marigold-field

[marigold-field]

Boommmmshakalakaaaaa yes gawddd

Good Friends

pining and in denial rosie is doing something to my brain chemistry

rosie rosenthal x gn!reader

wc; 699

Rosie likes to think he’s friends with everyone at Thorpe Abbott. He’s been with his crew for years and he makes an effort to befriend the new guys when they come in, even if they won’t be around for long. Even John Brady’s stopped making snide remarks, and Rosie swears the band has started playing more of the songs he likes.

He’s definitely friends with you. That’s what he says when Pappy elbows him in the ribs, grinning, and when Crosby wags his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. It’s just that you like to dance and Rosie’s usually the one to indulge you. He can’t control when the music slows down and he can’t help but pull you close because he’d never ruin the last song of the night for you.

Maybe he’s given you a ride or two on the handlebars of his bike, or when he’s conveniently forgotten his bike at home, he takes the time to walk you across base. He likes hearing your laugh and even during those late nights, your smile is radiant under the moonlight. He’s chased you through the rain and let you muss his water-logged curls. Rosie’s hands tense at his sides when he sees the hair plastered to your neck. He tells himself he’d do the same for any of his friends and brushes the wayward tendrils into place. He says goodnight but Rosie knows you’ll haunt his dreams. The curl of your lips is superimposed on the inside of his eyelids. Your whispered taunts linger, brushing up against the shell of his ear. Even the smell of you is stuck on his skin.

He does his best to scrub himself of you before each mission. Rosie knows there’s a job to be done and he hates that the thought of you might distract him. So, he uses extra aftershave the morning he flies and slicks his curls into submission. He doesn’t have time to think about his friends flying in other forts, certainly not enough time to think of you. There’s only him, his crew, and the mission. There’s no room in the plane for the ghost of you.

When he lands and interrogation is over, Crosby tells him you’ve been a live wire, on edge for hours up in Air Exec. Rosie aches to know you’ve been fretting, but when he sees you, he plasters on a cocky smile—the one that always has you rolling your eyes—and asks if you’ve been missing him.

You always look a little shaken, a little like a ghost when you see him again, but without fail you scoff and turn to walk away from him, allowing him to sling an arm around your shoulders and haul you into his side. You walk like that, hip to hip, and Rosie can almost feel your ribs folding, making room to interlace with his.

You stop outside the gear room, and the rest of Rosie’s crew is already inside, stripping out of their flysuits. It’s the two of you alone in the hallway and his name is a hoarse whisper on your lips. Rosie. He’s never Captain Rosenthal when it’s just the two of you. You called him Robert once, to accuse him of cheating in cards, and the aghast look on his face sent you into such a fit of laughter, the game of cards was abandoned. But when you say his name like that…

Rosie.

Your bodies are pressed close, near enough to share breath. You’re looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, cheeks flushed and—he shouldn’t notice but he does—your lips are bitten-red. He doesn’t need to hear your question to know he’ll say yes. You could ask him to fish down the moon and he’d steal it from the sky. Usually, you’re asking to see his plane or to swap sides at meals. There are some things, some things that make his breathing hitch, that Rosie wonders if you’ll ever ask. He could ask, step just an inch closer, but the question tangles in his throat and he repeats the same mantra he’s been saying for months.

You’re just friends. Good friends.

[marigold-field]

AHHH!! Literally screaming this is so good

Hitchin' a ride

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes.

Part 1 of Are You Going My Way?

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Words: 7k Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

It gets dark early in winter in East Anglia. By the time you leave the ward, it’s pitch dark despite it barely being past dinner time. Huddled in your dark blue wool cape, you trudge along the side of the road, holding a small torch to light your way. There’s a cold, biting wind tonight, and it feels like it’s going through every layer you’re wearing, straight through your bones. Breath shuddering, you pick up your pace, the gravel barrier between the road and the grass crunching under your standard-issue brown boots. The faster you get back to the nurse’s barracks, the faster you’re out of this wind and soaking your sore feet and cold toes.

Thorpe Abbots sprawls strangely, but you usually don’t mind. The quiet walk at the end of the long shifts in the operating room, rounds on the intensive care ward, cleaning, and inventory is your moment of solace. A moment where you can finally let the smile fall off your face, where you can grit out the curses you've bitten back all day, the crinkle in time when you are allowing the tears to well up and drip down your face silently.

There is no textbook or training to prepare you for the horrific reality. Torn flesh, burns, and the blood. The fear and agony. The pained screaming. The blind panic.

You have never felt more that you are where you need to be, yet you are so completely and utterly powerless.

A light catches your eye, reflecting on the trees around you in a ghostly flicker. Glancing over your shoulder, the light floats through the darkness, gliding towards you. The soft ding of a bicycle bell pulls you out of your reverie. Turning fully, the light casting off your torch finally illuminates the figure on the bicycle. 

“Major Egan,” You greet him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. He has no reason to be here. There’s nothing down this road but the building with the nurses’ quarters. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered Major Egan somewhere he has no reason to be. But you, as an army nurse and merely a first lieutenant, are not about to question him on that.

“You shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, lieutenant,” He tells you, stopping next to you. You stop, too, taking a good look at him—because why wouldn’t you—as he gets off his bike. 

A little too friendly, a little too forward. His bright, sharp blue eyes are contrasted by luscious dark curls and that devilish smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a confident grace, he is hard to miss. And if you were to somehow overlook him in a crowd, he commands, demands, attention. There is something dangerously magnetic about him, something electric.

You best keep your distance.

“Don’t worry about me, please, Major,” You reply politely. “It’s not late, and I know the way,” 

“Are you done for today?” He asks conversationally, smiling, his eyes crinkling happily. The tips of his ears are red from the cold. In the middle of a quiet road, in the dark, in freezing temperatures, it’s an odd place for polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m heading back to my quarters,” You smile. “Long day,” You add, hoping to cut the conversation short, desperately trying to suppress the full body shiver from the cold. You notice with some envy that Major Egan seems wonderfully unbothered by the biting wind in his sheepskin jacket. You nod at him, turning back in the direction you had been heading, gingerly taking a step. Hopefully, he gets the hint.

