#desert compound

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a 1957 desert compound of 4 buildings, renovated by designer Leah Ring, with custom made furniture and lots of paint. It's located in Yucca Valley, California, has 2bds, 2ba, $785,500. It's cute, but you have want to live in the desert.

Walking into the combination kitchen/living room, there's a dining space in the corner, and directly ahead is a sofa and coffee table.

Immediately off to the side is the kitchen.

It's a lively lime & blue, but it looks a bit tight.

The oven door is awfully close to the opposite cabinet. It has a cool exhaust hood, though.

The living room area is cute.

And there's also a front room with a Swedish style fireplace in the corner. I don't think I'd want to sit in the corner next to a sliding window in the pitch dark desert, though. I can't help it, the desert freaks me out.

Bedroom has circus curtains and is a pretty big room.

Oddly, it also has an en-suite that has a glass door to the outside.

Love the shower and tiles.

This is the guest house.

The small bedroom is cute and has double doors that open to the outside.

It has this wonderful matching en-suite.

This little building has one room that looks like a chill-out space or maybe an office.

Outside is a stone fireplace and a hot tub.

This looks like the entrance to the compound.

The lot is 1.82 acres.

https://www.redfin.com/CA/Yucca-Valley/3925-Valley-Vista-Ave-92284/home/3825481

[blood-injections]

So I was fucking around in google earth as I commonly do for fun, scrolling around the desert to fuel my danger days fantasies and engrain myself in the universe. I was looking for places/things to use as inspiration in art or writing or whatever and out of pure curiosity, I looked around the la area to see what irl could possibly line up with like the canon map that could be wolfblood bleach because I don’t think it was ever confirmed if it’s an actual beach or not or just a name for a place and it’s one of those things I’ve yet to just make a headcanon for. I didn’t actually pull up the map to overlay it or anything but I was having fun like could it be Long Beach or a lake somewhere in here or what. And then out of pure curiosity I typed wolfblood beach into the search bar. Obviously nothing came up but then I typed in just wolfblood for the hell of it and this came up???????

CrAnIal dEForMAtiOn prOJecT???? Zoom in and there’s nothing, it’s on a mountain in the middle of the woods and there’s no weird structures or anything just trees. Look it up on google and there’s nothing. Why the goofy ass picture??? What is this???? Why does it only come up when you search wolfblood in the la area???????? If you zoom in without typing anything it’s just woods, the pin doesn’t come up. The pin is only shown when you search wolfblood.

I’m genuinely wondering if this is a lore thing like they had the weird websites and obscure YouTube videos and twitterverse I wouldn’t be surprised if they put stuff on google earth for the hell of it and somehow wolfblood is a keyword that gives you this thing. But then I would think it’d have more then the name and a goofy ass picture, it’d have some weird link or something, unless it’s just inactive and this is all that’s left. Or maybe a fan made this or something. Or maybe it’s some other weird conspiracy altogether not related to Mcr at all just a weird google earth thing in general that happens to be in the la/zones area.

Anyway this inspired me, as I said I didn’t have a headcanon for wolfblood beach yet and what it is so fuck it, it’s not an actual beach at all it’s the name of a fucked up medical facility in bat city where they have a.. cranial deformation project. Maybe not quite that maybe it’s just where they experiment with the drac masks and stuff or like chips to go in peoples heads instead so it keeps the cranial theme.

[chicago-geniza]

Shoutout to my mother for taping HOW TO UNLOAD THE DISHWASHER instructions to the front of the dishwasher, it has taken many years but at long last she has gotten the general gist of my brain problems (she was married to my dad and shared a room with my aunt growing up, after all) and is being genuinely helpful in material and meaningful ways. Thenk u momther 4 my ADL assistance

[kirby-the-gorb]

[eightdoctor]

fuck off

[legobiwan]

I mostly asked because I get the impression George vetoed Korkie being a Kenobi. Lots of scenes were cutout w/Padme & Obi because of the triangle. Basically, she falls for him during TPM, he notices but ignores it. This explains why she's happy to see in AOTC & why she bothers to "help" him on the Reek by grabbing his thigh. I could only see it working if they both survived, think Anakin died & turn to each other for comfort. Meaning Anakins' actions once again make his fears come true.

Oh hahaha - and here I went on a whole rant (I do love going on rants when given the opportunity :D.

But anyway...

You know, leaving out the whole Korkie Kenobi thing (which I don't have any strong feelings about, it's totally possible it happened and I would 100% suspect Satine would cover it up to protect everyone involved. Plus I find it a pretty hilarious situation).

Leaving that out, what would be interesting with the supposed triangle is (and I guess this may have been where GL was going with this?) that Padmé falls for Obi-wan, but Obi-wan doesn't return the feelings (even ignoring the Code). Now that's interesting if you consider that Padmé's kind of trapped herself in a pretty untenable situation with Anakin and maybe she just...transferred some of her emotions from Obi-wan (wholly unavailable) to Anakin (ready to rumble and hate sand).

