the timber in his thick austrian accent sending a chill down your spine. his genuine and sincere concern warms your heart.

“yeah, why?”

“just… you’ve…” he begins to mumble, and you can basically hear himself smush his face against the door.

“huh? i can’t hear you—“

and he continues to mumble even more, which makes you roll your eyes with adoration.

“kö, just come in, honey— i don’t wanna talk through a door.”

the bathroom door slowly creaks open, könig’s scarred hands snaking their way around the other side as he looks away, blushing like a teenage boy as he shuffles his way inside the doorframe.

“i just…. you’ve been in there for a while, no? you are going to be … just … all wrinkly and full of water.” he furrows his eyebrows when you giggle, still bashful and yet so concerned for you. it’s so sweet how much he cares, even if it makes no sense.

you clear your throat, and when that doesn’t rouse his attention, you resort to snapping your fingers and whistling— something he genuinely dislikes. he grunts, still furrowing his eyebrows. his stony cold eyes glance right at you, although the twitch on his lips betrays the serious expression he aims to convey. it makes you grin ear to ear.

“it’s called a soak for a reason, you know that? besides, don’t you want me to be clean?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows playfully as you lean against the bath tub, arms propped up. a few trails of warm water trickle onto the floor below, which makes könig twitch. he’s a massive neat freak.

“mmh..” he pauses, thinking as he considers your words carefully. without hesitation, he guffaws at the idea of you not bathing. “well… perhaps this soak is not so bad when you put it this way,..” könig mutters gently, strong arms crossed over his broad chest muscles as he leans back against the doorway.

for a moment, you can swear his eyes flicker down to your flushed skin, which makes you feel bashful and shy. you playfully splash water over at him, which makes him scowl playfully over the mess. “watch it, you.” he chuckles, glancing down at the mess before using the bath mat to clean up.

“well… alright. do you.. need anything? like a towel—“ he mutters to himself, eyeing up the three fluffy towels neatly propped up on the radiator. you think, before sighing as you recline back in the warm water, eyes closed.

“could you bring me some melon? and maybe a cup of herbal tea…”

“food? in the bath? alright, it’s time for you to get out.”

and without warning, könig delves his arms into the soapy water, grinning as you gasp and wriggle away from his hands, squealing happily as he teases you <3

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x y/n #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig

[mikkomacko]

Thank u for doing requests ! What about giiving kisses on mob boss Nico’s scars (if any)?🥹🥹

This is so sweet oh my god I’m gonna cry. (This also somehow turned into a smut scene at the end so happy first smut scene of mob boss Nico!)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!

————————————————————————-

It wasn’t a big dead, not really. Just an off-handed remark Jack had made after Nico chirped him for getting a bad haircut.

“You should spend more time worrying about that lip of yours than my haircut.” He’d yapped, motioning to the recently split lip Nico had gotten. “Eventually your girl’s not gonna wanna kiss it better.”

It had healed just fine and yeah for a bit there you’d avoided the raw wound, but now that it’s just a sliver of a scar it’s fine, right?

Nico can’t help it. He’s picking at it, smears of shaving cream still splattered across his jaw and cheeks. He picks at it until the skin of his lip is red and raw, and it hurts so badly he has to stop.

In a frantic spiral he’s suddenly spotting all the little marks on his face. Every scar left over from teenage acne to fist fights to hitting his head on the coffee table as a child, Nico feels manic as he takes them all in.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved. Maybe he should’ve let his beard grow out, creep up his cheeks and down his neck to hide all the ugly marks.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole he goes. Wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, Nico spots the ugly mark on his collar bone from where he’d been nicked with a knife. The one on his abdomen from where he’d been kicked with steel toe boots.

Something ugly and ashamed rises in his chest, threatens to choke him. He scrambles out of the bathroom, haphazardly shutting off the light as he rushes to the closet. In his haste to cover himself he misses you already lying in bed. It’s not until he’s yanked on a hoodie and sweatpants, finally able to breathe easy, does he notice you watching him with bewilderment.

“You ok boss?” You ask him, slightly amused.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feels like throwing up. What if you saw all of them? Like really saw them? Sat in front of him and saw all those ugly spots at once, all his ugly spots?

“Fine,” he mumbles, climbing into his side of bed. He feels stiff and awkward, ignoring your gaze as he reaches to shut off the bedside lamp.

You make a confused noise in the dark and Nico blinks until his eyes adjust. Then he’s lying back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ache to reach for you, to touch your skin. But he’s terrified of you touching his skin and suddenly deciding you don’t want to anymore.

Stupid fucking Jack and his big mouth.

The sheets shuffle, the mattress moving with your weight. “Nico?” A hand pats down the duvet, then slithers across the blanket until it’s resting over his chest.

“Hm?”

“Baby you’re on the edge of the bed.”

“M’just hot.”

“Maybe it’s the winter clothes you just put on?”

Nico hesitates, scrambles for an excuse. “Not feeling well either. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“You ate three plates of pasta, Schoa. I don’t think that’s contagious.”

Clearing his throat, Nico pathetically shrugs. Something’s welled up in his esophagus, is choking him and he wants you to reach over and make it better.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to piss you off first?”

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of your hand on him. That feeling chokes him again, makes him panic until he’s spiting out his worst fears to you.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Nico expects you to laugh, to kick at his leg and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But he thinks the pathetic whimper of his words has given away how dire this topic is to him.

“Oh baby,” you breathe out, “I want to kiss you all the time.” You sound sincere, like you’re thinking about kissing him right now. It makes his face hot, embarrassed and insecure for some reason.

His silence is thick, hanging in the air so heavily you have to sit up in bed and crawl over him. Nico can’t help it, his hands moving on their own to find your hips as you push the blankets back and straddle his thighs.

“Nothing could ever make me not want you.” You whisper. In the dark he finds your eyes, the moonlight coming through the window gleaming in them. They look shiny and blurry, warped by the night- no by him. Because he’s got tears in his waterline.

“You didn’t want to kiss my lip,” he mumbles like a child, “when it was hurt.”

You stroke through his hair, press your palm to his cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“What if next time it’s worse? What if the cut is bigger and then the scar is and it doesn’t get better?”

“What-Nico where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He’s silent, embarrassed again. “Jack said if my scars get any worse you won’t want to kiss them better anymore.”

“Oh Nico baby,” you huff in disbelief. “Have you ever noticed that Jack doesn’t even have someone to kiss his scars better? Who does he think he is?”

You’re right, but he doesn’t feel better. So he just shrugs, makes some weird noise of protest in his chest because he’s scared and hurt.

“Can I please turn the light on?”

Nico leans into your palm, heart thumping loudly in his chest but he mutters his consent. The lamp flicks on and at first he’s blinded. But then you come into view, one of his shirts on your shoulders and you’re pretty hair frizzy on top of your head.

You look so beautiful over him.

“Oh my god, what has Jack done to you?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb under his droopy eyes that are still wet with unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Your fingers trace his face, over the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheeks and the slope of his nose. Your thumb outlines his lips, your eyes following its movement with such adoration in them it makes his heart ache.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” you say with earnest, stroking the scar on his lip. “No cut or bruise or scar is ever going to change that.”

“Yeah?”

You lean down, ghost your lips over his. “Yeah Nico,” you promise, sealing it with a kiss. He runs his hands up your back, holds you as you trail kisses over the little marks of his face.

Nimble fingers dip beneath his hoodie, touch the warm skin of his stomach. “Can I take this off my love?”

Sluggish, Nico nods. He sits up enough to help you wiggle it off of him, falling back into the pillows as you throw the hoodie to the side.

You sit back, admiring the skin of his chest and abs with your hands and lidded eyes. “All I see when I look at you, is the brave and strong man that I love.”

Sliding down his body, you mouth at his collarbone with soft and needy lips. Nico sighs contently, lets your breath tickle his skin and grows warm at the way you touch him so sweetly.

Sometimes he wonders how you can treat him so softly, how you can take him in those soft hands and turn him into a puddle.

“Baby,” he whines, unsure of what he’s even calling for. All he knows is that he loves you and you’re making him feel so good.

“Let me love on you,” you request, word pressing into the column of his throat. “Let me show you how beautiful and sexy you are Nico.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, shudders as pleasure nips at his belly and blood rushes to his cock.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

You’re slow and diligent, finding any and every place on him that is marred or changed and showering it in kisses and loving touches. He’s sweating and panting when you get to the edge of his pants, peeling the band down to reveal more and more of the scar there.

“This one’s my favorite,” you say so quietly he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head, brain foggy with lust. You peer up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking sultry over the planes of his body. Lips hovering over the mark that trails down the v of his hips and the top of his thigh.

“My favorite,” you mumble into his skin, kissing at the point of his hip. Then you’re pulling his sweats down even more, innocent eyes watching him hiss when his cock jumps free, red and hard against his abdomen.

“Why?”

Your lips curl up, wicked as you bite into the inside of his thigh just enough to make him twitch. “Because I get to see it every time I’m down here.”

Nico’s brain short circuits, shuts down when you bite into his skin again and it feels so good he might come untouched. He doesn’t want to though, not that he needs to tell you that.

You nose at his cock, mouth wet and hot against the base of him and his bones turn to jelly. He falls back into the mattress, widening his legs for you to get closer.

Grounding himself with fingers in your hair, Nico whimpers when you drag the flat of your tongue up his length, gentle fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Baby,” Nico whines again, and you’re already kissing at the thick head of his cock, all teasing flicks of the tongue and lips sticky with precum.

“I know pretty boy,” you assure, sweet and loving. Nico moans, ears growing hot at the pet name. “So pretty, from those big eyes of yours all the way down to your pretty cock, huh?”

His hips buck up, eyes rolling back and he twitches in your hand. Jesus Christ, now he knows why you love when he talks you through sex. The rawness of your words, the truth in your tone, how utterly sweet you sound saying such filthy things.

“Make me cum,” he begs, tugging on your hair encouragingly. “Please just -fuck!”

You swallow him down easy, fitting his cock into your warm mouth just how he taught you. Like it’s habit now, to have his cock dripping into the back of your throat while your tongue licks at the underside of him.

Nico’s so worked up and sensitive he’s already throbbing and threatening to blow his load. That fire licks at the base of his spine, curls his toes and has him blubbering nonsense. You bob your head, drooling down his length and cupping his balls in your palm.

You’re so soft and warm, so loving in everything you do. Nico thinks it might kill him one day, how much you love him. But that would be a hell of a way to go.

His cock throbs, twitching in the hollow of your cheeks and you stroke a free hand over that favorite scar of yours. That’s at it takes and he’s seeing stars, coming so hard on your tongue it twists painfully at the pit of his stomach.

Dropping his hands from you, heavy like his bones are made of lead, Nico fights to catch his breath. Your merciful on him, easy and gentle as you kiss your way back up his torso and to his mouth.

Nico doesn’t peel his eyes open until you’re messily mouthing at his parted lips. Your tongue tastes like him, breath hot and he groans into your mouth as he kisses you back.

“I lied,” you pant when you part from the kiss. “This one’s my favorite actually,” and your pecking a kiss to the scar on his lips.

“Baby you just sucked the soul out of me,” Nico croaks, wrapping his arms around you and pinning you into his sweaty chest. “I can’t take anymore compliments.”

You giggle, touching your nose to his. “It’s the truth this time, I love that one. It’s the first thing I see every morning, the first thing I see after you kiss me.”

Nico hums, smacks a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Do you think that’s pretty too?” He goads, smirking when you blush and roll your eyes. “Pretty like my cock? Or pretty like my eyes?”

Laughing, you wiggle in his hold to try and get away. “Oh shut up!”

“Noooo keep telling me how pretty I am, boss please?”

#him and i #him and I blurb #nico hischier #mob boss Nico #mob boss Nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier smut #requested

[colonoscopys]

ch. 18

buddie I 900 words I ao3

He’s drunk.