“I could give you a ride,” 

You stop dead in your tracks, looking back at him wide-eyed. 

“I’m heading in the same direction, so you’d get there quicker,” He beams at you with that brilliant smile, patting the carrier at the back of the bike. Instinctively, you start shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from vocalizing your thoughts.

You’d be out of the wind. You’d be in the warm faster. You’d have to get close to Major Egan and hold on to him. You bet that that sheepskin jacket is nice and warm. You bet Major Egan is nice and warm.

“Isn’t that the bike you almost lost an eye for?” Your sense of self-preservation is stronger, has to be stronger, than any magnetic force or joking flirtation from Major John Egan.

“Almost?” He seems surprised you brought it up but recovers quickly. “I remember it differently — it was a bullseye, not my eye,” 

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to laugh with him, but you just blink in disbelief. That’s an awful joke. For a mere second, in the reflected light of your torch, you see his smile falter—he’s smart; he knew that was a dud. You purse your lips.

“I suppose I like my rides without stories of near-eye trauma attached,” You muse. It’s such a flimsy excuse.  

“Do you think it’s bad luck?” It’s a chillingly honest question, and all cheer has suddenly disappeared from his voice. You pause to think. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Major Egan might be a particularly superstitious man; somehow, he didn’t seem the type. But in these times, superstition creeps up on even the most staunch rationalists.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” you finally admit, eyeing him carefully. He frowns, suddenly unsure of the gravity of the conversation through his own too-candid question. “I would just hate to encourage any of that sort of behavior,” You add lightly.

“So, you would have accepted if I had a different bike?” He sounds on the precipice of hopeful, but the laughter in his voice is evident again. He changes so quickly and bounces back from everything in a mere second — it’s all a joke, after all. He’ll do you a favor and then jokingly ask for a kiss. And then maybe another. And then he’ll move on to whatever or whoever catches his eye next. 

You wrinkle your nose. No. You’re not interested, you repeat to yourself. If you were, you might as well have stayed at home and practiced your good graces at dinner parties. You joined the Army Nurse Corps because you wanted to do something, mean something.

“I’m going now,” You clench your jaw to stop your teeth from clattering. “Good night, Major Egan,”

“Suit yourself, lieutenant,” He grins, undeterred, as he watches you turn on your heel, huddling into yourself to protect yourself from the wind. Truthfully, Bucky wasn’t expecting that you would accept his offer. If anything, he wanted to see how you’d react: your replies are always calm and composed, so very proper, but you have a bad poker face. From the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance to how the corner of your mouth sometimes threatens to pull into a smile at his jokes. And Bucky notices that your gaze lingers just slightly longer than would be polite, although nothing coming out of your mouth would corroborate that. It’s adorable. It’s intriguing. And he knows you won’t make it easy on him.

But that’s not why he keeps thinking about you. That’s not why he goes out of his way to look for you.

You suddenly took root in his thoughts only a few weeks back. It had been a bad day. Worse than Bucky had seen in a while, there had been many bad days lately. 

Being Air Exec has some perks, mostly that other people don’t really question why he’s wandering the halls of the infirmary at the dead of night. In the hallway, set up on provisional cots, medics are asleep, still fully dressed. They just collapsed on the first soft spot the moment they could. He can hardly blame them.

His footsteps echo through the dark rooms. The wounded men in the beds are fast asleep — it’s eerily quiet except for the occasional snore. 

He’s not sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling — he’s fine after all. He didn’t go up with them, after all. Maybe because he needs to see the pain with his own eyes, afraid that he’ll forget.

The doctor on duty is doing rounds, his desk empty, when Bucky slips through the swinging double doors to where the heaviest casualties are put up. The air in the room feels different—heavier. It’s not quiet—labored breathing, raspy, sometimes gurgling, groans of pain in artificial sleep. He really shouldn’t be here. 

All beds are full.

It’s been a really bad day.

It’s there that he notices you first: sitting on the floor, arms crossed and tucked up against yourself, head leaning against the wall, and legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. In the first second, he thinks someone fell out of their bed. But as Bucky gets closer, he recognizes you — the seersucker cotton dress, the matching cap now crumpled and skewed on your head, and the clearly scuffed and dirty white oxfords. You are one of the OR nurses.

He’s seen you around, just in passing. In chaos between casualties, just from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, you showed up at dances or parties, and Bucky had noticed your cute laugh from across the room, the way your entire face lit up when you smiled. And he knows he’s not the only one who has noticed the delightful sway of your hips as you walk, evident even through your dress uniform. But you made damn sure to make yourself unavailable by sticking with your girlfriends. He’s never seen you accept a drink or dance with someone.

Your mouth is slightly open as you breathe deeply, your form cast in the pale moonlight peeking through the sides of the blinds. Bucky wouldn’t let a woman sleep on the floor in normal circumstances, but in this case, waking you up would be cruel — there isn’t a bed free in the whole hospital. And even bad sleep is better than no sleep.

He moves past you carefully, mentally putting names to all the men here. Those that made it. That’s a good thing, right? They made it. Bucky doesn’t recognize the figure moaning in pain louder and louder, hands desperately grasping at the neatly tucked-in covers —  his entire head is covered with a thick layer of white bandages, not even leaving a slit for his eyes, just a small opening for his mouth. He hesitates before his curiosity takes over and moves by the side of the bed to look closer. It’s a good thing, right?

He should do something to help him.

Bucky is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you brushing past him. He almost jumps out of his skin when your torch suddenly clicks on at the foot of the bed. You are bleary-eyed, blinking rapidly as your eyes fly over the patient chart. 

“He is due for a new round of pain medication,” You state softly, voice still thick with sleep, before looking up at Bucky. “Major,” is all you say in acknowledgment of him.

“Nurse—lieutenant,” He mumbles in reply, increasingly on edge from the patient’s distress. “What are you—” Before he can start running his mouth in confused ramble, you trust the torch at him.