Now, I don't think this all needed to be wildly enumerated in RotS and I think it's far (far) better for Padmé's character if she starts to split with Anakin due to her own reservations and not "some other man." So yeah, in the end, the cuts, I think, were not only effective but necessary. (Now, did Padmé have a little crush on Obi-wan and did Anakin, in all of his wild hypervigilance notice this? Yeah, probably. Which wouldn't help things at all because you know Obes and Anakin aren't going to talk about this).

But if both Obi-wan and Padmé survived RotS? Nah, Obi-wan would be riddled with way too much guilt even if he did harbor those kinds of feelings for Padmé. (Which, personally, I don't think he did, but to each their own).

[t4tbruharvey]

📗 👀

when oh when will i have the motivation to write my trans bruce banner thesis fic wherein rick immediately clocks him as an egg but doesn't say anything because bruce is kind of going through it rn

[the-last-dillpickle]

thinkin about section 31 sex cult au again 🤔

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.

Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.

Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics

Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t. 

After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state. 

“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot. 

“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.” 

Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip. 

Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you. 

“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.

As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in. 

Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds. 

You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering. 

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step. 

Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window. 

“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening. 

He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in. 

The  next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans. 

Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.

Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could. 

So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission. 

As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake. 

“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep. 

“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.

“The floor then.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.” 

You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in. 

By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you. 

He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission. 

By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee. 

“Why can’t we just ask for directions?” 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” 

“Yes?” 

“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.” 

“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back. 

You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together. 

5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.

The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering. 

“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.” 

Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent. 

“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together. 

“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat. 

Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark. 

Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work. 

Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage. 

Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him. 

“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it. 

You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag. 

“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms. 

Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing. 

But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it. 

Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much. 

In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.

He felt sick. 

Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding. 

They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone. 

But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him. 

He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you. 

Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk. 

Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.

“She’s so fucking drunk -” 

“Absolute embarrassment -” 

“Can’t believe they let her in -” 

Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him. 

You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear. 

“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music. 

“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!” 

You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost. 

The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk. 

“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-” 

“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” 

Was he still here? Fucking asshole. 

Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist. 

“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music. 

You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it. 

“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?” 

Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose. 

“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?” 

Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away. 

Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it? 

“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut. 

He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door. 

“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step. 

“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.” 

He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop. 

“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control. 

“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?” 

“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.

“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?” 

“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs. 

“Sure.” He sighed. 

Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed. 

“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”

“Stay.” 

“I’ll be right outside if you need-” 

“Stay.” 

And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt. 

Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place. 

You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene 

“Hey, you want another beer, doll?” 

Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water. 

He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast. 

He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” 

He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water. 

“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers. 

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.” 

Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something. 

“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it? 

“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.” 

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway. 

As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break. 

In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch. 

“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow. 

“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”

Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.” 

She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring. 

“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-” 

A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised. 

“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food. 

“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled. 

You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first. 

“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him. 

Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -” 

“I’ll sleep on other sofa -” 

“You’ll share with me, right doll?” 

The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.” 

“Bucky -” Sam started. 

“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-” 

His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.

Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose. 

Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping. 

Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted. 

Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest. 

Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.

The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you. 

Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t. 

Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?

You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds. 

In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone. 

“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you. 

“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed? 

“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”

After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room. 

Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip. 

By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible. 

He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see. 

Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.” 

“You’re right.” 

You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone. 

In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver. 

“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered. 

Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did. 

“I miss you too.” 

You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -” 

Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, doll.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that.” 

“What if I want to?” 

He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter. 

“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek. 

“You do?” 

And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him. 

“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.” 

“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips. 

“Uh huh, I did,” 

“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling. 

“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.” 

“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss. 

“How long?” 

“How long, what?” 

“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses. 

“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start. 

With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you. 

“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“I guess we do, doll.” 

[jpitha]

Hunting

It is unlikely that humans are the only predator species to achieve sapience in the galaxy.

In order to be a successful predator one has to be intelligent enough to learn your prey's movements and be able to think ahead to what they're going to do next but also be flexible enough in your thinking that you can improvise if the situation chances. If you don't have this elasticity, you won't be a very successful predator.

Humans are very successful predators.

****

Greg bent down low and spoke as quietly as he could to the worried Sefigan next to him. "I need you to stay as still as you can. I'm going to go around, and try and surprise the Gren guarding the exit."

The three Sefigans, caught between wanting to obey Greg and staying silent but also trying to communicate that they thought it was suicide to do so started shaking.