Not the blazing, head so spinny he could hurl if he stood straight, but in the hours after drunk that comes with a dry, heavy tongue and a slurred voice he still has some sort of control over.

Buck’s in the same boat, or—he thinks he must be, he doesn’t know, sitting criss-crossed next to him outside their hotel room door because they can’t, for the life of them, figure out how to put the key card into the door.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck slurs, looking at him with slow, wide-lidded blinks. “Where’s—where’s Chimney?”

He draws out Chimney. Chim-ney.

Eddie shrugs. He can’t make his mouth work for the life of him. He’s pretty sure he saw Chimney two hours ago—before the music started? Or at least when he started singing Maneater with one of the Drag Queens.

Buck knocks a shoulder into his as he slips down the wall, the smell of his hair briefly sifting into his nose. He smells like gin and lemons, and a little bit of that fancy curl product he tresses up his hair with before every fancy event.

I know his hair product, he thinks loosely, tilting his head against the wall as he takes Buck’s weight. I know his hair product, and the way he does his hair before work. I know it all because he helps my son do his hair just the same way. I know it all because my son wants to be like him, so I have learned him, for my son. I know it all because I have learned him. I know it all because I have learned him, for me.

I have learned him. I have earned him.

“Does—” And Fuck, maybe he’s drunker than he thought. “Does Tommy know your curl?”

Buck hums, non-committedly. He hasn’t heard a word Eddie said. He tries again.

“Does,” he spits out. Doooesss. “Tommy.” Ttttommyyyy. “Know.” Know.

Buck lifts his head up and ends up tipping too much to the other side. Eddie grabs him by the forearm, tight. The action feels familiar in ways that Eddie, for the life of him, can't understand.

Buck blinks at him, bright blue eyes stupid dilated. “Does Tommy know what?” He whispers. He draws out his name, too. Tom-my.

Eddie looks at him and loves him.

He’s always known he loves Buck. For the first time in his life, though, he thinks—I love you. What does that make me?

Eddie opens his mouth. The back of his throat burns—maybe from all the tequila shots or the lemons hitting the rim of his teeth or the raw pad of his tongue from licking salt off of Buck’s warm palm.

Does he know what you look like covered in blood, Eddie wants to ask. Does he know what it looks like when you haven’t showered in three days because you’re so depressed you don’t know if water burns more than the sun. Does he know what it looks like when you’ve got ugly red eyes because you’re so sad you don’t even know how to hold it. Does he know what it looks like to see you shining, like a savior, in the worst of the worst, in the worst of your days. Does he know what it’s like to lose you, really lose you, and see you swallowed up by white sheets and a lightning scar across your chest. Does he know what it’s like to be loved by you. Does he know.

He thinks—I love you. What does that make me?

Eddie tries to take a breath but it feels like there’s something crawling up his throat, so he tilts his head back up against the wall and tries to take a breath.

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Buck continues, as Eddie stares at him.

Eddie nods. “Good,” he says. Good. Buck. “Tommy.” Tommy. Tommy.

He looks at Buck and thinks of the answer.

It makes him a dead man, this love. It’ll kill him probably. It has to kill him. It has to be like a disease you can’t hear or smell or breathe, and you have to be alone in the hospital with your blood running in circles beneath your skin. It has to be like a disease that kills you before you take your next breath. It’s killing him.

I love you. What does that make me?

It makes a fucking idiot, is what it makes him, because god he’s always too fucking late, running into stupid relationships after relationships after being too fucking late in the beginning of it all. He is too late. He is too late and he is in love and he is burning up right from the inside.

I love you. What does that make me?

He heaves. He can’t breathe. Buck puts his head back down on his shoulder, and all of a sudden Eddie has to learn how to breathe, or otherwise he’ll disrupt Buck’s rest. He can’t disrupt Buck’s rest.

“Buck,” he starts, opening his mouth. Buck sighs, half-heartedly, and tilts back. He looks at Eddie. Eddie opens his mouth.

“I love you,” he says. Nothing comes out. “What does that make me?”

Buck looks at him, confused. He blinks, like he's thinking it through.

“Eddie.” He draws out his name, slow. Eddie.

#you are allowed. to hate this #buddie fic #evan buckley #911 fic #hello 😇😁 #eddie diaz

[siscon-stsg]

Can we get Toji’s daughter pleasing him after a stressful job 💗

(CW: incest, name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, brat, etc), toji calls reader 'princess' a few times, toji-levels of bad parenting, daddy kink ofc, chokehold, rough sex, cockdrunk reader, titty slapping, teasing, a weird mix of degradation and praise i think, begging, toji cums on reader's chest and face, toji makes one joke about prostituting reader)

i'll let you guys know i am physically unable to thirst for toji because my daddy issues are just like tHAT, but i did my best for y'all guys, if this ain't a proof of how much i love you idk what is. ~BLOSSOM

TOJI is not an exemplary dad, though that is something you already knew. it was almost fun how little effort he put into hiding it, even laughing sometimes that you'd expect him to be better. him.

“brat, i'm home,” you heard him grumble from the main door before he slammed it shut. you barely acknowledged with a hum from the comfort of your own cramped bedroom, such as was usual between you two; never the type to interact much. TOJI hadn't been home for well over a week, barely letting you know through a phone call that the job he'd taken proved to be more difficult than it seemed.

for a few long minutes, TOJI was but a ghost in the apartment, the one sound indicating he was even there being the water running form inside the bathroom. and as you made your way to the kitchen, looking for something to drink, he coincidentally walked into the adjacent living room, leaving the bathroom in a puff of steam.

water droplets ran, still warm, down the outline of each muscle and vein and scar; stopped only by the towel that hung suspiciously low around his hip. black hair was damp, carrying with it the scent of that cheap shampoo he'd get on a discount pack.

maybe you focused a bit too long on the other hairs tho, the ones trailing down his belly to his crotch. maybe.

“your brother?” TOJI asked, in a tired mumble, as he plopped down on the couch with a sigh; head tilted back, manspreading even when he didn't have boxers on. you averted your eyes from the hot embarrassing sight your father made, taking a sip from your glass of tap water, throat feeling oddly constricted all of a sudden.

“out. didn't say where,” you answered, honestly. you and your younger brother megumi hadn't been in the best terms since he turned into a teen. knowing TOJI would be home any minute, tho, megumi usually disappeared.

the knowledge that you two were home alone didn't sit right in your belly. though at this point, it was hard to discern whether you loathed these moments with TOJI, or looked forward to them.

thing were never very normal between you anyway.

the non-committal, husky hum your dad made only proved he, and you, were on the same wavelength after all. it didn't require much more than a simple “c'mere” from him to feel your legs, though jiggling like jelly, take you across the kitchen to the living room, to couch, and then to him.

TOJI's hands were always so big, rough and heavy, even when he wasn't applying any force. he squeezed them just right on each of your hips, pulling you down until you took your usual place on your daddy's lap.

“'m tired,” he grumbled, hands absent-mindedly rubbing your thighs, following the curve they made up to your ass. he pushed your body closer, digging his fingers just enough on the squishy flesh to make your breath hitch. “and i won't see m'payment 'til a few more days, cuz the shitty client's mad the job took more days than we agreed on. so,”

without warning, one of his hands tangled in the roots of your head, gently tugging until your mouth slanted over his. his kisses were sloppy, filthy, even when they had no tongue.

“y're gonna help daddy out”

“who y'runnin' away from, lil' girl?”

TOJI's voice was a husky, breathy mess. a deep growl compared to your high-pitched moans and squeaks; and nothing on the filthy, wet slap of his thighs on yours.

he was spooning you from behind on the couch, both fully naked. but when you tried to run away, TOJI snuck an arm under you and curled it around your neck; thick bicep bulging, chin slotted right in the crook of his elbow. the wheezing sound you let out got a chuckle out of him.

“such a bitch, runnin' from my cock. after i work my ass off f'you and your stupid brother”. TOJI spoke right into your ear, relishing each shiver and whimper he got out of you. it was either the bass his voice doing it, or the slap of his balls against your clit, or his toned muscles practically molded against your smaller frame.

“s-... so-...!” your brain was broken beyond the point of coherency, but still you felt like he expected a response. “AH!” only that this particular one earned your tit a slap and a nasty squeeze.

“don' say sorry, you slut, jus' take my fucking cock. yeahhh, like th'tt”. TOJI growled, momentarily slowing down just to bully his thickness slowly, from fat tip to even fatter hilt, inch by punishing inch. his pubes were a sticky mess of your pussy juices that so unapologetically dribbled down the couch. “pussy's so wet 'n tight, might start t' think you were waitin' f'me to do this”.

TOJI slipped out of you with a nasty squelch, manhandling you onto your back and dragging you like a rag doll to kneel between your open thighs. his fat cock rubbed fast and slick against your drooling slit, your chest heaving each time it caught on your pretty clit.

“daddy!”

“yeah, princess?” he hissed, teasing your hole only with the head, then he pulled back and kept rubbing at your sloppy cunny. “what' d's my girl want?”

you could barely even think. when TOJI was inside it felt like you'd never get used to his sheer girth and all, but... now you didn't have him and it just felt like your body was missing something; empty.

whining at this, pathetic and through tears, your hips bucked into his. your daddy answered so nicely by pinching your clit until you cried out.

“use y'r words, slut. or 's your brain fucked out already?”

TOJI hovered over you, trapping your body oh so right under his mass and height. the tenderness in which he sought your lips and tongue only made your fuzzy brain even more dizzy.

“yeah... thatta girl,” he purred when your legs lifted and wrapped around his hips. hissing as his tip caught your hole once again, this time your daddy didn't pull back: instead he grabbed your chin, grazing your bottom lip with his thumb as he said: “now speak”.

“y-your cock, please”. your squeaked plea made him chuckle. “please, need it s'bad!”

“hmm, can' wait?” TOJI murmured; hissing as he slowly, slowly sank back to the hilt. “such a whore for y'r daddy's cock...”

he barely gave you a breath to adjust before resuming his previous pounding. it got you screaming, nails digging into his back and heels into his hips as your daddy battered your cervix to tears.

each thrust made it more and more difficult to breath, you were even surprised the old couch managed to keep up with TOJI FUSHIGURO slamming into your pussy like he hated it. your belly felt more and more tight and stiff, thighs caught in between being tense to break and jittery.

“dad-! daddy!” you wailed between choked gasps. he groaned into your neck, calloused hands bruising your skin from how hard he was gripping onto your hips.

“cum f'me. c'mon, bitch, cum on this cock!”

two or three thrusts more, and your body snapped. all the moans you'd been choking on came out in a pathetic, sobbing, loud whine, body trashing from the sheer strength of your orgasm that made you forget about the neighbors. your eyes rolled back and you floated painfully on cloud nine, for long enough that it made you question if you dreamed the whole thing.

but no, because your pussy squeezed so hard it tore an actual moan out of TOJI and you heard it. he pulled out in a frenzy, kneeling over your chest as his thick fist blurred in vicious strokes and

“shit!” your daddy came. over your chest, some of your face; specially when he nudged your red cheek with the dripping tip, slowing down more and more with each stroke as he throbbed through his orgasm.

TOJI savored it, licking his lips and brushing the hair out of his handsome face: the sight of his pretty daughter with cum, his cum all over her skin, was a sight he'd pay to engrave behind his eyelids.

“fuck... you're good at this,” he panted, grinning down at your fucked out face. “how much would they pay for a pussy like yo-? ow! don't hit me, you fucking brat!”

#tw.incest #tw incest #dd:dne #papa toji #dead dove do not eat #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #tw dark content #daddy toji #tw. daddy kink #tw.daddy kink #tw daddy kink

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part Four

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

The day Stalag VIIA is liberated ought to be one of pure celebration. Unfortunately, fate has other plans in store.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Brief Battle, Serious Reader Injury [gunshot wound], POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, References to Christianity, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Thank you all ever so much for your patience! At last we come to the end of our tale. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6267

-------------------------

The morning of Sunday, April 29, 1945, dawned cloudy but bright. The chill of early spring still hung in the air, your breath hanging from your lips as you ducked out into the tent to collect the clean yet still-unfolded laundry that had been awaiting your attention throughout the drama of the rainstorm. You had just managed to tuck it away into your room when Fitzgibbons arrived with a new book for you to read, a more recently published fantasy novel called The Hobbit, though you had other priorities before diving into it.

