#i'm sorry but I'm obsessed with every look eddie gives to buck | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writerbri-archive · 1 year

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I hope you enjoy! It's good that you requested something supernatural because it seems that I'm obsessed with the genre lately. This is werewolf!Eddie and witch!Buck with the added sprinkle of them being teachers on top.

send me a heart and a word for a fic

•••

He loses track of the days.

It’s never happened to him before. Eddie is religious about keeping an eye on the calendar and tracking the moon cycles. Not just for himself, but for Christopher too. But with all of the recent changes in their lives and the amount of work he could never have prepared himself for as a brand new teacher at the academy, Eddie simply didn’t pay attention.

He can feel the irritation simmering beneath his skin from the moment he steps into his classroom, forgoing his usual warm greeting as his first period students come filtering in, split into their usual friend groups. He tries not to let it get to him as he fumbles his way through the lesson he had planned, undoing the top two buttons of his dress shirt and stripping off his blazer as the room grows warmer and warmer as the hour goes on.

Eddie can feel the looks he’s getting, his odd behavior becoming more obvious as the day goes on. He barely hits fourth period before it’s starting to feel like more than he can reasonably handle.

“Split off into your groups,” he finally gives up, doing all he can not to stave of the urge to shift that grows stronger and stronger. “Choose one topic from the reading and bring me a one-page report by the end of class.”

He knows that they all must know what is going on. The downside of teaching a room full of high schoolers is that they can all read a calendar as easily as anyone else. Eddie even catches a few of the shifters in the room sending him sympathetic looks. It does nothing to help, but he can find it in himself to be grateful for it.

Just as he’s considering calling over to the middle school building to make sure that Christopher is doing okay, battling the growing need to shift that seems to have joined forces with the worry he always feels for his son, there’s a quiet knock on the door that Eddie propped wide open in hopes of getting some cooler air circulating through the room at some point.

He knows who it is before he even looks up.

Eddie can scent him in the air, recognizing the curious mix of herbs and aftershave with the earthy remnants of magic that always clings to him. Sure enough, he lifts his head with some effort and finds Evan Buckley hovering in the doorway. He feels his hackles rise, bracing himself for more of the antagonism he’s grown used to since his first day.

Of all the people that welcomed him with open arms, the history teacher slash witch was decidedly not among them.

He seemed to react to Eddie’s presence much like the black cat that could always be found lazing somewhere around Buckley’s classroom, sometimes in a sunny patch on the floor and other times across the broad teacher’s desk or curled up beneath a student’s desk.

Yet every time Eddie dares to walk past Buckley’s room, he never fails to hear the hiss that greets him. He’d almost think that the guy trained the damn thing to do it if he hadn’t been taught long ago that familiars have a mind of their own.

Eddie barely suppresses the urge to let out a growl as Buckley steps over the threshold of his classroom and he’s glad for it when he sees just how sheepish he looks amidst a chorus of “Hi, Mr. Buckley” from the class because of course every kid in this school and most of the adults love him. Buckley gives a simple wave just as he shoots Eddie an apologetic look that takes him completely off guard.

“Sorry to disrupt, Mr. Diaz,” he says, clearly doing his best to completely confuse Eddie since he’s never been this polite.

Eddie shakes his head, waving him in because though every bone in his body aches and he feels like the wolf is so dangerously close to overcoming the man, all of that fades in the wake of his curiosity.

“I saw that you didn’t look too well this morning, in the staff room,” Buckley says, coming closer and dropping his voice so that only Eddie can hear.

It’s that exact moment that Eddie sniffs out something familiar and his eyes drop to the mug cupped in his hands that he didn’t notice until this very moment.

“Is that-”

Buckley holds it out, letting Eddie take it with an awkward smile pulling at his lips.

“I walked some over to the nurse’s office at the middle school too, just in case,” he says knowingly, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

Eddie stares down into the unmistakable cup of wolfsbane tea that is quite literally his saving grace, stunned by the realization that Buckley must have gone out of his way to make it from his own stores not only for Eddie, but for his kid too. Clearing his throat, he lifts his head and nods at his fellow teacher feeling, for the first time, like he may not despise Eddie after all.

“Thank you, Mr. Buckley.”

There’s more that Eddie can say, but he’s not sure he can completely keep it together while he does. Not when Buckley stepped in to take care of Eddie and his kid without so much as batting an eye. He simply nods in return, taking a step back.