"No, no, it'll be fine. I've been watching him. He's not really paying attention." Greg stood silently and put one finger to his lips, then smiled.

Moving much quieter than one would think given his mass, Greg crept away, hunched down just a little to keep motion out of the tops of the bushes they used to hide. The Sefigans watched in horrified fascination as Greg would take a few steps and then freeze, not even breathing while he watched the Gren.

As he walked, he made no noise at all over the soft sand, his feet finding purchase slowly. The Sefigans, a small furry prey species from a rocky mountainous world felt very old fears from the most early parts of their brains while watching him hunt the Gren.

The Gren guard was panning slowly as he guarded the exit, his fur flat, his eyes dull and his mouthparts drooping. If one knew a bit about Gren physiology one could easily see that he was bored and tired. His shift wasn't due to end for another 3 demi-cycles and nothing usually ever happened on this exit.

When Greg was no more than 2 meters away, he reached down and picked up a stone, no larger than a comm badge. He raised his arm and in one silent fluid motion, tossed the stone high and far over his head, to hide its origin. It clattered against the wall on the far side of the pen, opposite to where Greg was standing. The noise and motion caught the Gren's eye and his whole body swung over to where the stone landed.

His back was turned to Greg.

Greg bent his legs low building energy and took two steps and lept onto the Gren's back. His higher mass bowled the taller but much lighter Gren over and the Gren's head hit the stone with a hollow thwack.

Greg jumped up off the Gren and checked him quickly. He was dead. Trotting quickly over to where the Sefigans were still hiding he motioned for them to follow.

Still terrified, they followed this... ambush predator they were scared of and by the time they reached him, he had gotten the comm out of the Gren's pack and was fiddling with a ring that had complicated studs all around it, fitting them against the door until one clicked and the door hissed open.

Minutes later they were all running across the desert to the canal below where they had hoped to cling to the side of a barge and float to the spaceport.

"Human Greg! Human Greg!" The smallest Sefigan called as they jogged down the sandy hill towards the canal.

"What is it Li? Can it wait?"

"That was amazing! I've never seen a human hunt before! Is that how they all do it?"

"Not really? Humans developed as persistence hunters, not ambush hunters, but as you well know, skills can be taught."

"Persistence hunter?"

"Yeah, my ancestors would pick an animal out of a herd and run after it. As long as we didn't overexert ourselves we could just... run until it died."

The three Sefigans looked at each other as they jogged. Greg wasn't breathing heavily as they went towards the canal, but all three of them were nearly at their limit and would need a long time to rest when they were safe.

"Human Greg, you scare us." The tallest Sefigan looked back at the holding compound and then back at Greg. "But, not as much as we were scared of what the Gren would have done to us."

Greg smiled showing his wide, large, white teeth. "In this world, sometimes you need to be scary." He looked at the canal. "Come on, the water isn't too cold, let's get in and swim towards that barge. It's not too far."

[vaguely-problematic]

the current hyper-rich mindset in the u.s.a

starts at 1:04. notes: yachts, bunkers, zero fucks, disciplinary collars

really what does one expect when one is Summoned to a Private Desert Compound

[lunarw0rks]

Angst Drabble where task 141 thinks reader was KIA but they just being held captive and was probably tortured until reader escaped?

☾𓂃❛🍰❜┊ we buried you

warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical violence, torture mention, blood/injury, medical procedures, hurt/comfort, gn!reader ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

you already looked dead and felt it even more. bloodied, beaten, and deprived of proper food and water for weeks. but you had your chance to escape; one chance, a slim one.

your captors' facility had been raided — before they could restrict you to a chair again. the man who was in charge had been dropped through one of the windows, and the commotion in the prison's corridors was too chaotic for anyone to hear the faint gunshot.

the ringing, and feeling of water trapped in your ears — it was a blessing given all the overstimulating chaos. no one was looking for you, not while they were defending their compound.

you lifted your head from your blank stare in your lap once you heard the heavy thump of his body. you crawled to the warden's corpse, fingering the speak button on his radio, but your vision was too doubled to focus. on top of it, you weren't sure you could speak. you gave up on that the second day into imprisonment. no words resulted in punishment, but so did the use of them. it was a double-edged sword of anguish.

it was now or never; any longer and you would catch an infection or bleed out from your injuries.

to find his gun, you would have to roll the weight of a grown man onto his stomach. maybe last week, before you sustained a broken rib you would've. but now? you could do nothing except stagger through the empty corridors with his keycard, deadened eyes doing little to observe a threat.

the luminance of the afternoon sun nearly knocked you down, an achy forearm raised to block the sheer brightness of the star. your best course of action was to keep moving towards the sounds of friendlies; now was not the time to be the hero you were trained to be.

it was a desert area, only adding to the dryness in your throat and eyes. the distant voices of soldiers, British ones grew louder as you advanced down the valley, eventually seeing a tank in view. what sounded like an officer or general, his shouts were interrupted by the downright grisly sight you were. a military undershirt matching his and your undergarments — crimson stains in the fabric, your skin, the cuts and gashes, bruises big and tiny, sunken and hopeless features.