You had almost gotten away with your clandestine chores, rags folded, and three-quarters of the bandages rolled, when your former surgical technician appeared at your door, knocking on the frame with an admonishing look on his face.

“I see you’re taking it easy on your day off, Ma’am.”

Huffing in irritation at being caught, you shook your head. “I’m off my feet, Fitz, can’t we just call a truce?”

He made a non-committal noise before cracking a grin. “Actually came to ask a favor, so I’m thinking we can come to an agreement. Menzies,” his deliberate mispronunciation of the British Captain’s name made you roll your eyes affectionately, “ordered me to flush a wound using your make-shift tools and honestly, I cannot make heads or tails of what you’ve jerry-rigged.”

Biting back a laugh, you nodded quickly, well aware that your cobbled-together system was more than a little unorthodox and not at all surprised Menzies had not taken the time to ensure Fitzgibbons knew how it worked. “Certainly, let me walk you through it.”

Grabbing the laundry you had thus far folded, you made your way down the hall to collect the items from the supply desk and followed him to the bedside of a new patient. Introducing yourself warmly, you learned the man’s name was Michaels and he hailed from the frigid wilds of Canada.

“Fitz and I are going to use this here to flush that wound, alright?” You nodded to the nasty laceration on his calf, your makeshift instruments cradled in your arms.

“Sounds fine, Ma’am.” He nodded patiently, vowels clipped remarkably short in that efficient Canuck way of speaking.

“Alright so if you take this, Fitz.” You held out a funnel with a piece of tubing secured to it, watching the tech take it carefully.

The mundane calm of the morning was shattered by the sudden hum of an airplane engine, your eyes shooting to meet Fitzgibbons’ sharply moments before the eruption of gunfire.

“Everyone get down!” He shouted and you both lurched into motion to begin helping your patients from their cots onto the wooden planks of the tent platform, abandoning your instruments on Michaels’ cot.

Panic rising as you once again found yourself in a wildly unsafe place while under fire, you urged the men from their beds to get low, presenting smaller targets for the errant bullets that were punching holes through the canvas of the tent every so often. The cacophony outside only increased with the rumble of approaching vehicles – tanks quite possible given the depth of sound that carried across the camp – and you nearly tripped over your own feet in an effort to reach the last two patients who simply could not move on their own.

Heaving one, Sidhu from India, out of his cot and depositing him onto the floor, you were just sliding your arms beneath the shoulders of the last, Hernandez from Texas, when searing heat and pain punched into your side. Your arms and legs gave out beneath you instantly, your body collapsing atop the poor boy still on his cot, both of you gasping for breath. With a grunt of annoyance, you flung a hand back to your hip, eyes widening as your fingertips were quickly covered in a warm, slick fluid.

“M…Ma’am?!” Hernandez warbled from beneath you, watching as you lifted your fingers to inspect just what was going on, his face blanching at the unmistakable scarlet of blood. “Doc?! Medic!! Help!!!” He began to shriek all the words he knew to summon assistance, making you wince at the racket as you forced yourself to roll off him, crashing to the floor in a pile of uncooperative limbs.

Taking a moment to try and catch your breath, pulse rocketing at an alarming rate, you began to realize that no matter how long you lay there, things were not improving. In fact the situation was growing a lot more serious as a deep ache was settling into your right side and you could feel your clothes growing damper with blood by the second. Rolling onto your stomach, you had just begun to feebly pull yourself across the floor of the tent when the racket outside subsided momentarily, Hernandez’s cries summoning several sets of boots to run in your direction.

A great, external cheer erupted in the same moment you were lifted by many hands onto one of the recently vacated cots, Chalmers, Menzies and Fitzgibbons all hovering above you as they yanked at your shirt and pants to get at your wound. The striking similarity between your plight and that of Simms set your teeth on edge, tears brimming in your eyes at the sudden thought that this could really be it. You might very well die here in these filthy, mud-covered clothes while the rest of the camp cheered on outside.

“Keep breathing for me, Nurse. You’ve got an entry and an exit wound, you just stay with us now.” Chalmers barked firmly and you managed a brief nod despite the shakes that seemed to want to rattle your bones. “Fitz go find out if they’ve got a Medic with them – we need sulfa and plasma, and she needs an aid station and surgery.”

“Sir!” He replied before you heard his frantic footfalls leave the tent.

Menzies applied a ruthless amount of pressure to the front and back of your hip and it was all you could do not to wail pathetically at the lances of pain that shot through you. “I know, Nurse, I know. For your own good, now. Why’d you have to go and get yourself shot in the middle of our liberation, hm?”

“Libe.r.ation?” It was difficult to form the word, your mouth clumsy and filled with cotton, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain.

Your heart was beginning to lose its rhythm, stuttering and skipping beats every so often. Your medical training offered a whispered explanation of ‘blood loss’ which did nothing for the suffocating feeling of panic in your chest.

“Looks like your American Army showed up to bring you home, so let’s make sure you can get there alright?” Chalmers added firmly and you nodded again, trying to take deep breaths.

You were so close. They were right there.

What had started as a frigid day seemed to be growing colder, your fingers tips positively icy by the time you heard Fitzgibbons return, giving someone a rundown. The familiarity of it made your heart ache for a simpler time when the two of you were the ones saving people, taking them from danger to safety. Now you were the one in peril, finding it remarkably difficult to keep your eyes open. The unfamiliar face of a young man in an Army helmet came into view before you felt the sting of sulfa on your wounds.

Your left sleeve was rolled up, your nonsensical protests going unheeded as the man began to search for a vein, inserting an IV for the bottle of cheery yellow plasma – the bright color anachronistic to the monochromatic color palette that pervaded the Stalag. Bandages were wrapped tightly around your middle once more and they were just about to lift you, cot and all, when another set of heavy footfalls sounded on the floorboards.

“Jesus christ…angelfish…” Bucky’s voice was unmistakable, though anguished, and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a weak smile.

“Bucky.” You managed to form his nickname at a volume no more than a whisper, vision narrowing in on his pinched, tight features, the normally rosy hue completely drained from his cheeks.

Suddenly everything tilted and whirled as your cot was hoisted onto the shoulders of Chalmers, Menzies, Fitzgibbons, and the Medic.

“Take the plasma, Egan. Hold it up, keep pace.” Chalmers ordered sharply and the ceiling of the tent began to blur as they rushed out into the daylight, your vision going completely white before all was darkness.

------------

The morning had seemed like any other, crowded around a small campfire trying to keep warm, trading suppositions about the end of the war with Jefferson, when the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine had broken through the din of the camp.

“Hey Macon, that’s a P-51!” Jefferson had shouted and instantly the entire population was on their feet, cheering on the pilot as he took out on of the guard towers.

Their elation was short lived, the abrupt sound of incoming artillery sending all the prisoners into the dirt as every single German soldier seemed to open fire as one, the camp instantly an active battlefield. Bucky’s eyes strayed to the hospital tent, its canvas walls helplessly pinned between the encroaching American tanks and the defending German guards. They needed to put a stop to this from the inside before any more lives were needlessly lost. Even as this thought crossed his mind, men were falling all around him.

“Fellas! Take out the tower!” Bucky shouted as he ran for the tent where the majority of the Americans were sheltering, seeking out the homemade stars and stripes they had carefully crafted and transported from camp to camp, kept hidden from goons, just for such an occasion.

It took a few tries before Jefferson successfully came up with the flag, passing it to him quickly. Dashing through the chaos of prisoners running hither and thither through the camp, some fleeing, some fighting guards, Bucky was boosted onto the roof of the administration building. The flagpole was less than sturdy as he climbed it but as he removed the Nazi war flag and tossed it to the cheering crowd below, the guns fell quiet. Securing the ragtag American flag, watching the breeze immediately catch and fly it high, an immense feeling of relief wash through him and after taking a moment to celebrate, he pressed his forehead to the hand-hewn timber of the pole to soak in his gratitude for making it this far. Though the ragged appearance of his country’s flag undoubtedly mirrored his own.

As he carefully climbed down the rickety pole, his eyes caught on a somewhat familiar figure running frantically through the crowd toward the gate, moving against the flow of those milling around the yard, celebrating. The man’s shouts carried intermittently on the wind across the crowd and Bucky managed to pick out “Medic,” his heartrate picking up at the word “Nurse.” His stomach dropped when the word “shot” reached his ears.

“Angelfish.” He whispered and quickly scrambled his way off the roof, wincing a little at his rough landing, before he began to shove his own way through the oblivious celebrants towards the hospital.

Skidding to a stop on the threshold of the tent, he was startled to find all the patients cowering beneath their cots while you lay on one of their abandoned beds, a bloody mess surrounded by men frantically trying to save you.

“Jesus christ…angelfish…” He choked out, throat clenching painfully as your head lolled to the side, slightly unfocused eyes meeting his.

“Bucky.” Your faint whisper of his name propelled him forward, a frown settling over his features at the state of your clothes, wanting nothing more than to cover up the expanse of your abdomen and the scar on your arm – you surely hated to have that so prominently on display.

Chalmers’ sudden directive for him to manage the plasma grabbed his attention and he quickly grasped the glass bottle, holding it high as they lifted the entire bed to begin carrying you out of there.

“Just hold on, angelfish.” He rasped, heart lurching painfully as your eyes rolled back in your head, your body going slack.

Running alongside you to the gate despite the way his lungs ached, the crowd mercifully parted before their odd little group. A jeep was waiting with a stretcher strapped to the back, and Bucky watched helplessly as your unsettlingly limp form was transferred from the cot, the bottle of plasma wrenched from his fingers by the Medic before he perched atop your legs. As the vehicle took off, the Lieutenant Colonel of the armored division strode over sternly.

“How the devil did a nurse end up as a POW?” He demanded as Lieutenant Colonel Clark came to stand on Bucky’s right.

Chalmer’s sighed deeply before sharing what he knew of your story, of your arrival back in January including the fact that the Red Cross was informed through the usual process, and how you were housed separately in the hospital. As Fitzgibbons, the very same surgical technician you had earned your burns pulling out of your plane, filled in the rest of your service history, Bucky could only reflect on how little he really knew you. How short his time with you had actually amounted to be. Hell, he would not have even known your squadron number if it was not for that conversation right then.

“What a SNAFU.” The man muttered and Bucky could certainly see the resemblance of the man’s commanding officer, Patton, in him. “Well, let’s get this formal surrender over with so we can get these boys home.”

Clark nodded in return and Bucky shuffled back to sit heavily amongst the men of the 100th, waving off Brady’s look of concern. Watching the salutes and handshakes, he was completely numb, his thoughts miles away with wherever they had taken you, only able to hope against hope that their aid station was of the highest calibre.

Bucky had not resorted to prayer often throughout the war. Sure he had worn a crucifix and crossed himself reflexively when flying into a hail of flak, but conversations with higher beings had never been something he had put much stock in. Faced, now, with this gnawing feeling of helplessness, your very survival in the balance, it seemed like the only tool left at his disposal.

Crammed into the tent that night, shoulder-to-shoulder with his neighbors, he felt rusty and self-conscious as he addressed the god of his childhood Sunday school and fairly begged for you to make it. He stopped short of bargaining his own life away, but barely, before sleep overtook his aching body, the exertions of the day overtaking him.

As he found himself jostling in the back of a transport truck on his way to Paris the next day, handpicked by Lieutenant Colonel Clark to be among the first sent back to England, he could not help but feel as though he was being driven further and further away from you. It was near night by the time they pulled into the base and Bucky took his first warm shower in over a year, changing into a fresh uniform and feeling almost human. They were served white bread that might as well have been cake, with steak and eggs that were too rich for him to endure more than a few bites before he crawled into a remarkably clean bed and slept deeply, exhaustion winning out over his continuous concern for your well being.