“Hold this, please, Major,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the noises easily in its steadiness and calmness. The small torch is now in his hand, your fingers brushing over his palm unintentionally as you move through the dark. It’s like a small spark burned the spot where your fingertip touches his skin. “Up, please,”

Bucky complies, shining the light from a high angle as you prepare a syringe. You look exhausted, but nothing in your movement betrays that. Clinical, precise, and so calm. He watches you speak softly to your patient, your free hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, a syringe poised in the other. But the patient is struggling harder, too panicked, and in too much pain. 

It happens in a split second.

The patient sits up so quickly that Bucky almost stumbles back in surprise. The patient now has an iron grip on your lower arm, white knuckles, moving in a blind frenzy, pulling you clean off your feet, half over the bed. You yelp in as much surprise as in pain as your knee collides with the metal bed frame. Your face is contorted in pain as you struggle back, trying to regain your footing. 

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” You keep repeating patiently. Never let them know you are scared: they can’t calm down if you are not in control.

Your voice doesn’t waver one bit. Bucky clenches the small torch between his teeth, trying to free your arm from the patient’s grip. 

“N- no” You breathe, clearly in pain now. “Please, Major, just help me to hold him still,” 

You are still holding the syringe, poised to strike. Grabbing the patient by the shoulder and forcing him back against the pillow. In the struggle, the torch falls from his mouth. It clatters on the tile floor and rolls away. He is so focused on his task that it’s almost by surprise when the struggle ends within a few seconds, and the patient drifts off again. He never saw you give the injection.

You both stand there, breathing heavily. Bucky bends down to retrieve the torch from the floor. It’s still shining, although it flickers uncertainly with every move. When he straightens back up, he catches you looking at your arm, the brown sleeve of your vest rolled up messily. When you realize he’s looking at you, you pull the sleeve back down and busy yourself tucking the patient back in. But Bucky has seen the angry red fingerprints imprinted on your forearm.

“Thank you, Major Egan,” Not a quiver in your tone, although your breathing has barely slowed down. “It’s probably best you go now,” 

“Are you alright?” He cannot help but ask, gaze traveling to your arm. He can’t help but notice you must have been issued a vest a size up, as the sleeves are a bit too long on you. It’s adorable.

“Please don’t worry about me,” You reply, smiling, but it’s clearly a deflection. The corners of your mouth are quirked up, but your eyes just spell tired. “You should try to get some rest, Major. The sun will be up soon,”

There is a certain sense of irony in you telling him that. At least he has a bed to go to, you think wryly. You start walking towards the ward exit, signaling he should follow you. 

“Will you be okay here by yourself, lieutenant?” It’s not his place to worry about you, but you are just… you. And these men are in pain, scared, and -

“The doctor will be back from his rounds soon,” Your soft voice pulls Bucky from his thoughts. You stand at the door, holding it open for him. If he hadn’t just seen that chaos happen, he would have never guessed by your demeanor anything happened.  As he passes you, you salute him. He salutes you back, gazing over to you. The tips of your fingers are shaking. 

The thought is sudden and overwhelming: he wants to lace his fingers through yours, pull you against him, and hold you until you stop shaking.

“Goodnight, Major,” You whisper with a pointed look. You want him out of here so you can check on your throbbing knee and painful arm away from his prying eyes.

“Goodnight, lieutenant,” He replies, tearing his eyes away from you.

***

In early spring, it seems like the rain never stops, from semi-permanent drizzle to raindrops rhythmically ticking against the window pane to the torrential downpour you find yourself in now. The drab-colored trench coat is putting up a valiant fight to keep you dry.

You’re holding your purse over your head but to no avail. The cold trickle of water from your sodden hair travels down your spine. You’re trailing behind your friends, who are making good time through the storm. Water sloshes in your left boot, making it heavy, the drenched woolen sock rubbing painfully against your foot. 

Then you hear it. The all too-happy ding of a bicycle bell. 

You try to walk faster, gritting your teeth, but Major Egan has caught up with you in just seconds. You don’t stop to greet him, just glancing over at him with narrowed eyes. Gracefully, he jumps off the bike, matching your pace by foot easily. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his cap sagging under the weight of the water it must have absorbed. He shouldn’t look this good, sopping wet, especially when you feel so wretched.

“Lieutenant, I could get you where you need to be a whole lot quicker,” he calls out.

“No, thank you, Major,” Your tone is polite, but you keep walking, falling behind further and further from your friends as your left boot squelches with every step. You know he noticed. 

“You’re really not going to take me up on the offer? Even in this downpour?” 

“Most drops miss,” You can’t keep the scowl off your face as you march on. 

“You are so unbelievably stubborn,” He laughs. You don’t think you’re stubborn; you just don’t like feeling like your hand is being forced. 

“I don’t need you to save me, Major.” You tell him evenly, finally stopping and turning to him. You know your friends noticed you stopping but probably figured they were doing you a favor and kept going. 

Bucky regards you carefully — you look miserable. The curl has long been rained out of your hair; rivulets of water running down your face, dripping on the collar of your trench coat. The steep downturn of the corners of your mouth pretty much just seals the deal. But despite all the evidence, you would never admit you’re anything but fine. 

“Save you?” He sounds incredulous. Like the thought never even crossed his mind. 

You bite your lip — you might have said too much. But you are afraid that he might ask you for something if you owe Major Egan a favor. He will ask you for something. And you won’t be strong enough to tell him no maybe because you want him to ask. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve seen him look at you from across the room before, and when you scrape together the courage to meet his gaze, it’s like electricity. Short, intense, and almost painful. And then he looks away, his attention turning so fleetingly. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Forget it,” You mumble, clearly embarrassed. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you wish nothing about this moment was happening right now. When you peek through your lashes at Major Egan, you note he looks concerned.

“For what it’s worth,” He clears his throat, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I never considered you to require saving, lieutenant.” 

You keep looking at him sharply, finally shaking your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

There is something deeply absurd about the whole conversation. Just tell him no. Just bid him goodnight and leave. Why are you even entertaining him with your feelings on this? And it’s clearly entertainment to him.

“I’m going to my quarters now, Major,” You state, feeling the need to be polite despite your increasingly impolite feelings about the situation. “And you’re going in the wrong direction,” You add pointedly as you start walking again. It feels like you have an entire puddle in your boot now.