❝don't move an inch!❞ he bellows despite you already stopped in your tracks, bare feet blistering against the torrid sand. it was only fair in a land full of terrorism — assuming anyone could be an enemy. his men raised their rifles as the officer approached steadily, the force of his squad as backup.

the keycard smears with your bloody fingertips fell to the sand before you turned your arm to him, flashing your only chance at getting back to your men; an insignia for the 141 across that traveled down your forearm.

his gaze softened as he gripped the tender flesh of your arm, inspecting the ink tattered by injury. he gives it a harsh rub with a wetted finger — but the tattoo is very real.

your legs buckled beneath you once you knew you were safe as if your broken body could only stay upright for minutes under the sizzling sun. you crumpled against the sand, eyes droopy and about to clench shut.

the last of the commotion you heard was the officer speaking frantically into his comms — and most notable, a familiar name. captain price.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

❝bleeding christ...❞ price muttered as you wheeled past him limp on a gurney. you were supposed to be KIA, buried and dead for months now. your comms had been lost, and everyone else in that transport didn't make it. but you were here, and barely breathing.

how you managed to stand, let alone remain lucid enough to identify yourself to British forces, he couldn't comprehend it. however, your captain wasn't surprised — you were tough as nails.

the medics worked tirelessly; wrapping you in cooling blankets, inserting a central line, IVs pumping fluid, and a feeding tube to slow feed you until your gut could handle nutrients again.

for hours; they induced your slumber, some much-needed shuteye as the lines and medications did their work on you. though you hadn't been moving much, your attempts at speaking and panicked looks around the medbay were inhibiting your ability to rest. but right now, your shallow breaths were like a living miracle.

you survived and made your escape out of sheer willpower — no one would forget this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

soap was the first to sit with you, reading from a sports magazine. his logic? if you're up and bickering with him again, that means you're alright. your eyes would flutter open for seconds at a time, a small frown pointed at your chatty visitor, then they would shut again for hours. anything was better than nothing.

gaz and ghost only visited through the window into the medbay, a few minutes of observing your bruised body before they forced themselves to move along. or the captain did. the world couldn't stop for you, as much as he wanted them all to be there for you when you were lucid.

it was captain price that was. he gave the other three a light assignment, something that would keep the trio occupied for a few hours.

after what seemed like two days of medicated slumber, your eyes finally opened fully. you stared down at the stitches all over you, the soft cast around your wrist. most of all, the achy feeling is still ever-persistent despite the sedatives.

❝captain?❞ you croaked in a weak and emotional tone. you weren't in that prison, you were in the 'comfort' of a medbay. perhaps it was the drugs or the hell you had been through, but you were near tears.

his hand outstretched, a palm resting on one of the few uninjured bits of flesh on your arms. ❝you did it, kid. you... made it.❞ price's tone was soothing and low, like that of a parent consoling their maimed child.

what you had been through, he didn't need to know. he didn't ever want to picture it. what mattered most was that you were here and that you had proved yourself in the most heartbreaking sense.

he finds his pocket, pulling out his cell. ❝i have make a call to laswell. i can ask the others to visit if you'd like?❞ price asks softly, eyes remaining on you as he dials the number.

whether you wanted to see the rest of them right now or not, that was your decision. you earned it.

[herpsandbirds]

Sonoran Desert Toads aka Colorado River Toads (Incilius alvarius), in a breeding aggregation, family Bufonidae, Arizona, USA

This species is known to produce a toxic compound from its skin, which is also hallucinogenic.

photograph by Martin Horowitz

[ceilidho]

zombie au with ghost is him like in the deserted island au. he goes into full over-protective mode and never lets his darling out of sight.

probably takes her into some deserted country-side....

Ghost kidnapping you from the group you've been living with because he doesn't think they can take care of you like he can :\\ and you scream and put up a fuss for weeks until you finally run away only to come across the raided and scavenged remains of your old compound (looks like he was right)

[iovebarca]

hello hello:) i love your fics! how about a fic where gavi and the reader go on vacation together (like the maledives) and just spend sunny days by the beach, relaxing in each others arms after a stressful season? maybe they go to a fancy dinner in the evenings or something like that, just fluff of a cute romantic couple on holiday:) thank youuu🫶🏼

Sun-Kissed Serenity - Pablo Gavi

Authors note: only 2 exams left! and i listened to the song SAND by SABA while writing this, such an underrated eurovision song!