Climbing into the belly of a B-17 for the first time in over eighteen months felt awkward and painful, the crew from the 100th consisting of unfamiliar replacements, the space feeling more cramped than it ever had as he wedged himself into the cockpit behind the pilot. The deep-seated terror he had desperately been trying to supress, his fear that Buck had not made it to safety despite their planning and the beating he had taken to distract the guards, surged to the fore of his mind. It competed ruthlessly with his anxiety over whether you were still drawing breath, the fact that he may have to face the truth of losing both of you leaving him silent and withdrawn as the plane took flight.

There was no immediate answer awaiting him at Thorpe Abbotts either, no familiar faces lining the tarmac – not even Lemmons was around, which struck him as unsettlingly odd. Making his way to the CO’s hut, his eyes at last landed on a familiar face as Herrmann emerged from one the equipment sheds.

“Hey Winks! Where is everybody? Guy comes back after a year-and-a-half and no one’s around?” He plastered on a playful smirk as the boy’s face broke out into a grin of astonishment, shaking his hand vigorously as he rushed over.

“Buck took Rosie, Douglass, Croz, and Kenny up on one of those mercy missions they’ve been practicing for, they should be back any time now, sir. Gosh it’s great to see you back here.”

Bucky’s attention immediately snagged on the first name Herrmann mentioned, finding it immensely difficult to continue listening as he exhaled half of the tension that had strangled him all the way across the English Chanel. “Good to be back, Winks. Think you can give me a lift?” He raised an eyebrow, desperate for a moment of levity.

With a quick nod, Herrmann was promptly driving him towards the control tower. The most difficult part of getting up there was making it past all the congratulatory pats and handshakes, but Bucky was able to pull off his surprise, the sound of Cleven’s voice over the radio going a long way to mending some of the deep wounds he was still sporting.

More handshakes and pats-on-the-back awaited him at the hardstand and it finally felt like he was back amongst the familiar faces of these men. He did not miss the way Cleven’s eyes were quietly scrutinizing him, however. The gratingly familiar feeling that his friend was looking right through him was undeniable as he joked and smiled with the boys who had never been imprisoned. Who had not endured the things they had. As the crowd around them thinned out, Bucky turned to watch Cleven pull out one of his toothpicks, sliding it between his molars in a familiar yet long-lost motion.

“So what you been up to since I left?” His friend asked.

Bucky swallowed and shrugged a little walking over to the jeep, Cleven immediately sliding into the passenger’s seat out of habit.

“That terrible, huh?” Cleven muttered and Bucky sighed as the vehicle roared to life.

“Ended up in Moosburg.” He started out slow, with simple facts. “Got a little hurt on the way, so Brady and Hambone took me to the hospital. Turns out there was a Nurse there, POW since January.”

The look of shock on his friend’s face registered in the corner of his eye and Bucky did not have the heart to fully face him.

“The German’s held a woman prisoner?” Cleven shook his head with a sigh of dismay.

“She got shot during the liberation, stray bullet. Medics from the armored division took her and I have no idea if she made it.” Now that he had started telling the story it all just came pouring out of him.

“You care about her more than just on moral grounds.” Cleven stated matter-of-factly and Bucky sighed as he pulled up in front of what used to be their hut.

Who knew if it still was.

“Yes.” He begrudgingly admitted, though his admission was addressed to the steering wheel.

There was a long, drawn-out silence, the incessant chirping of sparrows filling in the gap in conversation and Bucky realized he had not really heard a bird his entire time in captivity. His head snapped sharply to look at Cleven as he suddenly spoke again.

“If anyone can find someone in the chain of evacuation it’ll be Smokey.”

Bucky furrowed his brows a moment before it clicked. “Doc Stover? You think?”

Cleven shrugged. “He’s our best shot I guess.”

“Our…”

“Are you going to drive us to the hospital, or should I?”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s lips as he started the jeep back up and took a sharp U-turn, heading for the base hospital. He pretended not to notice the way his friend’s eyes lingered on the stiff movement of his body as he climbed out of the jeep – he was definitely sore but was most certainly not going to admit to it. The wards were just as populated as they had been in 1943, something he found rather infuriating. It was another feeling he tucked into a neat little package and shoved down to be ignored until a more convenient time. Or perhaps never to be acknowledged again.

Stover was easy to find, dressed in his white coat, just finishing his rounds.

“Majors, what can I do for you?” He gestured for them to follow him into his office and Bucky sank down into a chair heavily, once again ignoring another man’s assessing gaze on him.

“Well it’s an odd request really but…” He trailed off, hesitating as he smoothed his too-long hair, reflecting once again that he needed a proper haircut.

“We’re wondering if you might be able to track someone down for us. Someone who was injured at a camp in Moosburg and evacuated to an aid station.

Stover raised an eyebrow curiously. “One of your fellow POWs?”

“Something like…. well yeah, she is.” Bucky corrected himself midway through, watching the doctor’s eyebrows shoot up dramatically. “Flight Nurse from the 802nd MAES, POW at Moosburg since January of ’45, shot during liberation and taken to the aid station of Patton’s 3rd Army – armored division. Which division I don’t know.”

They watched as Stover quickly grabbed a pen and started jotting down the important details, including your name.

“How bad was she hurt?” Stover asked and Bucky swallowed tightly.

“I didn’t see it happen but there was a gunshot to her stomach somewhere. They got her on plasma quickly.” He added hopefully but Stover’s face remained grim.

“I can’t promise you anything Major Egan, it doesn’t sound particularly hopeful either, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He nodded, leveraging himself out of the chair with a barely concealed wince.

“And what do you have going on?” Stover stayed seated, eyeing him expectantly.

Bucky noticed Cleven had not budged either, the bastard. Emptying his lungs with a heavy exhale, Bucky put his hands on his hips and shrugged.

“Couple of broken ribs, I’ll be alright.” He replied nonchalantly.

“And how old are these broken ribs?” Stover prodded and Bucky ignored Cleven’s pointed look up at him.

“Couple weeks, I’m halfway mended, just overdid it getting in the fort to come back.”

Stover rose from behind his desk and opened a cabinet, fetching a bottle and holding it out to him. “Aspirin, to keep you comfortable. Take two every four hours as long as you need. Come back if you run out.”

Bucky accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, the memory of you scrounging up two rare pills for him in the Stalag flooding back, furrowing his brows. The things you could have done in a place like this with limitless supply.

“Thanks again, Doc.” Cleven’s expression of gratitude pierced through his reminiscing and Bucky nodded quickly, tucking the pills into his pocket before heading out quietly.

Accommodations were procured and there was not much for him to do around base aside from rest and learn how to eat properly once more. It took several days for any news of your condition to reach him, via Stover’s connections, but when the man pulled him into his office on the morning of the May 5, he was stunned to learn that not only were you alive, but that you had been air evacuated to Redgrave Hospital just thirty minutes away from Thorpe Abbotts.

You were safe. You were close.

“Seems they weren’t quite certain what to do with her, but as she serves under the Army Air Force, they sent her to our main hospital.” Bucky realized Stover was still talking and he shot him a warm grin before grasping his hand to shake firmly.

“Well I really appreciate your help, Doc. I’ve gotta…” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the door, desperate to make his way to you.

“Yeah, go…” He chuckled and shooed him out of his office.

No longer a squadron commander, Bucky technically did not have a jeep of his own to disappear with off base and so he was in the process of grabbing one of the stray bikes outside the control tower when Crosby emerged into the daylight, eyes squinting in fatigue at the brightness.

“Where are you off to Major?”

“Redgrave Hospital!” He replied brightly, watching the younger man blink.

“Sir that’s a good eleven miles, that’s a terrible idea with your ribs.”

Word seemed to have spread fast…

“Take my jeep, I’m not gonna need it today.”

“Croz, you are a lifesaver.” Bucky dropped the bike he had been wrangling to slap him on the back before diving into the jeep allotted for use by the Group Navigator. “I’ll be back!” He shouted, taking off in a spray of dust and gravel.

Turning onto the two-hundred-acre country estate, Redgrave Hospital, consisting of nearly forty Nissen huts, stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the trees and landscaped green. As he pulled up to the headquarters of the hospital, Bucky quickly realized that the staff there were not nearly as excited to see him. In fact, they were downright reluctant to allow him in to visit you, but assured him that while you were ‘heavily medicated and resting’ you were still ‘on the mend.’

While relief still permeated his system, it was a new agony to have you so very close and yet still out of his reach. If they were not going to permit him as a regular visitor, Bucky realized he was going to have to get a lot more creative in order to lay his eyes on you, and until he did, there would be not real peace.

------------

Moments of clarity punctured through the blackness – a blur of trees, the flurry of activity of an aid station, the masked face of a surgeon speaking to you reassuringly, the heartbreakingly familiar interior of a C-47 – but it was not until you were settled in a bed inside a hospital with four walls, windows, and nurses that true cognizance really returned to you. Casting your eyes around the sterile, white space, you noted you were situated at the end of a row and walled off from other patients with a set of privacy screens. The most striking feature of this hospital was the very stern-faced Bucky parked in a chair to the left of your bed.

As you began to stir, his eyes lifted quickly to meet yours, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Have a good rest, angelfish?” he whispered, and you furrowed your brows up at him, so full of questions. “They got you on the good stuff don’t they.” He chuckled fondly, reaching out to brush his fingertips across your cheek tenderly.

“Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you.” You sighed, speech slightly slurred from pain medication and the dryness in your mouth, but still capable of using his own lines against him.

His resulting grin contained all the brilliance of the sun and made you look down with a self-satisfied smirk. Your eyes immediately fell on your exposed arms laying atop the blanket, the scarring along your left forearm lain bare for all to see. Jerking your hands back roughly, you clumsily tried to shove them beneath the covers despite the warmth on the ward. Bucky’s gentle tut before his hand came to rest atop yours halted your attempt.

“Shhh, you’re just fine you brave, beautiful woman. Stay right there.” He murmured as he laced his fingers with yours, pinning your arm to rest above the blanket. “You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”

Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I think I’ve acquired a few more…” You sighed, the feeling of thick bandages padding your hip acutely registering as you spoke.

“Probably.” He nodded softly. “You also probably saved that boy Hernandez by taking the bullet, so I’d say they were well earned. Besides, they’ll make an excellent target for my mouth one day.”

Your soft smile transformed into a look of disbelief, your free hand rising to whack his shoulder gently. “John Clarence Egan.” You chided half-heartedly and he pressed his face to the side of your head where it lay propped up against several pillows, his heavy exhale ruffling through your hair. “We are in a hospital, and you are making inappropriate jokes.”

“Mmmm.” He hummed in agreement, stroking his thumb against yours affectionately.

“Which hospital is this, anyway?” You asked curiously, finding its curved roof and white walls lacked distinguishing features.

“Redgrave Hospital, you serve in the Army Air Force after all.” He pulled back slightly to answer.

“Redgrave…” you repeated thoughtfully. “Sounds awfully English.”

“Hit the nail on the head, angelfish. We made it.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your temple, and you smiled softly. “Despite our best efforts.” His teasing made you laugh softly, and you shook your head.

“If we’re in England, where’s the King?” You raised an eyebrow expectantly and he smirked, shaking his head.

“No King, unfortunately, but I did bring you this?” He reached behind him, pulling out a newspaper to lay across your lap.

“Victory in Europe.” You read the headline aloud, pausing a moment as the words sunk in before gasping and looking to him wide-eyed. “Truly?”

A look of solemn earnestness overtook his features and he nodded softly. “Truly. German army surrendered yesterday.”

You gulped roughly and looked back to ready to date of May 8, 1945, on the top of the paper – you had lost nearly nine days. You really had been so close, everyone had. And the fact that you were here, and others were not seemed so very arbitrary. Sighing heavily, you squeezed his hand gently.