“Don’t mention it,” Buckley shrugs off, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he retreats towards the door. “But you, uh... you can call me Buck. If you want.”

His eyes dart to the students that are watching every second of their interaction and his cheeks fill with a delightful pink flush that matches his birthmark so prettily that Eddie can’t help but stare.

“Only if you call me Eddie,” he calls back without thinking.

A smile pulls at Buck’s lips, bright and genuine now, and Eddie thinks that he’d do just about anything to see it again and again.

“Sounds like a deal,” he says, ducking his head shyly as he spins around to walk out only to toss a parting, “Drink it slow, it’s still hot,” over his shoulder.

Eddie does just that, feeling the soothing effect of the perfectly made tea spread through him almost instantly as he sips at it slowly, almost savoring it. When he lifts his eyes and finds a classroom full of teenagers staring back at him knowingly, he narrows his eyes and rolls his shoulders back, daring them to say a word.

“Should I make it two pages?” he asks with a single raised eyebrow.

That’s all it takes for them to get back to work, even if a few snickers reach his ears. Eddie doesn’t even mind, smiling to himself as he lifts the mug to his lips again.

Maybe, just maybe, things might be looking up.

#buddie #buddie fic #my writing #supernatural teachers au #might make this into something more #we'll see

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bard--songs · 2 years

Text

and we are White Wolf: Bucky/Steve & Eddie/Venom. Steve invites Eddie and Venom to seek refuge in their apartment in Brooklyn for awhile, and Bucky gets a symbiote. It's a wild week.

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

Meeting Eddie Brock is - weird. Which is a compliment: most people weird Bucky out, just on principle, and especially anyone who's superhero-adjacent. But Eddie is objectively weird.

Bucky watches him, sitting in their armchair in the corner of the room. There's a bag of Cheetos in his lap that he's feeding himself. Methodically, one by one. The look on his face is - blank, disinterested, but every couple of seconds emotion rolls over him, apropos of nothing.

After the fifty-sixth Cheeto goes into his mouth, Eddie Brock pauses, a look of disgust crumpling his face - and then he cackles, head thrown back, body squirming in the chair. In the dead silence of Bucky's living room, Eddie reacts to what must be the funniest joke he's ever heard.

Bucky chuckles.

Eddie's head snaps around, eerie. It reminds Bucky of the few modern horror movies he's seen, the jerky, omniscient movements of the possessed. Except - except for the wary look on Eddie's face. A haunted look, reminiscent of old fear.

Bucky gives him a lazy two finger salute. Eddie's face relaxes.

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

"You can ask questions." Eddie Brock tells him, obnoxiously clinking his spoon against his mug of coffee. He's poured a sickening amount of sugar in it. Bucky pointedly skips the sugar and takes a sip of his black coffee. "We won't be offended. 'Specially since, you know, you're being so kind to us."

We. It sends a shiver down Bucky's spine.

Alright. Bucky will admit his watching has morphed from his normal staring into - obsession. It's no longer threat assessment. It's no longer idle curiosity. Bucky thinks about it for a minute, considering.

It's an ... ache.

Bucky takes his sweet time at the coffee machine, silent. Eddie hangs around, like he's got nothing better to do, his hip leaned against the counter. There's black tendrils wrapped around his wrists, flat against his skin, almost passable as tattoos. Except they weren't there yesterday.

Bucky swallows. "Does -" he hesitates on the pronoun. Steve, upon explaining the Eddie Brock Situation to Buck, had called the symbiote an it in passing. But Bucky knows that symbiotes are sentient, and the calling of anything sentient an it makes him want to hurl. "Does he see ... everything?"

"Venom?" Eddie asks, like Bucky could be talking about anything else. "Oh, yeah - every memory I've ever lived through, every thought I've ever had, every dumb little human desire." And he laughs, and it's fond, and Bucky wonders who's speaking, the human or the symbiote or both. "He's seen everything."

Bucky looks away. "And it's not ...." Violating.

"No." Eddie says firmly. "I'm not saying - it was a bit rough, at first, right. Humans aren't used to having passengers. But once we got used to it - once I got used to it - it was ..."