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me

WC: 800 ish

Summary: In the serene paradise of the Maldives, Pablo and the reader find solace from the stresses of his football season with Barcelona.

send me requests! or just anything if you want to talk:))

The gentle lull of the turquoise waves washes over you as you recline on the pristine white sands of the Maldives, the sun painting golden hues across the horizon. Beside you, Pablo's presence is a comforting anchor, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders as you both bask in the warmth of each other's company.

It's been a long-awaited vacation—a much-needed respite from the whirlwind of stress and pressure that Pablo endured during the football season with Barcelona, compounded by the setback of his recent injury. But here, in this idyllic paradise, time seems to stand still, allowing you both to leave your worries behind and simply embrace the serenity of the moment.

"You know," Pablo murmurs, his voice soft with contentment, "I don't think I've ever felt more at peace than I do right now."

You turn to him with a gentle smile, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. "I'm glad we could escape here together," you say, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. "You deserve this, Pablo. You've worked so hard."

Pablo's expression softens at your words, gratitude shining in his eyes. "And having you here with me makes it all the more special," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

As the days unfold, you and Pablo spend your time lazily exploring the island, indulging in leisurely walks along the shoreline and exhilarating snorkeling adventures in the crystal-clear waters. Each evening, you dress up in your finest attire and venture out to enjoy romantic dinners under the stars, savoring the exquisite flavors of the Maldivian cuisine and the intimate moments shared between just the two of you.

But it's the quiet moments spent in each other's arms that you treasure the most—the whispered conversations beneath the canopy of palm trees, the stolen kisses as the sun dips below the horizon, the simple joy of being together in a world all your own.

Pablo had spent the afternoon building sandcastles on the beach. With childlike enthusiasm, Pablo had dug trenches and piled sand, his laughter echoing across the shoreline as he sculpted his masterpiece. He had created quite the castle, if you say so yourself.

"You're still a kid at heart, aren't you?" you teased, a fond smile playing on your lips as you watched him adding the finishing touches to his artwork.

Pablo looked up from his sandy creation, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, shut up," he retorted, a playful grin spreading across his face. "You know you love me."

And indeed, you did love him—with all your heart and soul. It was moments like these—simple, carefree, and filled with laughter—that made you fall deeper in love with him each and every day.

As the night falls over the Maldives, painting the sky in a canvas of deep blues and purples, Pablo suggests a spontaneous late-night swim beneath the shimmering moonlight. Eager for the adventure, you both slip into your swimsuits and make your way to the deserted stretch of beach.

The warm embrace of the ocean welcomes you as you wade into the gentle waves, the water cool and refreshing against your skin. Pablo's laughter rings out in the night air as he splashes you playfully, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Come on, mi amor," he urges, his smile infectious. "Race you to the buoy!"

With a playful grin, you accept the challenge, kicking off from the shore and propelling yourself through the water with all your might. Pablo's laughter fills your ears as he swims beside you, the thrill of competition mingling with the exhilarating rush of freedom.

But as you reach the buoy, the mood shifts, and the playful banter gives way to something deeper—a quiet intimacy that binds you together in the stillness of the night. You tread water side by side, the only sound the gentle rhythm of your breathing and the soft lapping of the waves against the shore.

In the moonlight, Pablo's features are illuminated with a soft glow, his eyes reflecting the depths of his love for you. Without a word, he reaches out, drawing you into his arms with a tenderness that steals your breath away.

And there, beneath the canopy of stars, you share a moment of pure magic—a moment that transcends time and space, a moment that speaks volumes without the need for words.

As you found yourselves immersed in the tranquil waters of the ocean, you couldn't help but reflect on the playful antics of earlier in the day. With Pablo by your side, every moment was an adventure, every memory a treasure to hold close to your heart.

[sprout-fics]

Coyote Kiss

(Philip Graves x F! Reader)

(Call of Duty Masterlist)

Rating: Explicit, MDNI Wordcount: 3.1k Tags: Brat Tamer Graves, Bratty Reader, Motorcycle Graves, Date night, Banter, Bickering, Love/Hate Relationship, Messy relationships, Jealousy Warnings: None A/N: Hi. Here's more of the man I love to hate and hate to love. Forgive me.

He’s smirking at you.

There’s a low, fluorescent buzz to the diner amidst the distant sounds of the kitchen, the gurgle of the coffee machine behind the counter. You and Graves are tucked in a booth, far from the door, where the neon light of the ‘open’ sign catches against the shiny leather of his motorcycle jacket. There’s tinny music over the speakers, the 80’s you think, not entirely sure. You know if you try and guess Graves will only huff at you, correct you and lament about your poor music knowledge.

Smartass.