“By the skin of our teeth.” You murmured thickly, looking up as a nurse shuffled past with a faint nod of acknowledgement before making a sharp about-face to come and check your vitals.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked you and you nodded slowly.

“I’m alright, thank you. Bit foggy but things are the clearest they’ve been in days.”

“I’m going to fetch the Doctor.” The nurse turned to eye Bucky sharply. “You’d best make yourself scarce.” She commented before continuing on her way.

“How on earth did you get in here?” You raised an eyebrow as you came to realize how unusual his presence was.

“Bought my way in with a few bottles of champagne – your flightless comrades are quite friendly if one knows the price.”

You coughed out a laugh as the comment made Nurses sound like some species of bird and his lips twitched into a smile, your eyes unable to look away from the soft, rosy skin of his mouth.

“Hey before you go…”

“Hmmm?” He turned to you, half risen from his chair.

“I don’t have the mental capacity to think of something self-deprecating right now, so can I just get a kiss?” You murmured before pursing your lips shyly.

His face transformed into a warm smile, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as the tips of his ears flushed pink. “I always said you just had to ask, angelfish.”

Echoing his smile, you turned your lips up expectantly as he braced his hand on the pillow beside your head, leaning in to gently brush his lips against yours, drawing a contented sigh from deep beneath your breastbone. Bucky’s lips pressed closer, a tender hum rumbling from his throat just as a sharp cough sounded from the end of the bed and he slowly pulled back with a rueful huff.

“Just checking her breathing, Doc.” Bucky grinned wolfishly as the man raised an eyebrow sharply. “She’s doing great.”

“Hn.” The doctor intoned, clearly unimpressed. “And how are your ribs doing, Major Egan?”

Inhaling sharply, you looked him over quickly, the litany of his injuries flooding back to you from your sub-conscious.

“Much better, thank you Doc. Who knew Smokey was such a gossip. Well, angelfish,” he brushed his knuckles down your cheek, “guess that’s my cue.”

Nodding slowly, wondering who on earth Smokey might be, you watched him leave before your Doctor took over, running through numerous checks with you before discussing the extent of your injury and the surgeries that had been performed to save your life. It was nothing short of remarkable, what they had thrown at you to prevent your death, the conversation a very sobering one. It would be a long road to recovery, and one, it turned out, you would mostly be taking back home in the United States.

After a week or so in Redgrave Hospital, you were deemed fit enough for transport back to the Zone of Interior for convalescence and recovery in a domestic hospital. Though the sympathetic nurses had not seen fit to permit Bucky onto the ward again, they had taken a shakily written note, the loss of strength you had suffered in just over a week was startling, and promised to deliver it to him. The trip via Prestwick to Greenland, then Newfoundland, and ultimately Grenier Field in New Hampshire felt luxurious on the much more spacious C-54. You were admitted to the Station Hospital there to continue your recovery and rehabilitation, enjoying phone calls with your family instead of delayed correspondence for a change.

It took two months for you to be fully back on your feet, back to yourself. The same amount of time, it seemed, for the 100th bomb group to be repatriated stateside. Freshly discharged and clad in a brand-new olive drab dress uniform, proudly bearing your silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia following your promotion and the ribbons from your two purple hearts, you had sweet-talked your way back onto the base. One of the more sympathetic MPs who had heard your story – admittedly there were few in New Hampshire who had not heard your story at this point – had not even protested your request. It seemed that fate saw fit to land Major John Egan in your life a second time, with Grenier Field the destination for his bomb group on their return flight.

Standing in the warm summer breeze, watching the sky for the silhouettes of their planes, it honestly felt odd to be wearing a skirt. The complexity of affixing your stockings to the straps of your garter belt had briefly made you long for the convenience of slacks, but with your properly cut and styled hair and feminine clothing you felt like an entirely new woman as you stood outside on the grass with the ground crew. Would Bucky even recognize you?

At last the distant droning of aircraft engines reached your, and everyone around you’s, ears, the shapes of B-17s multiplying on the horizon before they began to circle in for a landing. Honestly, there were so many of them you briefly doubted you would be able to find him with any manner of efficiency. Clamping a hand over your officer’s cap to hold it in place as a plane taxied onto a nearby hardstand, your eyes began to scan the crowd of men as they filtered past, surely headed for the mess hall or officer’s club. Catch a glimpse of those unmistakable ears, you stepped forward and called out to him.

“John Clarence Egan!”

His head whipped around so fast he nearly took out the man walking beside him.

“Do I really look so different in a skirt that you would walk right by me?” You teased fondly.

“Angelfish!”

His flight bag hit the asphalt with a sickening ‘crunch’ that had you worried for its contents, but the impact of his body against yours drove that thought quickly from your mind. Wrenching his cap from his head he tilted his face to nestle beneath the brim of yours and kiss you soundly. Distantly, you were aware of all manner of cheers and wolf-whistles from his comrades, but you were too busy clutching at his shoulders to truly mind.

“How did you-? What are you-? God, it’s good to see you.” He rambled before pressing his mouth against yours firmly, not even giving you the opportunity to reply.

Laughing brightly into the kiss, you became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching much nearer and pulled back slowly, smiling fondly as Bucky’s lips made as if to chase yours, but his friend’s question interrupted him.

“You gonna introduce us, John?” A tall blond man with striking blue eyes and a pair of unsettlingly symmetrical facial scars asked sardonically.

Bucky cleared his throat and stepped back, though you noted his arm slid around your waist in a rather proprietary move. You found you did not mind in the least, particularly as your fully healed wound gave no protest of pain whatsoever.

“Angelfish, this Gale Cleven – call him Buck, Robert Rosenthal – Rosie, and Harry Crosby – Croz.” He followed up by introducing you by your full name.

“He give you that nickname, too?” The one he told you to call ‘Buck’ raised an eyebrow and you laughed.

“It’s a long story….”

-------------------------

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8, @mads-weasley

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #john egan x you #john egan fic #john egan imagine #john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

[strawberrymori]

Cloudy days clear nights

summary: When you grow up in a home where your parents are emotionally absent it affects your life, when your mother wasn't prepared to be a mother and throws all the traumas and insecurities she had at you it's not easy, a father who doesn't know how to apologize and lives drunk and has aggressive tendencies isn't easy to deal with, and reader relapses on a bad day that leaves you stuck in thought and she doesn't tell Natash, leaving her worried.

warnings: angst with happy ending , angst to fluff, use of Y/N sometimes, suicidal thoughts, mention of self-harm and scars from self-harm, Be careful if this triggers you, don't read if you know you can't deal with triggers, you are not alone and don't be ashamed to ask for help.

All the ghosts of the past follow me to this day, they all live in my mind and make me tremble like a child, today in particular was a difficult day, one of those reminiscent of school days.

The day had started well but the mission had gone wrong which had resulted in intrusive thoughts questioning whether she was really worthy of being there with the Avengers, then there was the meeting with Tony where he made a point of reminding her of the mistakes she had made.

At lunchtime there was the problem with the rain and the first phone call from her mother, the more the phone rang the more her appetite went away, there was no putting off the call for long.

The unpleasant voice came from the other end of the phone, things like "why are you still working there?" "you've been in newspapers all over the world, do you know how hard it is to have a daughter who doesn't do anything useful?" "did you really try to do something? of course not, you've always been worthless".

the voice yelled and screamed for a few minutes before hanging up, before Y/N could say anything or defend herself her mother's voice didn't stop and when it did it was because she hung up the phone.

To make matters worse, for the rest of the day her girlfriend, Natasha, was stuck at work until later, when Y/N was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, she spiraled into a spiral of negative thinking.

she saw herself in high school again, being bullied by her classmates, she saw herself at that time taking out all the anger she felt on herself, she saw herself as the useless girl she had felt all day.

Y/N didn't know when she started crying but she felt the tears dripping from her eyes. She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, her hair messy with tears and her eyes red.

-How could Natasha like someone like me? - she asked herself, she had scars all over her thigh and wrist, she wasn't even that pretty.

-"Maybe I should just disappear... she wouldn't even notice," she muttered to her reflection in the mirror and sat down on the bathroom floor.

When the redhead returned home in the early hours of the morning, she felt a strange air hanging over the apartment. She walked into the kitchen, where the lights were off and a cold plate was on the sink.-Baby? - Natasha called out as she walked to her room. The light in the bathroom at the end of the corridor was on, which made her follow her there.

-"Honey, are you all right? It's me," Natasha said, trying to open the door and failing. "Honey, open the door," she said in a tone where she was almost begging her girlfriend to open the door.

The lack of response worried Natasha, who began to try to force her way into the bathroom. When the door opened, Natasha almost fell into the bathroom. She saw her girlfriend lying in the bathtub crying.

-Bear?- she said, running over to her girlfriend in the bath and kneeling down outside the bath - Look at me, darling, are you all right? What happened? - she says worriedly, putting her hand on Y/N's cheek.

The woman in the bathtub looks at the redhead and tears fall more than before -You shouldn't see me like this - she says as she looks away from her girlfriend.

-"Sweetheart," the redhead says as she steps into the empty bathtub and pulls her girlfriend onto her lap, "talk to me," she says as she strokes her girlfriend's hair. It took a while for Y/N to finally talk, she looked at Natasha and felt like crying even more.

-Today was so stressful...I made a mistake during the mission and Tony wouldn't let me forget it, so my mom called me...and - Y/N stuttered through her tears - I feel so useless, like I don't deserve this life - Y/N's comment made Natasha's heart sink, the redhead continued stroking the woman's hair in her lap and kissed her forehead.

-"Sweetheart, mistakes happen, life isn't easy but we can't let mistakes consume us, you fought to be here and you deserve all of this, I love you so much," she said, wiping away her girlfriend's tears, "come on, let's go to bed, so I can hug you properly," Natasha said, getting up and helping her girlfriend up too, she held her girlfriend close as they walked to the bed.

-Thank you Tasha - Y/N says as she looks at her girlfriend changing to lie down next to her.

-Thanks for what? - the redhead says, looking at the girl sitting on the bed.

-"For taking care of me...not letting me give up." The girl on the bed says looking at her scarred left arm, Natasha walks over to her and sits down next to her, taking her hand and intertwining their fingers.

-Thank you for what? - the redhead said looking at the girl sitting on the bed.

-For taking care of me...don't let me give up - The girl on the bed said looking at her scarred left arm, Natasha walked over to her and sat down next to her, taking her hand and intertwining their fingers.

-"Honey, you're my girlfriend and I love you more than anything, I'm not going to let you just fall apart, how many times have you helped me, huh? we're a couple, in good times and bad," Natasha says as she pulls the girl close and kisses the scars on her arm. "Those scars just show how strong you are, baby," Natasha says, looking into the eyes of Y/N, who was almost falling asleep in her arms.

-I love you Natasha.

-I love you too Y/N.

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #lesbian #sapphic fanfic

[loveyouanyway]

i'll kiss your scars

buck x eddie | 900 words | teen rating

prompt: trans buck for @steadfastsaturnsrings 🥰 💖

“But y-you like men.” “Yes I do. Particularly the amazing and gorgeous man in front of me.” Buck stumbles across his words, all flustered. “But Eddie, I’m not— like I don’t have a you know.” He glances down there. “That doesn’t make you any less of a man, Buck." or Buck tells Eddie that he's trans and things change between them, but for the better.

read on ao3 or below :)

Buck, Eddie and Christopher are enjoying their dinner together in comfortable silence.

Christopher finishes his plate of spaghetti and meatballs first and now that he’s not eating, the silence feels weird so he speaks up.

“I’m not the only Christopher in my class anymore.”

Eddie hums. “Oh new student?”

“Nope. His name used to be Chloe but now it’s Christopher.”

Eddie and Buck look to each other in understanding.

“So he’s…”

“Trans. Yeah, it’s not a big deal, Dad. Now people just call me Chris and him Christopher.”

“How did people react?” Buck asks curiously.