He trails off, and now he's looking away, somewhere behind Bucky with a vacant look on his face. "He's the only one who's ever seen me." Eddie says, and his voice is very, very small. "He knows what I am. He's seen me at my worst and loved me through it. He's with me, always, whether I'm ten feet tall and bulletproof or I'm - I'm so deep in the fucking ditch I can't even see daylight anymore. He's always right here."

Bucky watches him. The tendrils covering Eddie's wrists move, squeezing and pulsing against his skin, webbing between his fingers. Holding his hand, Bucky realizes.

Eddie's silent for a long time. His lips never move, but Bucky knows there's a conversation happening that he's not privy to. So he doesn't interrupt.

Eddie laughs, and the spell is broken. "Sorry." He grins, and Bucky swears his canines are a little sharper than they should rightfully be. "Didn't mean to go all The Notebook on you."

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

"It's not bothering you," Steve says carefully, that night in bed, "is it?"

"Sure is interesting." Bucky says, dry. Steve laughs and pulls him closer; doesn't push the issue. Bucky winds an arm around him and settles off to sleep. Dreams of black tendrils coiling around his chest. Around both of their chests. He doesn't have any nightmares.

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

Of course god damn assassins break into their house. Of course.

This is why I don't like company, Bucky snarls to himself as he fights off the first guy who busted through their god damn window at two in the afternoon. Eddie Brock has morphed into some gigantic fuck-off space monster and is doing something untoward with his tongue to one of his own captives. Bucky almost gets a knife to the head watching him, cock a little fuller in his pants than it has any right to be.

Like we don't invite enough god damn trouble.

Turns out they're not even after Brock. They're after Captain Fucking America, even though Steve doesn't even own that title anymore. There's just something about Steve Rogers' public persona that makes Nazi fucks wanna break into his apartment to try their hand at murdering him. Figures.

They're down to the last two guys - out of eight - when four things happen in slow motion:

The first: One of the assassins throws a grenade at Bucky, and Bucky goes to catch it with his metal hand;

The second: A black hand shoots out and makes contact with Buck's flesh shoulder, and then sinks into him;

The third: Bucky is being sucked up, morphing into Eddie Brock's Situation as Grenade Guy meets his very unfortunate end;

The fourth: Bucky is being spat out onto the floor, and he is screaming.

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

Every moment of Bucky's life is being relieved.

Bucky falling: Bucky in the Chair: Bucky screaming as the bone is sawed clear through: Bucky's head being submerged, again and again and again: Bucky killing, and killing, and killing: Bucky escaping, and being caught, and escaping, and being caught;

He gains consciousness just for a brief moment, and he's on the floor and he's screaming, and others are yelling, and touching him, and above everything else, there's a voice in his head, clear as daylight and as familiar as the faded pair of shoes Bucky had worn throughout his entire childhood, right up until he outgrew them:

I WILL KILL THEM. I WILL KILL THEM ALL, AND THEN I WILL BRING THEM BACK, AND KILL THEM AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN, UNTIL THEY ARE NOTHING. UNTIL THEY ARE DUST.

Bucky breaks, sobs, and the yelling subsides, and then he's being pulled back under:

Bucky, eight, hugging his ma: Bucky, ten, hugging Steve: Bucky, eleven, on the playground, throwing his fist into a bully's nose: Bucky, pulling his sister's pigtails: Bucky, working on the docks: Bucky, in his Army uniform: Bucky, clapping a fellow soldier on the shoulder to offer comfort;

OH, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES.

His head breaches water again, and this time he's on his knees, face to the floor. He's sobbing so hard his chest heaves with the weight of it, the force of it: his stomach is trying to empty itself of it's contents despite the constricting of his throat. Big hands - Steve's hands, they'd know them anywhere - are on his back, his hips, trying to pull him up.

Bucky opens his eyes, and sees his forearms - both oily black, covering him like a second skin. He throws up.

But something else is happening. Bucky feels his brain flood with hormones, soothing away the panic, the fear, the repulsion. Absurdly, he thinks of Steve: holding his hand while they watch tv. He thinks about the ocean, waves moving in to shore. He feels someone squeezing the nape of his neck, and knows instinctually it's not Steve.

Bucky gathers his strength enough to move away from the pile of his own sick, away from the nervous hands on his back. He props himself against the wall, tucking his knees close to his chest. He becomes aware of Steve, crouching down, his face tight and anxious. He sees Eddie, also crouched, staring at him, babbling wildly:

" - I'm really sorry, I'm so sorry, Bucky, I'm so sorry, we didn't mean for this to happen - they took us in, V, and we - and we did this to him - he didn't want it - "

"You fix this." Steve snarls at him.