You can feel the toes of his boots brush against your ankles, and even though you aren’t looking at him you know he’s just waiting for you to comment on it, nudge him out of your space with mild annoyance. Instead you focus on the various laminated displays of greasy food inside the menu, burying your face so you ignore him. Yet even without looking you know exactly how he looks. Relaxed into his seat, arms crossed, head tilted in keen observation, and that damned smirk plastered across his smug face. 

“You haven’t looked at the menu.” You observe, still not looking at him, and you hear Graves shift to attention when you finally acknowledge him.

“Don’t have to.” He replies easily. “I’ve been here long enough to know what I want.”

Or so he’s said. It had taken some cajoling on his part to drag you this far out into the sticks, far away from the Shadow Company base. You’d expected him to commandeer one of the jeeps in the compound, puzzled as to why he told you to dress warm in the middle of the deadly Texas summer heat. Yet then your commander had led you off to a garage, had yanked a tarp back to reveal a pristinely kept motorcycle underneath. 

“Ducati.” He announced smugly, leaning on the bike and running an appreciative hand over the sleek black trim. “One of the best on the market.”

“How did you afford this?” You gaped at him, ignoring his bark of laughter at your open, astonished expression.

“It pays to be a government contractor, sweetheart. You ought to know that by now.”

He walked over to a shelf, tossed you a helmet. It looked brand new. You barely caught it, too transfixed on the motorcycle. Graves sauntered back over, tapped two leather-gloved fingers under your chin.

“Close your mouth, babygirl. You’ll catch flies.”

It had been clear from the get-go that Graves had planned this in excruciating detail, going as far as providing you with a spare jacket that even now remains draped across your shoulders, just a bit too large. You’d hopped on the bike behind him, a little hesitant to grab onto him, at least until he’d huffed and wrapped your arms around his waist himself. The warmth of him bled into your front, helmet tucked against his shoulder and thighs clenched to the bike as he’d sped off out of the compound.

You’d gotten some stares from the guards. There will probably be rumors across half the base by the time you both get back.

You don’t know how long you rode into the desert, the sun setting quickly and casting a brilliant orange haze across the horizon. Graves talked little, focused on the road, stopping only when he was required, planting a possessive hand roaming across the meat of your thigh. When you’d playfully smacked at it, he only laughed.

Eventually you had pulled into the diner just as the sunset faded and the flickering, lonely street lights had turned on. When he had ushered you into the diner, the older lady behind the counter had greeted him in cheerful familiarity. “Phil.”

She’s disappeared now, and you think you heard her mutter something to the much younger waitress about a smoke break. Left alone, you stare into the grease-stained menu and try to decipher the various contents in a vain attempt to not entertain Grave’s twinkling eyes.

He nudges you again under the table, boots pressing against your ankles, spreading himself wide and into your space in a way that’s meant to purposefully draw your attention. You know this ploy all too well, know that if you bite and decide to snip at him he’ll only rile you up further with gleeful audacity, until eventually he handles you into a biting kiss you can’t resist. It’s the constant game you both play, caught between a simmering annoyance that erupts in roaming touches and snipping banter even when you’re caught in his arms. You know the inevitable end of it, how you’ll end up in his bed, feel him haul your legs over his shoulders and tease you even then, smiling against your lips when he forces you to surrender in desperate, mewling gasps.

You pretend to hate it, fight him at every turn, rise to his jabs and return them with your own. It only feeds into his rampant desire for you, intoxicated by handling the feral nature of you, taming you with teasing endearments turned into rasping, sweet nothings as he buries himself inside you. You know you’ll go willingly even though you bite at him like something wild, slightly feral, knowing that at the end of this you’ll surrender to his carnal desires only because it feels so good.

You catch the waitress out of the corner of your eye, see her blonde hair cascade in girlish waves out of her ponytail, french-tip nails holding her ticketbook as she sways over to your table. She’s pretty, thin, looks like something out of those 60’s advertisements done in acrylic posters.

“What can I getcha, hon?” She asks, voice a thick Texas drawl as she cocks her hip, staring straight at Graves. Attentive. Suggestive. 

It makes your eyes narrow.

Graves looks up like he’s noticed her for the first time, offering a polite smile, different from the one he’s given you. 

“Coffee. Black.” He provides, slinging an arm over the back of his seat. “I’ll have the fried catfish sandwich and okra. Fries on the side, biscuits too.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

Hmm.

You’re ready to order when Graves then points at you. You think he’ll pull a smartass move, declare your affinity for a fresh salad and fruit. Instead he supplies: “This little lady right here will have a burger, medium rare. The works, bacon, egg, all that. Plus onion rings and a coke.”

You open your mouth to protest, but find nothing to object to. In fact, when you frown in a mild pout, your stomach only rumbles in yawning hunger. Graves shoots you a look. 

“And no pickles.” He adds, grinning wolfishly. You’re not sure if you want to bite or kiss him.

The waitress scribbles down all of the above in quick shorthand. “Anything else?”