“Everyone was cool about it. Some people had questions though so Christopher answered them. Then Mr. Nolan told everyone that he will not tolerate any transphobia or homophobia but he’s happy to tell us more about it. And if we ever have to talk to him about it, we can.”

Buck blinks back tears thinking how happy he is that in school, kids can come out and people will be supportive or at least respectful enough that they won’t say anything negative. He thinks about how bad it would be if he came out in middle school. He’s so glad Christopher has a teacher like Mr. Nolan.

He should probably tell Eddie that he’s trans. It’s been over a year since they’ve been friends. He knows Eddie will be accepting and everything but it’s still difficult. He doesn’t want anything to change between them.

“Buck?” Eddie and nudges his foot with his own under the table.

“You okay?” he asks.

Buck quickly nods. “Yeah no I’m good.”

Eddie thankfully doesn’t push and instead asks what movie they should watch tonight.

—

They watch Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse and Buck suggests they watch the second one next movie night which Christopher enthusiastically agrees to.

Christopher gets ready for bed reluctantly and Buck reads him a chapter of Percy Jackson. Eddie watches them with a sickening fond smile.

Once the chapter’s done, he and Eddie both hug Christopher and tell him “good night” and Buck yearns for him to have this every night.

They walk into the living room and Buck plops onto the couch with a sigh.

Eddie sits down next to Buck and faces him.

“Hey, you know that you can tell me anything, right?” he says earnestly with his stupidly pretty eyes looking him in the eye.

Buck breaks eye contact and nods. “Yeah of course, uh thanks.”

Eddie doesn’t reply as if he’s hoping Buck will say more.

“Just give me a moment.” he adds and to that Eddie hums and rests his hand on Buck’s thigh. Oh god. This isn’t helping his nerves.

Buck takes a deep breath. “I’m trans.”

A second passes.

“Thanks for telling me.” Eddie smiles, trying to act like he didn’t know this but Buck sees past it.

“You already knew. How?”

“I saw your testosterone gel thing in the bathroom once. I guess you forgot to put it away like you usually do,” Eddie answers softly.

“You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Of course not, Buck. You don’t owe me anything regarding that.”

“We’ve been best friends for months.”

“Yeah well did I come out to you as cis? No. Besides gender is fucking stupid. Am I even a man?”

Buck sighs. He supposes Eddie has a valid point.

“Uh, while we’re talking about more serious topics, I have something to tell you,” Eddie admits.

Buck doesn’t have enough time to panic before Eddie calmly says “I’m in love with you.”

Is this a fucking dream? Buck doesn’t know what to say. “I- What do you mean?”

Eddie continues, “Yeah that was one of the factors in the whole me discovering my sexuality process. Hen called me out so many times about my gay panic for you.”

“But y-you like men.”

“Yes I do. Particularly the amazing and gorgeous man in front of me.”

Buck stumbles across his words, all flustered. “But Eddie, I’m not— like I don’t have a you know.” He glances down there.

“That doesn’t make you any less of a man, Buck. I know how I feel about you. I love you beyond your body but I mean, I really love your body and I hope I can make you feel safe and comfortable with it.”

Yeah this is a fucking dream come true.

Eddie lifts up the bottom of his shirt. “Can I…”

Buck has no idea what he’s about to do but he’ll let Eddie do anything to him. That probably should be concerning but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he says with a shaky breath.

Eddie gently takes Buck’s shirt (which actually belonged to Eddie originally) and looks at him with such adoration, it makes Buck want to cry.

He lowers his head and brings his lips to Buck’s top surgery scars. He softly kisses along the two lines, whispering “I love you” after each kiss.

Now Buck is crying. He is just so overwhelmed with love—both his love for Eddie and feeling so loved by Eddie. He manages to say, “I love you” back before the tears make unable to speak coherently

Of course Eddie understands and doesn’t tell him “No it’s okay don’t cry,” instead he embraces him into a hug that makes Buck feel all warm and fuzzy — like all hugs from Eddie do.

They stay there, holding each other and Buck realizes things have changed between them but in the best way possible.

#also yeah at first i just put mr nolan and then i was gonna change it but i couldn't come up with anything so i am christopher's teacher 😌 #nolan writes #my fics #buddie fic #911 fic #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #trans buck #buck and eddie #buck x eddie

[jakes3resin]

im an advocate for bucky's curls™!! they're a very important character. it does mean i think about what if when they met and for the rest of the canon bucky has a military cut (or anything short) and that's how gale has known him. those curls don't make an appearance until they're in the camp and bucky's hair grows. gale already is "spacing out" when he sees bucky's longer hair but it's still matted with blood and dirt so he doesn't really get to see it properly. he doesn't get the full force of it until after the war when bucky has let it grow out more since and no dirt and grime can hide them. gale feels like he might lose his mind because he didn't think bucky could be any more prettier than he is but he nearly loses it when bucky mentions he might get a cut soon.

Anon you're so right about his curls being an important character. In my opinion and heart, they are the Main Character, and even thinking about them not being there hurts me. But I do like this scenario you've brought up!

Bucky with a shorter hairstyle during the war would be interesting. Maybe he lost a bet the first few days of training where he had to cut them short and decided he liked the shorter cut since he doesn't have time to take care of his curls during flight school. Gale never sees his curls at full power thus develops his obsession with them late.

Imagining the boys making it through the war without Bucky's Emotional Support Curls because Bucky just cuts them when he thinks they've grown out too much, its wild. But it compels me.

I think he'd look like the picture below.

(I'm adding this photo because I found it when I went on a wild internet journey this morning looking for pics of Callum. Enjoy)

After the war, Bucky decides to grow his hair out again, maybe to reclaim his Old Self, maybe because now he has time to take care of them which in turn is calming for him. The routine of haircare would potentially be very therapeutic for him I think. Maybe he even decides to grow them out to cover the scars on the back of his head. The reasons are endless, but very importantly, Gale does not factor into them (outside of Bucky potentially being into Gale pulling his hair during sex) because Gale's never expressed an interest in Bucky's hair. This will soon change.

His hair once grown out would look closer to these pictures.

Gale barely notices how Bucky's hair has been growing longer. It's one of those you see it every single day and don't really catalog the minute changes until it hits you like a frying pan to the head. The pair are both still trying to transition back into civilian life, and he's too focused on Bucky's health and his own nightmares to notice Bucky's hair, which he's never had to focus on before. Outside of battling for bathroom space now that Bucky's hair products take up most of the counter space (there are so many products, I lived with a curly haired girl for a few years trust me) Gale is oblivious to what is about to happen to him.

A while after he starts growing out his hair, Bucky goes back home to Wisconsin to see his mother for a few weeks. His hair grows more before the pair are reunited, so he definitely resembles the above photos. Bucky shows back up on their doorstep with a cheerful "Honey, I'm home!" that goes unanswered because Gale is frozen solid staring at him. Eyes wide, mouth open in shock, Gale experiences his first real look at The Curls.

Gale gets hit full force with the reality of Bucky's Curls, something he'd been vaguely aware of but didn't think about, and he wonders why he was denied such a sight until this moment.

With the sun setting just behind Bucky's frame, his curls are lit up. The rays showing off the highlights in his chestnut curls. The curls aren't tight and springy but loose and wavey. Bucky runs a hand through them, and Gale nearly falls to his knees.

It's official. Gale is enamoured. He's obsessed. He's running his hand over the soft curls (and pulling them just so), and Bucky melts into the touch. Gale will take any opportunity to touch Bucky's hair now. Walking by Bucky asleep on the couch? Perfect opportunity to run a gentle hand over his curls. A curl refuses to stay put and falls onto Bucky's face while he's reading? Gale's there to tuck it back into the style Bucky prefers. Bucky hurts his shoulder on accident and can't really lift his arm while it heals? Gale will gladly help Bucky wash his hair whenever he wants.

After a while, Bucky's hair grows too long, nearly hitting his shoulders, and he's starting to remember why he kept his hair cut short all those years. Maybe he offhandedly mentions over breakfast how he's gonna cut his hair, cut his curls off. Maybe he asks Gale to help him. Maybe he even mentions shaving them all off.

Gale would have preferred Bucky to shoot him.

Listen, those Curls are the 2nd most important thing in his life at this point (the first being Bucky himself of course). Gale won't admit to how much he relies on them to calm down on his bad days, but he will admit that he doesn't want them cut short, lost to him once more after he's just seen them. Gale begs Bucky not to, desperate to save Bucky's hair.

So the pair compromise. Gale will help Bucky cut his hair to whatever length he wants. He just won't help Bucky shave his hair off. Gale gets to run his hands through Bucky's hair, and Bucky gets to make Gale smile. A win-win if you ask them!

Bucky's Curls- keeping your flyboys sane since 1940!

#mota #masters of the air #asks #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #clegan #anon i recommend my curls fic if you haven't already read it #every fic i write includes me waxing poetic about bucky's curls but 'run my fingers through your hair' is my baby

[nekioe]

au where c!Dream is a vampire. Because he heals faster none of the torture actually leaves any scares, except for one.

English is not my first languge and I don't write very often. I'm scared, pls be kind

cw/tw: Usual prison stuff, torture, a teeny tiny bit of gore?, mention of vomit but it doesn't actually happen, branding

He keeps no scars from the prison. Except for one. 

One day, Quackity brought one of those irons you use for branding wood. Usually, they're some kind of iron, but not this one. At first, Dream doesn't realize what's happening, Quackity doesn't heat it up in the lava as he’s done before with another iron. Instead he ignores the lava and walks around the chair and stops behind Dream. He tries to keep his breath under control, the anticipation is almost worse then the actual torture, he can’t see what Quackity is doing, he cant prepare himself for whatever pain that’ll come next. 

Then, all of a sudden, the cold metal meets his skin and it burns. Silver. Silver, it’s Silver. He can't stop the scream from escaping his throat as he flinches away, but tight ropes bind him to the chair and Quackity’s hand lashes out and keeps him in place. His skin sizzles as the silver digs into it. It was worse then any torture he’s been through before. the scorching agony as the pure, holy, silver meeting with his twisted flesh, an abomination, a cursed being that should’ve long been dead. He can't think, he burns and he tries to grasp for something, anything to stop it but there's nothing he can do. The ropes bind him too tight. He hears a voice crying, sobbing, begging for the pain to stop. And it sounds a bit like him, but it's hard to concentrate as a thousand knives rip through his back simultaneously as it turns to fire.

Suddenly, Quackity stands right in front of him, silver pole in hand. He didn't notice it get retracted, his back still burns and writhes in pain. Ugly sobs wrack his body as he tries to gasp for air he doesn’t really need, for release that won’t come. He just wants this to be over, he just wants this to stop, please just make it stop. He feels fucking pathetic. 

Before him, Quackity holds up the silver piece and quietly observes it, he flicks away a bit of burned flesh that falls and squishes when it collides with the floor. Dream holds back vomit. Quackity wears no gloves. Why would he? he’s human, the silver doesn’t burn him. It only burns impurities, creatures that shouldn't exist yet still do, creatures like Dream. His expression is indifferent as he handles the material, it feels like mockery. Maybe that's the point. Quackity looks up and smirks when he makes eye contact with Dream. Then, he takes a step closer and disappears behind Dream again, and before Dream can even flinch or open his mouth to beg, his back is on fire again. 

Months after the torture and the prison that burn scar still remains. Everything else healed within a day or two, leaving no trace of what had happened, but the silver mark on his back stayed. It serves as a reminder, a branding.

#c!dream #dreblr #dsmp #cw mention of vomit #cw slight gore #cw torture #cw branding #nekioe writing

[kabie-whump]

WoW Birthday Whump Day 6

Prompt: Nonhuman whumpee / Reluctant whumper / “Run!” Additional content: werewolf whumpee, self-mutilation mentions, werewolf transformation whump

“There’s another way. There has to be.”

Whumpee just sighs, glaring up at Whumper. “We’ve been over it a million times. This is our only safe option.”