“So what would you prefer, lieutenant? A more classic approach?” That devastatingly handsome grin is back on his face again as he walks beside you. How is that what he took from your last statement? Your shoulders sag when you feel the butterflies in your stomach. “At the next dance, I buy you a drink and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor?” 

“I might be more agreeable when it’s not freezing or raining,” You sigh like it’s paining you to admit it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky likes to think he saw the shadow of a smile pass over your face as you say it, even though your voice is painfully neutral. 

“Is that a yes?” Again, that hopeful edge. 

“No,” You reply curtly, but you feel bad the moment you say it because you see his smile fall — he’s staring at you somewhere between confusion and growing frustration. It’s making you feel bad. A horrible little selfish part of you wants him to only smile at you. Major Egan could light up a room with that smile — he regularly does. The selfish little monster in you wants to be the reason that he smiles like that. 

“Ask me again at the dance, Major,” You amend carefully.

The way his face breaks out in that broad, beaming smile makes you weak at the knees. 

***

Bucky is on pins and needles tonight. Even Buck, usually so even-tempered, is getting irritated with him. Drumming his fingers on the bar, tapping his foot not to the beat of the music but to blow off some of the anxious energy. People are flittering in and out of the hall, but there is no sign of you yet. He’s going through his whiskey too quickly, and it’s doing very little to calm his anticipation.

After an hour of only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, constantly glancing at his watch, he finally sees the pack of nurses come in. Bucky’s heart drops a little because you aren’t with the group. You’re always with that group. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he resolutely makes his way to the table now occupied by five gossiping nurses. All eyes are on him as he approaches.

“Good evening, ladies,” He smiles, eyes searching the table. All chairs are occupied — clearly, your friends aren’t saving you a seat. A chorus of good evenings and giggles comes in reply.

“How can we help you, Major Egan?” A blonde nurse asks, peering up through her lashes.

“I’m actually looking for my favorite nurse,” He replies easily, holding his smile despite feeling mildly annoyed. When he mentiones your name, another chorus of giggles. 

“I thought I was your favorite nurse,” One of the girls pipes up. The girls burst out laughing.

“She’s on the night shift,” An earnest, young-looking nurse cuts in, pushing up her glasses. Bucky doesn’t really recognize her — she must be quite new. “I asked to switch shifts because I haven’t been to a dance here before.”

“You should have found someone from the afternoon shift,” the blonde nurse sighs in a bored tone. “The poor girl is putting in a double shift now,”

“No one else would switch with me,” The bespectacled nurse defends herself with a small voice.

Bucky should be annoyed. Did you scheme this out on purpose? You run so hot and cold between your lingering looks and thinly veiled barbs. But then again. Of course, you would switch shifts with the new girl out of kindness. You slept on the floor to stay close to those most needed care. Doc sang your praises in the officer’s mess regularly for staying late to finish inventory, covering in emergencies, and keeping the OR running smoothly. Kindly caring for everyone around you.

He should be annoyed. But instead, he feels jealous. It’s a horrible feeling. But you cared more about the new girl than him? Is it really so bad that he wants your kind attention aimed at him? That he wants to be your choice? You wouldn’t even give him a shot. 

It just won’t do. But now, at least, he knows where to find you.

At the end of the dark hall, a faint light. A lone lamp on a lone desk, with a lone nurse sitting at it. You hear him coming, of course. Your bright eyes look straight at him as he emerges from the darkness. You are already getting up out of your chair, ready to greet him, notes and medical textbook forgotten on the desk.

“Good evening, Major Egan,” you greet him, your voice soft. Your gentle tone carries sweetly through the quiet hall. You didn’t expect him to come find you. It feels far too serious, far too earnest. You haven’t seen or spoken to Major Egan for over a week now, and for your own sake, you decide that he hadn’t been serious—that you hadn’t been serious. It was just banter.

Truthfully, you were slightly relieved the new girl asked you to switch shifts. But as you sat at the duty desk by yourself, blankly staring at the pages of your medical textbook, your stomach twisted painfully with regret. 

“Good evening, lieutenant -” you cut him off with a sharp shush, tapping your index finger against your lips. You step a bit closer to him, voice a sweet whisper. “Please keep it down,” 

A beat of silence as you’re both clearly uncomfortable in the strange situation you have suddenly found yourself in.

“How can I help you, Major?” You whisper politely as your eyes nervously, guiltily, dart around the room—anywhere but him. He looks sharp in his dress uniform. He smells nice. He clearly made an effort. And you’re standing here in your day-old hospital uniform. Self-consciously, you try to straighten the standard-issue white and brown stripe wrap-around dress. 

“I came looking for my favorite nurse,” Bucky replies sincerely, eyes boring into yours. 

“Then you must not be looking for me,” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. Bucky nearly bursts out laughing at the pained look that crosses your face as you clamp your mouth shut. 

“I was waiting for you to show up at the dance,” He says with that same heavy sincerity. His stance is casual, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. But the way he fidgets — tapping and shuffling his foot — as he waits for you to reply hints that he is not nearly as calm as he’d like to appear.

“I had to stay,” You reply, still avoiding his gaze. It’s a half-truth. You could have said no. But the new girl seemed to want to go to the dance more badly than you did. It felt unfair. And you had convinced yourself quite thoroughly that Major Egan wouldn’t care or notice anyway.

Another silence falls. Neither quite sure where to go from here.

“How are the boys doing?” Bucky asks conversationally, reaching out to the large doors leading into the intensive care unit. On a whim, you grab his hand before he touches the handle, your fingers gently wrapping over the top of his large hand. He stills, and for a moment, you think he’ll shake your hand off his. But instead, he waits in acceptance.

“It won’t help you,” You whisper. It took you a while to figure out why Major Egan was in the hospital that night. When people spoke of him, they spoke of how much he cared for his men — a heavy burden to bear.

“Help me?” His voice is suddenly loud. He is offended at the notion that he’s doing it for himself and offended that you called him out like that. He opens his mouth again to argue with you.

Startled by the volume, your brain misfires fully, and instead of replying, your free hand reaches out to his face, your index finger landing on his soft lips to silence him. He stares at you wide-eyed. You are sure you look as shocked as he does. You try to gather your thoughts quickly.