Graves purses his lips, considering. “Chips and queso.” He supplies with a small gesture of his hand. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The waitress seems to perk up at that, smiling happily before striding off towards the kitchen. You watch her go, trace her back until she vanishes behind the swinging door, and only then do you catch Graves staring at you. 

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow at you contemplatively. “Am I not giving you enough attention, babygirl?”

Are you jealous?

You scoff, averting your eyes so he doesn’t see the flash of surprise and bashfulness that flickers across your gaze. “Hardly.” You tell him, and your commander only hums, pressing his boot a little more firmly against your calf.

You shoot him an annoyed look. “Quit it.” You grumble, and just as you expect Graves only grins, eyes twinkling at your bite. 

“Can’t help it.” He drawls. “I’m a long legged man.”

You tilt your head at him, a mischievous smile forming on your lips as you consider his words. 

“You’re 5’11.” You correct him. “I know plenty of Shadows that have a few inches on you.”

Graves’ eyes flash at that, and you know you’ve gotten under his skin just a bit by the way his gaze turns just a little sharp before melting back into easy confidence. 

“I compensate in other ways, darlin’. You know that.”

You thin your lips at that, know that for all intents and purposes, he’s right.

Graves takes in your silence and laughs, pleased. 

“Don’t pout.” He tuts at you. “If you need a reminder later, let me know.”

The last time he gave you a ‘reminder’ you’d walked on wobbly legs for two days afterwards, bruises tracing abstract patterns up your chest and throat. And Graves, damnable Graves, had strutted around the compound like a prized rooster crowing at the sun for all the things he knew he had done to you. You’d seethed about it, of course, his egoism, but even then you couldn’t stop the memory of him from poisoning the slow fester of your attraction to him. 

His hands on your wrists, your legs over his shoulders. The hickeys he’s sucked into your throat bloom dark against your skin. You toss your head under him, lips parted in desperate little whines as he grinds himself into you with unerring precision. His back is scratched to hell, and he moans at the burn of it, drunk on the hurt and the intoxicating process of watching your wild nature fold to utter, mewling surrender under him.

“Feel good, baby?” He drawls, voice hoarse with his groans as his hips slap against yours. It shakes the bed. “Can’t even talk because you’re so cockdrunk, aren’t ya, little spitfire?”

And you, you had given into him, had surrendered to his endearing, teasing taunts, had folded under him like you belonged there.

Your thighs threaten to close at the memory, and the motion doesn’t go unnoticed by your commander, who’s face lights up in realization. 

“Yeah?” He provides, shifting forward eagerly. “Bet you’d like that, babygirl.”

“Piss off.” You snap, even though the temptation of it roils inside you with undeniable interest.

Graves whistles, long and low, puckering his lips and feigning surprise. “I like that bark, sweetheart. You know I do, but…”

Graves leers at you.

“I like it better when you bite.”

You choke.

It’s not unlike him to be this brazen, far from it. Yet his taunting is usually reserved for the more private moments, the ones where he crowds you into the shadows of the armory or behind the barracks, seizes your lips in a domineering kiss until you gasp against him. He leaves you like that after, having barely touched you, smirking with that twinkle in his eyes and sauntering off to leave you exactly as he intended. Dizzy, chest rising, mind fuzzy with want.

Here, however, in this place with a sparse collection of other diners, where the blonde waitress peeks from the porthole of the kitchen door, you feel yourself warm under his intent stare, mouth pressing into a thin, flustered line as you avoid his gaze. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, instinctively. That tone, when his voice dips lower, less playful,  heavy with intent, always summons your attention. It means listen, eyes up, come here.

You merely glance at him, not entirely turning. Avoiding him still, feeding into this game that you both enjoy so dearly. 

“Maybe I don’t want to.” You drawl, and you know if it weren’t for the table between you Graves would close the distance and seize your chin to make you look. You smile at that in a way he can see, watch the way fire flickers across his eyes at the rebellious streak in you. He loves it. Loves the way you refuse to obey. It’s a challenge he’s greedy to accept, a temptation he can’t resist. The act of making you surrender is an addiction in of itself, a warm swimming desire that feeds into his veins. He’s drunk on the act of taming you, can’t resist riling you up only to put you down. 

It feeds his ego, you think- his oozing confidence that doesn’t buckle even under artillery fire. Graves knows what he is capable of.

Knows he’s capable of taming you. 

Before he can respond to your taunt, the waitress reappears with an entire platter of food. Fries, chips, onion rings, queso, drinks, a burger, okra, and a piece of catfish perfectly fried. The steam wafts up from the linoleum table, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering at the intoxicating smell of perfectly greasy food. 