“Safe for me. What about you?”

“I’ll…” Whumpee trails off, biting the inside of their cheek. “I’ll be okay. It’s more important to me that you’re safe.”

“I just don’t think I can handle knowing you’re hurting and not helping you.”

“Then just forget about me. Please.”

Whumper kneels in front of Whumpee, cupping their cheek. Whumpee is fully immobalized, their limbs wrapped in chains. It’s hard to see their face in the orange glow from the single lantern that lights the otherwise empty celler. Whumpee had said it would be the safest place for this to go down.

Their transformation.

It happens once a year, apparently. Whumper didn’t know they were a werewolf yet when the previous one came around. Whumpee had just disappeared for a week and returned covered in nasty clawmarks. 

“I was visiting my grandparents out of town,” they had said, waving off Whumper’s concern. “They have mean cats.”

Cat scratches the width of my finger. Sure. Totally believable. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Whumper mutters, checking over the chains one more time. They should hold Whumpee there at least until the transformation is over. That’s the worst part, apparently. It’s incredibly painful, and Whumpee explained that they usually end up clawing at their own skin on accident, just trying to hurry things along.

They theorize that if they can just hold still and let the transformation run its course over the 24 hours its supposed to take, they’ll be able to save themselves from most of the scarring. After that, they’ll be able to break free from the chains but they won’t make it out of the celler through multiple sets of reinforced doors. 

Whumper glances to the opposite wall, where there’s a sizable trough of water set up and a cooler full of raw meat. It’s not quite enough to feed a rabid beast for an entire week, but they won’t starve.

“I’ll take you out to eat when it’s over,” Whumper promises, brushing Whumpee’s hair out of their face one last time. “Wherever you want. Your pick. I’ll even pay.”

Whumpee forces a smile. “You’re too good to me. Thank you for… for not letting me do this on my own this time. It means a lot to me.”

“I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Then their eyes squeeze closed involuntarily and they gasp, their body going tense. “Leave!” They choke out.

Whumper stands but doesn’t move away any further. “Are you sure I can’t just stay for the beginning? I could comfort you-”

“Get out of here, Whumper! Run!” They let out a broken scream, writhing in the chains.

Blinking back tears, Whumper runs for the door.

#wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 6 #nonhuman whumpee #werewolf whumpee #werewolf whump #whump #reluctant whumper #“Run!” #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

When I heard the story from her, various emotions clashed within me.

I could no longer put it aside as a coincidence.

Are you really someone who can influence fate?

Also, am I really that involved with you?

Galileo: "........"

After checking Mitsuki's condition, I returned to my room.

After some hesitation, I opened my desk drawer and found an old, forgotten origami crane tucked away in the back.

Galileo: "I suspected as much."

(Was that scar on her forehead caused by me?)

The scar on Mitsuki's forehead, her past stories, and the origami crane I now held in my hand all intertwined, bringing back vivid memories of that time.

Back when I traveled to various countries and time periods using the door in search of my dhampir brethren, I encountered an incident in a certain country.

------------Flashback-----------

Bystander: "A truck is coming! Run!"

A vehicle made of metal was speeding towards us at a velocity unimaginable in my era.

Among the cries of the surrounding people, there was a girl standing in the vehicle's path.

(If this continues...)

Before I could even think, my body moved.

Galileo: "Guh..."

Just before the collision, I embraced the girl and rolled onto the ground.

The vehicle then came to a stop, barely avoiding us.

Galileo: "Are you okay?"

Mitsuki: "I-I'm fine."

The girl was trembling and clinging to my chest, perhaps out of fear.

Still, I was relieved to feel her warmth in my arms.

Galileo: "Ah, finally, I..."

Those words spilled out of my mouth involuntarily.

The girl then looked up, and I noticed the smell of blood.

She had scraped her forehead on the ground when we rolled over, leaving a smear of blood on the right side of her forehead.

Galileo: "Sorry. I've caused a wound on your face."

Mitsuki: "No, it's okay. I was so scared earlier that I couldn't move."

Mitsuki: "If it weren't for you, I would've died. I'm alive, thanks to you."

The girl smiled brightly, and her innocent eyes overlapped with the eyes of someone I had lost, causing my heart to ache.

(Perhaps my body moved instinctively because their heights were similar.)

(Livia...)

Cruel scenes suddenly flashed through my mind.

Mitsuki: "Mister!"

Suddenly, the girl called me.

Galileo: "What's up?"

Mitsuki: "You see, I want to give you this as a thank-you. I folded this at school today."

The girl held something in her hand.

Galileo: "What's this?"

Mitsuki: "It's an origami crane. When you spread the wings like this, it looks like a crane."

Mitsuki: "Origami cranes are symbols of peace!"

(Peace, huh?)

The girl spoke those words cheerfully, even though they sounded like dry words to me.

Mitsuki: "Thank you, Mister. You're my lifesaver."

After that, I watched the girl run off to what seemed like her mother and then left the scene.

(Lifesaver.)

Galileo: "I couldn't save anyone, I..."

(Being called a lifesaver doesn't seem right.)

(Even though I saved one person, the weight of what I've lost remains unchanged.)

Just like how light casts shadows, despair lies next to hope.

Still, that scene remained in my memory and connected me to a strange twist of fate. 

---------Flashback Ends--------

Galileo: "The girl I helped back then was Mitsuki."

Galileo: "That event happened when I traveled to the future, which means..." 

Galileo: "Mitsuki came from the future, using the door in the mansion."

Traveling back in time, meeting the historical figures who have returned to life, and finally, without warning, meeting Mitsuki in that garden, it was as if I was following the thread of destiny. 

Galileo: "Even if she doesn't have any special powers, it seems she's still the woman of destiny."

(On top of that, the girl whom I once saved might have the potential to hinder my purpose.)

Galileo: "How ironic."

The coincidence that turned into fate made me want to laugh at myself.

(But the past is the past.)

(Regardless of any connection between her and me, it doesn't matter to me now.)

I tried to convince myself of this, but the eyes of the girl in my memory overlapped with Mitsuki's earnest gaze.

(The girl from that time is still alive.)

The fact that the life I had saved was now right in front of me made my heart tremble.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Next Part

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp jp #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp translations

[mochiwrites]

during third life after the battle of the red desert, scar is patching grian up after the battle, the new yellow life has been particularly silent, just kind of staring at scar, who feels alittle flustered under his gaze, the intensity he’s used to, but there’s someone more.. he doesn’t know how to describe it. so he averts his eyes, puts on his most charming smile, and turns grian around, looking at the arrow wound that is scarred over, applying some gel to the raised scar tissue, hoping to soothe it slightly. the scar represents a vow ended. will grian leave tomorrow? what will the future hold. the questions stir in his gut but he lets them fall from his mind like sand falling from his fingers.

no need to think in what mays when he can hold on to what he has now. he traces that wound, fingers feather soft, lets himself mourn a moment, before finishing checking him over for any other wounds. grian wets his lips, dry from the heated air, even at night, he utters his first words of the night “kiss it better” escapes before he can catch his tongue. scar pauses, stock still, hands feeling too large all of a sudden, “sorry?” “kiss it better, so it’ll heal” grian says again, strained by his embarrassment, but holding strong. scar hands slowly caresses grians skin, reverently worshipping the skin given, soft against his rough hands, rough from battle, from building, from time. scar leans in, and places a soft kiss to the skin, moving slowly like grian would run away. could run away. kisses him as though he doesn’t understand that grian spins in orbit of scar, that he’s caught by him, drawn in by every quip, half smile and smooth line, by his gentle sweetness, by his bright faced smiles that light his whole face, by scar.

grian turns to face scar then, and their eyes burn against eachother, held in a intense quiet, scar is about to speak, mouth open, when grian moves into him again, hands placed on his shoulders as he slots their lips together. scar gasps, heart bursting and face heating before they’re kissing. grian pushes, trying to turn it rough, intense, trying to push every word he’s not brave enough to utter, almost bruising in his force. scar leans back slightly, taking grians face in his palm, turning the kiss soft, slow. grian follows, and that’s all they do for a moment. exchange sweet kisses, grians eyes closed tight, afraid to open them, as scar looks on sadly, cherishing every wrinkle and line, the redness of grians cheeks, his quiet gasps between kisses. then grian pulls away, and scar lets him, hand following the action, always following, idly tucking some hair behind grians ear. “i’m staying” is what grian says. “i love you” is what he means, tilting his head to kiss scars hand, gaze not leaving scars eyes. scars gaze softens, a weight in his chest lifted, he leans into grians space, kissing over his face. “i’m staying you too” he smirks, reading between the lines. grian groans softly at that, all dramatics as he rolls his eyes and pretends it doesn’t send his heart racing, layers delicately peeled back and exposed, he lets himself bask in it for once, vulnerable and exposed as it was.

he laces his fingers into scars other hand, and after a few more kisses they lay in bed, grian smushing himself against scar as thought he could become one with scar, one could say clinging, as scar traced little flowers into grians waist absentmindedly. they chat idly about battle plans for some moments, but slowly sleep creeps up on them. scar traces grians figure before he closes his eyes. when he opens his eyes again grian is still a warm weight against him, still there. he breaths relief.

when scar closes his eyes for the last time in this little world of theirs, surrounded by their home, grian is still a warm weight against him, salt raining on his face, “i’ll stay” grian begs into his hair. scars heart clenches, his ribs constrict. he sounds so lost. so sad. he can hardly see but he reaches for his light, pressing into him. scar doesn’t respond. grian sobs openly and loudly, the sound tearing out of him. takes scars hand and kisses it, still warm with fake life.

uhh oops this was supposed to be a prompt

HELP

honestly anon I don't think I need to add anything to this or do it as a prompt. this is perfect as is HDGJFHGJFG

#mochi speaks

[ssparksflyy]

hi hi!!

i love ur writing sm can i req a luke x aphrodite reader where the reader is insecure from a scar she got on a quest and luke comforts her?

btw no pressure or anything! i know how stressful requests can be <33

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨ stars around our scars ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite!reader warning(s): me being really shitty at describing where scars are, me not knowing how to treat cuts, swearing word count: 1.1k an: i feel like this sounds so pick me but i only ever curl my lashes cause my mommy mother dearest wont let me do anything else yet so idk how 2 use concealer or nothin nd i hope this doesnt sound too stupid 😭

you took a step back as you finished ( your attempt to ) covering up the scar sitting diagonally on the left side of your forehead. it was just barely above your eyebrow, running down to the top of your ear. you hated the stupid thing. you hated how you could've avoided getting it in the first place if you'd just moved quicker. maybe you might've been able to move quicker if you trained harder and longer, instead of fooling around. if you just tried harder.

you exhaled in frustration as you grabbed your concealer, ready to put another layer on the ugly thing. you'd spent hours yesterday trying to find a hairstyle that would cover up the scar, but it always managed to peak out a little, sending you into a meltdown. emotionally, you'd been so fragile after your quest, a singular wrong move managing to bring you to tears.

you reached for your concealer, placing some on top of your scar and grabbing your brush, quickly trying to hide the wretched thing. when you realized it wasnt working, you could feel the tears brimming in your eyes, the familiar overwhelming feeling slowly creeping in. you reached for the bottle again without looking in a hurry, your eyes fixated on your reflection in the mirror, watching as tears threatened to fall. your hand missed the bottle and instead sent it flying off the bathroom sink's counter, hitting the floor with a shatter. you gasped as you quickly fell to your knees, trying to pick up the glass from the floor.

somebody knocked on the door, "you okay in the angel?", you heard their voice say from the other side of the bathroom door. was that luke? it had to be luke. when had he gotten here?

"y-yea! im okay!", you shouted back. you could hear your voice shaking, and you knew he could too.

you quickly began picking up pieces of glass off of the floor, tears now falling from your eyes as you grunted in anger every time a piece of your hair would fall into your face and blocked your vision. a large piece fell in your face when you balled up for fist that had glass in it without thinking. you quickly yelped out in pain, small shards of glass lying in your palm.

you heard the bathroom door open swiftly, quickly looking up to see luke standing in the door frame. he let out a small gasp when he saw your hand, quickly moving over to you.