“I - I understand,” You implore him in an urgent whisper, finally looking at him. Bucky sees his own sorrow reflected in your eyes. 

Sometimes, you can only wait. There is no next round of medicine; there is no operation that will help. Waiting for the body to do its work can be frustrating and maddeningly slow.

“But there is nothing you can do now, so going in won’t help you or them,” You swallow. Why is your finger still on his lips, and why is he letting you do that? “They need to rest. You need to rest.”

His fingers lace through yours as he steps closer. It’s inappropriate how close he is standing to you. It’s inappropriate how the tips of your fingers caress the seam of his lips. It’s inappropriate how your hand has latched onto his, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft and close. The intimacy of his lips moving against your fingers is intense, each breath setting your nerve endings on fire. He leans into your touch, trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Finally, you look at him.

“Then what do you need?” Your question comes automatically. Always looking for how to help. Always so kind. He could melt into your soft touch, warm voice, and how you look at him so sweetly.

“I need to know when you’re done here so I can sweep you off your feet,” His eyes meet yours, keenly following your every move. 

You want to take a step back and break the increasingly feverish connection, away from his oddly earnest confession, but Bucky pulls you closer with a small tug on your hand. Your head is swimming; your heart is hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t entertain any of this, but it feels like your heart is pouring out of your mouth.

“My shift ends at 0500,” 

Bucky grins at you—not in a teasing way, but with that infectious broad smile—the one you cannot help but smile back. It gives you butterflies. You’re smiling at him now, beautifully, genuinely. It feels like a victory to Bucky.

“I’ll keep the party going if you promise me the last dance.” His voice is low and inviting; he is reeling you in further with every word.

“Don’t torture everyone on my account, please,” You feebly try to inject some levity into the situation. You know yourself well enough: you are no match for John Egan and his attentions. From sparks across the room, now it’s like you’ve touched the live wire, and the current has a hold on you. That’s why you always avoided him so.  

“Torture? Darling, it’s a party,” He needles you gently, eyes glinting merrily. “Only you would equate that to torture.” 

“Major -,” “Bucky,” He interjects. You blink at him, biting your lip. 

“Bucky, please,” The moment you utter his name, so beguilingly, so breathlessly, he presses your palm against his face fully, his hand covering yours. He needs you closer. The golden buttons of his jacket brush against the front of your dress. His lips press against the soft flesh of your hand as he studies your reaction. The hitch in your breath is embarrassingly loud to your ears. 

“Please, what?” 

“Don’t torment me like this,” It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. And exactly as you’d expect, the admission of your weakness, the slightest chink in your armor, is an in for him. 

“How do I torment you, exactly?” His voice is so warm, so encouraging. 

“You take far too much pleasure in making fun of me, for one,” You try to play it off in a last-ditch attempt. But under his heated gaze, his breath brushing on the sensitive skin of your wrist, you falter. You frown before you utter in a small voice: “It’s not nice how you toy with me, Bucky, because it’s obvious that… that it’s just a joke to you, and your idea of a joke could get me dismissed, and sent home,”

You look down at your shoes, embarrassed. You want to pull away, but Bucky is not allowing you an inch of slack.

“It’s not a joke to me.” He sounds surprised. You look up at him, unable to keep the skepticism off your face. “It wasn’t a joke from that night I saw how calmly you handled that panicked patient, the moment you saluted me with those shaky fingers, and then every time you denied my help, you stubborn, stubborn girl,” His face is so close to yours now; a finger tracing down the side of your neck, down, just along the collar of your dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way your hand rests on his cheek, you could pull him even closer if you wanted to. “I’ve wanted to grab hold of you, wrap you around me-”

Footsteps. You pull back from Bucky with a jerky movement, who mercifully releases you immediately, stumbling back two steps, almost hitting the desk with your legs. It’s strangely cold suddenly without his hands wrapped around yours, without him so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Blood is rushing in your ears. Bucky looks too collected, but to your relief, you spy a faint blush creeping up his neck. 

So it wasn’t just you.

Hands folded, you take another furtive step back behind the desk, making sure there’s a respectable distance between you as the doctor on duty turns the corner. Bucky and the doctor start talking in low voices, but you are not listening. In your mind, you keep returning to his words, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 

That night on the ward. That was the first time you spoke and saw each other in more than passing. That’s when Bucky suddenly formed this habit of popping in places he had no business of being. Places you happened to frequent. You really hadn’t been vain enough to consider that the common denominator in those situations was you. It had to be a coincidence that he had just turned into a joke. 

“Nurse,” The doctor turns to you, handing you his clipboard. You nearly jump out of your skin, being so lost in thought. “Please update the log,”

“Yes, doctor,” You nod, trying not to look as flustered as you feel. The men start leaving, still talking. 

“Good night, lieutenant,” Bucky turns to you, unable to keep the cocky smile off his face. Before he turns, he winks at you. It makes your knees so weak you nearly collapse back into your chair. Covering your face with your hands, you try to focus, but the smile won’t come off your face.

Seven more hours until your shift ends.

***

It’s a misty summer morning, dew covering every inch. The sun is just breaking through the clouds, and it’s promising to be a beautiful day.

When you leave the infirmary, you blink against the early morning sun. It’s still so early that few people are around. You hesitate. Surely, the party is not still going on. You wouldn’t put it past Bucky to actually do it. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you’re unsure if you could even stay on your feet long enough for a dance.  

Luckily, you don’t have to make a choice. 

The sound of the bicycle bell makes you smile now. Bucky’s looking remarkably fresh and well-rested. The party clearly didn’t go that far into the night. He dressed for duty, his signature sheepskin jacket hanging open.

“Are you going my way, darling?” 

You purse your lips because you’re fighting to keep the smile off your tired face. You don’t stand a chance. You dart over to him like you are pulled by a magnetic force, the live current arching between you.

Sliding onto the back of the bike, you grab handfuls of the thick sheepskin to steady yourself, trying to find your equilibrium. Bucky’s large, warm hands encircle your wrists and easily pull your hands off his jacket. Instead, he gently nudges you forward by your arms, tucking them under the side of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his waist. The side of your face is resting against his back. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, resting just under his sternum; you move along with his every breath.