“Anything else, sweetpea?” The waitress asks in a sing-song little voice, still trying to draw Graves' attention. He looks up at her, tilting his head and softening his eyes just for a moment. You think he’ll flirt with her, maybe compliment her bright pink lipstick.

“That’s all.” He provides instead, short in a way that makes you blink as you watch the rejection pass over the waitress’s face. She nods distantly before vanishing, and Graves doesn’t give her a second glance before he’s lifting his sandwich up and tearing into it like a coyote with a piece of raw meat. 

You survey the table, the wealth of food you know you won’t finish. It’s decadent to the point of excess, and as Graves sucks the sauce from his fingers messily you blink at the spread. 

“Christ, Graves.” You breathe. “There’s enough here to feed the base.”

Graves hums around the next bite of his food. 

“I gotta keep my girl fed.” He provides through a full mouth, and when you scold him for manners he only grins at you before nodding to your burger. “I know you’re hungry, eat up.”

You grumble at him but happily oblige, biting into the meat of your burger. Flavor and warmth explodes across your senses, and before you can help it you moan.

Graves barks a laugh, nudges you once again under the table. 

“Atta girl.” He provides, and you’re too lost in your food to care about the slight mocking tone of his, eyes scrunching shut and savoring the next bite. 

“My little carnivore.” He croons, and you do nudge him with your boot at that, shooting him a glare. His eyes only twinkle with mischief before he returns to his own food. 

It takes time for you both to devour the table full of food with its queso laden chips and golden brown onion rings, the fries that leave grease stains on the wax paper. Graves waggles a piece of okra in front of your face, and you finally give into his cajoling before eating it straight from his hand.

When his knuckles graze under your chin, you resist the urge to bite him.

Eventually you slump back in your seat with a heavy, pleased sigh, hands over your full stomach and immensely satisfied at the warmth of the food that curls there. Graves sips at his coffee, and how he manages to drink it black after eating that amount of grease is beyond you. 

“Feel good, babygirl?” He asks, perhaps a little too smugly, but you can’t bring yourself to pay him much mind. 

“Mm-hmm.” You hum happily, a lazy pleased smile across your face as you look at him.

For a moment, you swear you catch something that veers dangerously close to tenderness.

“How am I supposed to get us both on the bike after all this?” He snarks instead, gesturing to the mess of empty plastic baskets and crumbs you’ve both left. 

You shrug, unable to hide a cheeky smile. “I could probably ride back and get a couple of strong shadows to haul you onto a truck.” You suggest, and in a rare moment of surprise Graves chokes on his coffee. You grin victoriously at him when he wipes at his chin before turning to you with his eyes narrowed. 

“Brat.”

You shrug. “Guilty.”

Despite the scolding, Graves is smiling, and you can’t help but smile back. 

You cringe when the bill is slid onto the table, but Graves doesn’t even blink when he deposits  a fat wad of cash before standing and bringing you with him. He keeps a hand at the small of your back as you both exit into the cool night air, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was being a gentleman.

Yet then the hand snakes up to your back, and you nearly stumble in surprise as Graves thumps you a few times between the shoulders. You spin to face him, eyes wide in indignation. 

“Are you trying to burp me?!” You gasp in mild outrage, and in perfect timing you have to swallow down a bubble of gas in hopes he doesn’t notice. 

Graves grins, amused and pleased at the mildly scornful look in your eyes. He merely crowds you backwards until your backside bumps against the motorcycle, his hands catching you by your hips before he hauls himself flush against you. 

You’re not ready for the way the blue of his eyes shift under the glow of the streetlamp, the sudden, dizzying desire he has when he locks his gaze on yours. 

“You drive me crazy, you know that darlin?” He rasps, voice dragging breathily in his chest. It makes you soften against him in your shock, the sudden rapturous fixation of his voice that almost speaks of devotion.

You swallow, heart thumping uneasily in your chest, caught on the razor’s edge of him, afraid that if you get too close he might bleed you dry. 

You almost want him to try. 

“You’re already crazy.” You manage instead, flashing him a mischievous smile that only barely meets your eyes. 

Graves laughs, and laughs again when you nip at his descending lips, a hand snaking up to cradle your skull and press you closer to him. Your hands seize the leather of his jacket in a desperate anchor, swept away by his sudden urge to devour you. 

You’re always hiding in some ways from him, you think, ever distant and out of reach. You feign irritation to quell the thunder of your heartbeat, teetering on the precipice of caution and dangerous desire. If you surrender completely, fall into his jaws, you know he’ll only gobble you up like a wild animal. You fear somehow he’ll chew you until you’ve lost your taste and then leave the remains of your broken heart withering like starved desert flowers. You’re not sure if you can take it.

Yet in this moment, in the laughing kiss he presses against your parted lips, you wonder if perhaps this is meant to be forever.

Taglist:

@alicesfracturedmirror @writeforfandoms