"I don't - " Eddie starts, weakly.

"I took you into my home." Steve looks like he's this close to wringing Brock's neck, and Bucky should intervene, should deescalate the situation, but he's - preoccupied. He lifts up his shirt and sees - webbing, stretching across his stomach. Holding his insides in, he thinks, a little hysterically. He feels cradled, feels held.

"You get it out of him right fucking now, or I swear to God - " Steve's saying, and it snaps Bucky back to attention. Fear floods his chest, his veins. No, he thinks, then NO, they're not - he doesn't want them doing anything to him, NEVER AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN.

"Everybody," Bucky snarls, "shut the fuck up."

They do.

Eddie is shaking where he's crouched, staring at him with wide eyes. Bucky stares back. Feels the ghost of fingertips dancing along his spine, and closes his eyes, for a moment, to feel it. Then he opens them again, and says to Brock: "Explain to me what is happening."

"So," Eddie starts, and Bucky knows immediately he's not going to like what comes next: "I'm kind of, uh, always pregnant."

"What." Steve says, and Bucky lifts a hand - an inky black hand, Jesus H. Christ - and shushes him.

"I - I - it's hard to explain!" Eddie says. "I just, uh - symbiotes reproduce, uh, freely, to say the least - and I just - uh -"

"Spit it out." Bucky growls.

"When we took you in," Eddie says, very, very gently, "you became, for a very brief moment, part of us. And the - the potential symbiote, not a fully realized thing, yet, just an idea, he - he felt you. And," Eddie swallows, nervously. "And you were a match."

Bucky closes his eyes.

"Get it out." Steve says.

"I can - I think I can take him back? We can try." Eddie says. He pauses, then says, "Venom - are you sure? We can't find him another match?"

Bucky watches him. He wraps his metal arm around his own stomach.

Eddie's face falls. "But - he doesn't want this, V."

"Bucky," Steve says, turning to him, "Buck, you gotta - you gotta let them take it back."

Steve reaches out to him, and Bucky does what he's done all his life: reach back. Their fingers twine together, and then the black from Bucky's arm is seeping, swirling, traveling up Steve's hand, halfway up his forearm, clear to his elbow. Not solidly. Not like with Bucky's arm. But tendrils, vines. Bonding them together.

"Holy shit." Eddie says.

WE LOVE HIM. WE WOULD RAZE CIVILIZATIONS FOR HIM. WE WOULD TRAVEL EARTH, SPACE, DEATH FOR HIM: WE WOULD DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN, FOR HIM. FOR HIM, ANYTHING. WE LOVE HIM.

Steve is staring at him, eyes wide, pupils blown. Bucky wonders if he can hear the voice, too: wonders if he can feel the love pouring from Bucky's chest like a dam broken open. Wonders if he can feel the FOR HIM, ANYTHING. FOR HIM, ANYTHING. reverberating with each beat of his heart.

"We can take him back." Eddie says, quietly. "He's our responsibility."

Bucky breaks Steve's gaze, still holding tight to his hand. He looks at Eddie.

"No."

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

"Has he told you his name yet?" Eddie asks curiously. They're all sitting on the sofa. The assassins are - mysteriously absent, and Bucky doesn't think about that too hard.

Steve is between Bucky's thighs, leaning back on his chest. They've all been quiet, but Steve most of all. Bucky has his arms around him, and where his hands touch Steve's stomach, black spills from him onto Steve, like an oil spill.

Buck pauses, probes gently at the presence in his head.

WOLF.

Bucky tips his head back against the sofa and lets the tears spill from his eyes, down his face. He lifts one hand from Steve and uses it to cover his eyes. Grief mixes with love mixes with devotion, swirling around his heart, brighter than even before.

"Thank you." He tells Eddie Brock, without the strength to even lift his head. "Thank you."

#i am taking VERY liberal assumptions about how symbiotes work. sorry to those who know the canon #venom #bucky barnes #stucky #bucky x steve #veddie #mcu #stevebucky #steve rogers #wintershield #fic #tw: mentions of vomit #tw: very brief mention if genitalia #tw: brief mention of eating

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