“Ready?” Bucky peers over his shoulder. 

“Hm–mh,” You hum in reply, face buried in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. “Drop me off before the last turn?” You mumble, gazing up at him pleadingly. “Matron will be awake and on the prowl by now,”

“Don’t worry, darling,” His free hand wraps over yours, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble,”

“I’m holding you to that,” You yawn, wrapping yourself around him tighter. You’re going to make the most of this moment — the quiet morning, the soft sheepskin, the smell of Bucky’s aftershave. 

You drift in and out of sleep, even though the trip by bike is tortuously short. After almost twenty hours on shift, you should be allowed this comfort. Whining in protest as Bucky starts to unlatch your arms from him, you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it. 

You slide off the back of the bike, ignoring where the metal was jabbing into your backside on the bumpy road, and rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the haze in your vision. A small yelp escapes you as Bucky tugs you against him by the tie at the waist of your wraparound seersucker dress. The bike lays forgotten in the grass by the side of the road. All the tension and anticipation from last night are suddenly back — you feel wide awake again.

Bucky’s fingers are resting lightly against your waist like he is testing the waters, slowly, gently guiding you closer to him until you are inches away from him. Automatically, your hands sneak back up his jacket, running up his sides to the front of his chest. He is so warm against the crisp morning air. 

“Are you going to ask me for a kiss now?” It comes out almost naively as you look up at him. God, you hope he says yes.

“I promised not to get you into trouble,” He teases gently, grinning, inclining his face closer anyway, his lips just ghosting over the corner of your mouth. He is rewarded with a shuddering sigh from you — his grip on your waist tightens, prompting you to close the remaining distance between you. 

“This, of course, is perfectly innocent,” Only you could be looking at him with those big eyes, full of want, your curious fingers roaming over his chest, and still speak so earnestly. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, shaking from laughter. You wrap yourself around him, head buzzing. It’s like you’re short-circuiting, sparks flying with every move, every breath. 

Bucky nips at the sensitive flesh of your neck, hoping to elicit more of those small sounds from you. If it weren’t for the quiet morning, remnants of mist dissolving in the first light, he would have missed the softest moan of his name that falls from your lips. He could do this all day. Just explore every move of your body against his, every way you can say his name, every touch that brings you closer to him. You move in effortless synchronicity with him, purely on instinct. 

“Then it’s trouble you want, darling?” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“It’s only trouble if we get caught,” You reply breathlessly. 

His finger is under your chin, tilting your face up to him, and finally, Bucky’s lips find yours. For a second, it’s just that: his lips pressed softly, almost chastely, against yours. You push yourself up on your tiptoes to get more leverage, wrapping your arm around his neck. Your other hand stays pressed against his chest, fisting his shirt, feeling how his heartbeat speeds up as you open your mouth for him with a sigh. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, cupping your face. His other hand is roaming boldly over your back, applying light pressure on your spine so you arch into him, skimming just over the curve of your behind, playfully tugging at the ribbon of your wraparound dress. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get exactly what he wants from you, and you’re more than eager to please.

Your mouth starts to tentatively explore the column of his neck as he whispers your name longingly, encouraging your little adventure. When your lips touch a particularly sensitive spot right under his ear, Bucky hisses — you can feel his muscles clench. It’s exhilarating; he feels the sparks as much as you do. Bucky doesn’t allow you to bask in your small victory too long, greedily capturing your mouth with his again, wrapping you around him, tucking you against him. His soft touch turns feverish, grasping at your hip. You match in kind, nails grazing the nape of his neck, just along his hairline — anything to keep the tension, the current arching.

You can feel the sunshine on your skin and see it through closed eyes. Breathlessly, you pull away just a fraction — Bucky’s lips are still ghosting over yours. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks so softly you’re unsure if you heard or felt the words against your lips.

“I have to go,” You mumble as you move to stand feet flat on the ground again. It’s like waking up from a dream. Time is getting away from you. You’re not ready to pull away from Bucky yet, wanting to stretch the moment out. You gently fix his collar, running your hands over his front once more, as much in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles you left on his shirt as to feel him move under your palm again. When he steps away from you, you release a shuddering breath. You feel like you’ve just been hit by lighting. 

“I’ll come find you,” He winks at you, grinning. Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture feels intimate, more personal, than you could have imagined.

It was everything you feared happening when you said yes to John Egan. It was everything you dreamed it to be. As you watch him leave, you know that you’ll have a damn hard time giving that up. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

note: this was literally supposed to be a quick 2k words fun meet cute kind of thing, just a quick adventure Morty, but oh god I'm in too deep. forgive me for this detour from Of All The Stars in The Sky, but it was necessary, you understand.

[marigold-field]

Arthur holding his gun belt is so unnecessarily hot and I’m all here for it.

[marigold-field]

In case anyone is having a bad night

(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)

Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the ocean 

Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe

Here is a website where you can press a ‘make everything okay’ button, over and over, until things really are okay

Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden

Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)

Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)

Here and here are websites where you can play with sand

Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods

Here is a website where you can paint someone’s nails

Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis

Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed ‘the nicest place on the internet’ because it really is, y’all, it made me cry)

Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites

Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)

Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3

Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm

Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests

Here is a website of calm rain noise

Take a breath. It’s going to be okay, I promise.

[marigold-field]

JOHN MARSTON HEADCANONS PLSPLSPLS

ask and you shall receive! I did SFW since it wasn’t specified otherwise :) srry it’s short I really wanted to write this so it’s a bit quick </3

John Marston x Reader HCS

- he’s extremely awkward when it comes to compliments. he stumbles over his words whenever he comments on how pretty your hair looks today, or how the color of your top looks good against your complexion, etc. similarly, he blushes something fierce whenever you compliment him. giving you a bashful look whenever you comment on his beautiful eyes or how his biceps look especially good when he has his sleeves rolled up

- but i 100% see him being more flirty and confident as the relationship goes on, especially if you’re the type to be more shy and bashful about compliments

- the type to cheekily smack your bottom when you walk past him

- EXTREMELY protective. the type to never let you out of his sight or his hand slip from yours when walking in public

- speaking of protectiveness, he subconsciously follows the sidewalk rule without even saying anything to you. you end up on the outside after exiting a store? absolutely not, john will wordlessly walk around you or put his hands on your waist and gently move you out of the way

- oh and he also plays no games when it comes to other people disrespecting his partner. some stranger huffs at you for walking in their way? oh he’s cursing them out before you know it. someone at camp talking about you (especially Micah)? he’ll be quick to put them in their place.