"shit- here, here, cmere baby" he said, holding your other hand and guiding you back up to the sink.

he turned the faucet on and stuck his hand in the water, making sure it wasn't too hot, but still warm. after just a few seconds, he grabbed your other hand gently, holding it by your wrist, careful not to touch the palm of your hand until he could see the cuts.

"is this too hot?" he asked, putting just your fingers under the water.

you shook your head, wiping away your tears. your hand was aching, but luke's touch alone was enough to help calm you down a little.

he moved the rest of your hand under the water, grabbing soap to help clean the cut. he seemed to know exactly what to do, and you just let him take care of you.

once he finished cleaning the cuts, he asked you to sit atop of the bathtub as he crouched down to search for your cabin's first aid kit. when he found the bedazzled thing, he was quick to rummage through it in search for tweezers. he found a pair and sat next to you on the bathtub, taking your injured hand and holding it in his left hand as he began picking out the pieces of glass with the tweezers in his right.

you sat in comfortable silence as luke continued to take out small pieces of glass, making sure he got every last bit out. you wanted to talk to him, to thank him for what he was doing, but you felt embarrassed in a way. embarrassed that this had happened and luke was the one to take care of you, again. if only you'd paid more attention. again.

when he finished pulling out the glass, he reached over to the first aid kit again, putting the tweeers back and this time pulling out a bandage roll.

"what happened? i mean, i know you dropped something but like why?" he asked, as he slowly began to wrap the bandages around your palm.

"i wasn't paying attention, as always." you said, muttering the last part.

he looked up at you, his brows furrowed in confusion, "as always? what do you mean?"

"well i mean i got this dumb scar on my head because i wasn't paying attention, now this? one day i'll get myself killed because i'm not paying attention" you said bitterly.

he finished bandaging your hand and turned it over to press a kiss on your knuckles, "everybody makes mistakes. so what if you weren't paying attention? i don't know a single person at camp who hasn't gotten hurt because they weren't paying attention- including myself. it's normal angel, no need to beat yourself up for it."

"still doesn't get rid of this stupid scar" you muttered.

he paused, studying the scar on your forehead, just now noticing the very obvious layer of makeup on it. his eyes wandered over to the shattered bottle on the floor.

"is that what this is about?" he asked, pointing over to the mess on the floor, "your scar?"

you looked away and nodded your head slowly.

"im... im not pretty anymore." you said, tears beginning to form.

luke almost laughed out of shock, "what? where did you ever get that idea??"

"oh come on, luke! ive got this huge mark across my forehead, youre seriously telling me thats pretty?" you exclaimed.

"angel, in no way does that scar take away from your beauty at all. youre still the same gorgeous girl you were before." he said, moving closer to you.

he pressed a soft kiss on it, "and besides- i think it makes you look tough."

you smiled, "really?"

"mhm, like yea you like ribbons and bows and frilly things, but at the same time it says you can drop kick a bear" he replied.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his comparison but couldn't help laughing.

"what? no bear?" he asked.

you just rolled your eyes and kissed him.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

little did he know, just the sight of the identical scar on his left cheek would be enough to almost send him running back to you after his betrayal.

an two: why was that all build up 🧍bro tell me why i had NO TIME TO WRITE THIS. i kept falling asleep nd schol nd shit 😭 im soso sorry ubt i hope you enjoyed and have a good day/night!

peace from manhattan,

percy jackson ♡

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson x reader #by bells ♡⋆ ࣪.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Angel Dust Redesign! (7/7)

FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THE MAIN 7 FREAKS.

Depending how I feel I might throw in some bonuses but these guys are your only guarantees! Going to be posting the full lineup separately because I don’t want to clutter this post!!

God okay where to start. I was talking about them in Husk’s post so let’s go with that. Angel’s clothing restrictions are his necklace and shoes. I might go on a bit of a tangent with this so forgive me 💔

For the necklace let me get this out of the way: yes it is a BDSM thing! I’m terrified people are going to take this as me being a weirdo but please as an adult content creator give me some space to explain before anyone jumps on me and hits me with a metal pipe. The intentions behind symbolism matter HEAVILY. I am against Vivzie’s portrayal of Angel’s abuse and the chain/collar imagery because it is blatantly either her being incredibly uncreative or her inserting her kinks into her shows. I think it is completely fine to use suggestive items in this way as long as the intentions are clear and not just there for no reason.

I would’ve probably done something else like a corset as a restriction, but I’d like to stop being so shy about Angel’s actual job. He is a pornstar and removing that outward aspect of him is taking a big chunk of his character away. I need more people to acknowledge that Angel enjoys sex and actively wanted to explore this side of himself. With the slip chain however, I would also like to portray how things Angel enjoys in his job have been used against him and made him come to resent what he does when he is forced into it. I think thats a pretty understandable thing to show.

This is harder to explain but the gist of it is just don’t be afraid to acknowledge Angel’s job. It’s okay to use sexual things as metaphors. Have you heard any christian song ever/hj

Alright with that out of the way, with the shoes. Angel’s feet are a large insecurity and discomfort of his which already makes his shoes some sort of restriction on their own, however if controlled, they can be made to stumble forward, fall over, etc. I wanted to show how Angel has freedom to go mostly wherever he pleases, though once again, that free will can be taken away very quickly.

I hated his suit so all suiting is gone entirely. He’s supposed to look attractive or eye catching at the very least. I’ve also added back the outer fangs he had in my first redesign!

I am much happier with the new one in comparison to this old guy. I know it’s only a few months old but you can really see how differently I draw him and the details I pay attention to more like the shape of his hair. Aside from the old one! I wanted Angel himself to still keep the reddish pink to show wrath and destain being masked as lust, except now his clothing is actually the pinkish-purple lust colour and it covers more eye grabbing parts of his body like the chest, hands, hips, and so on.

I don’t think I’ve ever outwardly mentioned Angel having polycoria but he does and it’s probably my favourite feature to draw aside from his hair. About the hair and fur: Angel used to have spots and basic stripes before his contract with Valentino, where afterwards they began to curl into their cordiform shapes. Most physical overlord changes with hair and skin tend to not go away, so depending on who you make a contract with it’s either a fun perk or a sort of scar.

Once again, not sure if I will be continuing with anymore in this specific lineup, but if I do end up posting more of these I really hope you like those too! 💣

#hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin angel #angel dust hazbin #angel dust hazbin hotel #my art #hazbin rewrite #hazbin redesign #hazbin rework #hazbin hotel rework #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #anti vivziepop #tw valentino #cw valentino #tw sa implied #cw sa implied

[dark-elf-writes]

Feral teen mom Harry Au

Harry sees a small, pale girl, delirious from hunger, who tries to take a bite out of his neck. Harry stuns her and manages to find blood (it doesn’t matter where it is from as long as it isn’t tainted) for her.

The girl tells him, after about a gallon of blood, that her name is Toga Himiko, but he can call her Himi. He made her not feel as hungry for the first time in so long. She tells him she loves him after he fixes her fangs, almost torn out by her supposed family.

Harry decides that he likes her, and the way she can get so passionate about support items and doesn’t even get mad when he flinches from touching them. She never tried to take a bite out of Teddy, even when she was starving, because ‘babies are too cute to eat’.

Later, they meet a twenty-something with burn scars running all over (like how Voldemort looked when Harry killed him for the first time). He is shaking biting back a yell as he dabs burn cream on himself, injured badly after a bad fight where someone tried to attack him in his sleep.

And maybe Harry almost failed out of potions, but Hermione had been generous enough to give him as many healing potions as she could, as well as a book about them and what can and can’t be used on muggles (she knew he would find someone who needed help, and she was going to make sure he could help them.)

Harry helps Dabi, who sees the broken family the trio made, with a crazy elf, a baby whose quirk is too strong, a girl who is always starving, and a boy who, like Shoto, was raised to be a soldier. Dabi agrees to join them as they go around, trying to find odd jobs that hire them.

They both know about magic, Toga from a vampire she met a while back who she had brushed off as a hunger fuelled hallucination, and Dabi from hearing his dad talk about it on the phone. They don’t know much more, but they accept Harry when they realize what he was. What Teddy was.

When Harry tells them about Eraserhead, they force him to go. Let one of them live, and thrive.

Harry promises to rescue his family when he can.

Harry promised himself he wasn’t going to open himself up again. Wasn’t going to give himself more people to lose but.

Himi smiled at him like he had hung the stars just for her. Dabi’s laugh is smoke rough and sends pleasant shivers down his back. Both of them had stepped in front of Harry and Teddy more than once while they went around looking for anyone and everyone who would hire them. Had stepped in so Harry didn’t have to reach for the writhing mass of power just under his skin and have to start running again. Both of them had stayed up waiting for Harry to come back from his patrols seemingly taking it in shifts so one of them was always there waiting for him, was always watching over Teddy and Kreature where they rested.

(They weren’t Ron and Hermione, but Harry didn’t want them to be. He wasn’t sure his broken pieces fit with theirs anymore. Didn’t think they would run with him if he had to move again. It ached to think. His oldest friends. His first friends.

But this was for Teddy so he would keep moving.)

They wormed their way into Harry’s shattered heart without him knowing until it seemed… normal to turn and see them there. To hear the echo of footsteps after his own as he ran. To know no matter what he and Teddy were not so alone.

And yet.

“I say take his offer.” Harry actually hissed at Dabi’s casual words, something that never failed to make the man laugh. He did now, seated on the fire escape of some building so the smoke of his cigarette wouldn’t hurt Teddy. (Harry had nearly made him eat one the first time he had lit up around his baby. He still glared at him now, watching the trail of smoke with narrowed eyes.) “Seriously, kid, you’re meant for more than this.”

Himi nodded jingling the keys she had stolen from someone earlier in front of Teddy much to his delighted giggles. “You should be a hero. I mean you’re already a hero, but the costume would look cute on you.”

Harry grumbled, low and dangerous in his chest. Neither of them flinched. They never flinched from him. “What happened to ‘Heroes are pigs?’”

Dabi’s laugh was full of smoke and snapping debris. “You happened.”

And how the hell was Harry supposed to respond to that? He didn’t instead saying: “Come with me.”

He knew the answer before he said the words. Knew that while they would follow them anywhere to follow him now would be… unwise. Knew but it still ached when Dabi leaned over the fire escape to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’m dead, remember? If I show myself now…”

True. Very true. If Harry hadn’t promised Endeavor to Dabi he would have taken care of that issue already but as it was…

“I still have a warrant for my arrest.” Himi sighed, a frown dancing at the corner of her lips. “People won’t believe that I was… sick.”

They never believed no matter where they were. They hadn’t believed Harry when he was eleven and starving. They hadn’t believed Harry when he was seventeen and desperate to protect the only thing that mattered to him the only way he knew how, had been trained how. They wouldn’t believe Himi now.

The window opposite of Dabi shattered and Harry forced himself to take slow deep breaths. Control it. He could control it.

“Then I wont go.”

Himi’s eyes flicked to him immediately, narrowed with her fangs flashing in the grimy light of the streetlight at the mouth of the alley. “You will. For Teddy.”

Harry flashed his teeth back, not as sharp but just as deadly, then he sighed. He didn’t want to leave them. Didn’t want to stop running if they had to continue but…

His baby came first. He had to.

“I’ll come back for both of you.” He swore. “So don’t do anything fucking stupid in the meantime.”

“Fu!” Teddy jabbered, as bright and bubbly as always.

Dabi and Himi’s laughter filled the alley, roiling smoke and knife-sharp.

“We should say the same to you. You’re the king of stupid.” It was Dabi’s turn to get teeth flashed at him but he only laughed and flicked ash in Harry’s vague direction far too far away for it to do anything.

He will be back for them. He won’t accept any other option.

#the elf talks #mha #bnha #harry potter