- his love language (in my opinion) is words of affirmation and a bit of physical touch

- the type to whisper sweet words to you as you lay together in his tent, telling you you’re beautiful and reminding you how lucky he feels to be loved by someone like you

- also the type to always want to be close to you. whether it’s around the campfire, in bars, on hunting/fishing trips, or even just around camp doing chores, john will always have a arm or hand around/on you. this ranges from holding your hand, to resting a hand on your thigh or knee, to wrapping an arm around your shoulders, to full on hugging you from behind

[marigold-field]

obsessed

Hi love!!

Could you do John Marston relationship headcanons?

A/N: I wasn’t sure if you wanted pre-epilogue or post epilogue John so I did both! I’ve kept this vanilla as I never want to add spice when it’s not specifically requested.

Credits: Images are not mine! I found them on pinterest.

Pre-Epilogue

✨ John is hesitant in getting into a ‘relationship’ with you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he thinks it will complicate things. For almost his whole life he had grown up with the law on his back yet carefree with no fear of consequence. Arthur had always been there to get him out of trouble. Officially getting into a relationship with you would mean risks; facing consequences for his own actions. He would be tied to you, albeit not marriage, but the beginnings of something which could turn more serious. Arthur would word it as – John would have to actually think for himself – which secretly scares John.

✨ In the end, John agrees to making things more official between you both; only because the thought of you being with someone else makes him irritatingly jealous. Seeing Kieran talk to you about the horses, Charles saying hello to you, even Arthur just asking if you’re okay. Micah was where he drew the line. He didn’t trust him around you, even within the safety of the camp. John would keep you close, although he wouldn’t be very affectionate in the beginning. He’s awkward to first be around. He’ll walk over to where you’re sitting and plop down beside you in complete silence. No matter how much you try to talk to him, he won’t talk back – he’s too focused on guarding you. In the end, it takes some reassurance from you to make him realise that you’re stronger than you look and don’t need constant protection and surveillance. Especially from Micah. But you appreciate John’s worry all the same.

✨ The more John is around you, the more he begins to mature. You teach him things that even Dutch and Hosea could never think of. You have a unique way of making him see things in a different light. His perspective on things around him slowly changes. In the past he would look at the skyline and just see day and night. Now, he sees colour. The moon and stars. The rays of the setting sun. The importance of appreciating the present because there is no promise for tomorrow. From just being around you, the world is now a little more meaningful than aimless bloodshed and money. It’s a world that you live in and he wants you to live in it as long as possible.

Post Epilogue

✨ After Arthur’s sacrifice, John swears to give you the life you deserve. He admits he hasn’t been the best partner to you and that he will spend the rest of his life making it up to you. You stuck by him through the whole mess with Dutch. You let him live his outlaw life – the least he could do was let you live yours. He even asked you if you wanted him in your life, to which you responded “You stupid man, John Marston. Of course I do.” He’d smile to himself. “Yer’ too good for me, ya know that?”

✨ John begins to wear his heart on his sleeve for you. You didn’t even need to ask him to. Whenever you’re quiet, he will now sit beside you and talk to you. Even if you say you don’t want to talk, he will gently grab your chin to make you look at him and softly explain that he’s not leaving you until you let him know what’s troubling you. He may not be a good listener, even impatient at times, but he’s a doer and will actively try to do things that will help solve the situation. Did someone talk to you nasty? He’ll be having a few words with them. You missing his company? He’ll spend the rest of the night holding you close to his chest. You feeling sick? He’ll be being every tonic and bitters from the doctors, along with your favourite food from the general store. John will even bring back a basket of apples. “What’s this, John?” “Apples. ‘Supposed to keep the doctor away… or somethin’…”

✨ This cowboy will insist on taking you out on the weekends. Even if you insist you just want to spend some alone time with him, he’ll remind you that a lady such as yourself should be experiencing the best things in life, even if the time period contradicted this. If he can help it, he will accompany you to do the things you have always wanted to do. You want to travel overseas? He’ll find a boat unlike Dutch. You want to dress up pretty and go to a ball? He’ll be right by your side in a suit and rent a hotel room nearby so you could drink as much alcohol as you wanted and not worry about the journey back. Or at least not worry about getting John back. Most drunken nights involved John leaning against you as you walked him back to his bed. You want to see the fantastic views the world has to offer? John will have you seated on his horse, Rachel, and will take you to those places himself. He doesn’t care the distance – he will go as far as he needs for your eyes to see those wondrous views. All these things are worth doing to him because it means he gets to see you happy. He made a vow to Arthur to live his life and he would make sure to do that, as long as it involved you living yours.

[marigold-field]

How much harm have they done to this man for him to think that with that face, that body, that heart, he is someone ugly, stupid and difficult to love?

[marigold-field]

The volleyball scene in top gun is so insanely funny to me because there’s goose, who’s properly dressed for a day at the beach…

…and then you have Mr. jeans and the sweatpants twins

[marigold-field]

https://www.tumblr.com/marigold-field/772702820345561088/headcanon-for-best-friend-dick-grayson-who-has-a

I loved it!! I’m so glad I got to be your first! <3

thank you!! i’m so happy you liked it :)

[marigold-field]

i lost the submission from the person who requested this :( so sorry! but a wonderful idea <3 not proofread b/c i wrote this quickly between classes

CW: uncomfortable interaction with a stranger, insecurity

John Marston x Shy!Reader

- John Marston likes to consider himself a man of many words. Considering his never-lacking ability to relentlessly conjure up snarky remarks, sarcastic observations, and his fearlessness in expressing unpopular opinion; many would agree that he is, indeed.

- So it was not only to the others shock, but also to his, that he found himself so devastatingly enamored by you

- Make no mistake, you were absolutely gorgeous in every way. Tastefully styled hair that perfectly framed your face, enhancing your seemingly perfect features, and a wardrobe that perfectly accentuated your figure; you looked fresh out of a beauty catalogue

- So, it was a no brainer that John would fall for a pretty girl like you. No, absolutely not. It was something else…you were so quiet and shy

- Always keeping to yourself, avoiding eye contact, responding in head nods more often than words, and heat instantly rising to your face anytime someone paid extra attention to you

- You weren’t exactly John’s usual type, per say

- But that’s what made him like you

- And he wasn’t the only one guilty of having confusing feelings

- Though you were more certain he’d rather spend his life entertaining working girls rather than give you the time of day. Especially when you considered your shy nature in comparison to his blatantly bold one

- However, you couldn’t have been more wrong

- He loved keeping his eyes trained on you from across the camp and seeing the way you’d get flustered, picking at your sleeves while looking away anytime you realized he was looking at you

- Compliments often rolled off the tongue awkwardly as he tried his best to determine what you would or wouldn’t be comfortable with

- Either way, you’d blush fiercely and stroke John’s ego by doing so

- He was definitely a fool in love

- You were everything he’d ever wanted and he was dead set on making you his and him being yours

- To say the least, he felt protective over you. Though unclear and unaddressed, you were his girl and may God bless anyone trying to get between that

- Due to your timidness, you were an unexpected threat and a perfect fit for picking up leads and, on occasion, pickpocketing

- You and John got sent out to town to poke around the locals and find out anything thst would be possibly helpful

- Sitting in a bar stool with John monitoring you from a booth behind you, you quietly nursed your drink while listening to the conversation two men were having next to you.

- However, things quickly escalated when you caught the attention of one of them

- With a cocky smirk and bushy, wiggling eyebrows, he leaned close to your ear

- Your breath hitched as he drunkenly slurred something about how “a dame like you shouldn’t drink alone”

- Before you could even think about what to do, John inserted himself between you two and pushed the man back

- “Get the hell away, fool. I suggest you go on ‘bout your business ‘fore things real ugly in here.” he warned, his tone intimidating.

- The man waved his hand in defeat and hobbled away with his friend without another thought.

With his back still facing you, you rested a soft hand on his bicep to get his attention. He spun around instantly, nearly falling on you with his speed. “Sorry you had to deal with that. I shoulda’ told Dutch I’d take this one solo,” he stopped to hesitantly rest his calloused hand against the soft of your cheek, “you okay?”

You were sure that your face was a deep crimson color as you processed the sudden contact in your head. John’s gaze softened as he took the moment to fully ingest the sight before him.

Staring into his deep eyes as you felt your body get warmer at the sight of who was supposed to be one of the strongest men you know, look at down at you with such worry and softness. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thank you so much, John.” you whispered. With your glossy eyes staring up at him, plush lips partly agape, and no intention of moving away from his touch, He was awestruck. John was sure that he’d tell off a million more men if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life seeing you stare at him like this.

[marigold-field]

Okie do you have any head canons for maybe Jason with a reader who is like maybe burnout /exhausted

…I’m projecting but that’s ok

If you don’t I totally get it and hope you have a good day !!! ✨✨

a/n: thank you for your request! i definitely got carried away…slightly self indulgent 😭. i’m obsessed with jason being a softie

- jason todd was no stranger to the overwhelming feeling of being stuck in a position of little to no upward movement. that feeling of consistent failure to find joy in the things that should be enjoyable

- so, it didn’t take long for him to notice that you, his loving girlfriend, was going through a rough patch

- you had been drowning in work—either from school or from your job—and felt as though the pressure was 100% on you

- with no motivation whatsoever, that work continued to pile and it got harder and harder to get through the days

- fearful of adding onto the burden you knew Jason carried on his shoulders, you did your best to hide it

- over the last week and a half he had came home to you with your face in your hands, crying like there was no tomorrow, more times than he felt comfortable

- you’d immediately sit up, wipe your face, and chuckle as you said it was just because you’d watched a sad movie or finished a sad book

- he could see right through you (i mean, he was trained to be an expert at analyzing situations and he wasn’t born last night)

- instead of asking you a multitude of questions, he’d just hug you and assure you that he was there to comfort you

- on the third instance of this, jason had concocted a plan to try and make you feel better

- he’d leave gorgeous flower arrangements in the vase on your desk, complete with a note card in his scraggly handwriting

- he’d began leaving messages in the margins of notebook paper strewn across your desk, saying things you’d only ever read in Jane Austen novels

- every night he’d hold you tighter than he usual does, allowing you to completely melt into the warmth of his strong and muscular embrace

- one night during dinner he’d finally muster up the courage to ask you what it was that had been bothering you

- slightly hesitant, you let the flood gates open and began rambling off all the thoughts you’d been holding in

- though he struggled with vulnerability, he knew he had to be strong for you. while powdering you with light kisses, running his calloused fingers through your hair, and holding your hand tightly, you eventually dozed off with your head resting against his broad shoulder

- he looked down at you with a lovesick look and vowed to do whatever he could to never have you go through struggles like this alone, ever

i love him so much AHH!! i hope you enjoyed <3 critiques and comments welcome!

[marigold-field]

Headcanon for best friend dick Grayson who has a crush on you but you don’t know (can you include some jealousy blurbs?)

Thanks!

- Best Friend!Dick Grayson who harbors romantic feelings for you is just as chaotic as you’d expect

- You guys have such a close relationship. One of those ones where you feel you can tell each other anything and embarrassment doesn’t seem to exist when you two are together

- This was great first, until Dick realized his true feelings for you. Now it seemed as though flirting would be impossible, everything said being interpreted as a joke

- Definitely compliments you shamelessly, not only to send you a hint but also because he loves your reactions

“Man, you’re beautiful, ya know.” he said, yawning and stretching as he spoke to try his hardest to make his subtly flirtatious comment seem casual. Your focus immediately turned to him, a smile lighting up your face as you looked into his blue eyes in the mirror. The warmth that crept up to your cheeks was evident. You chuckled, “you’re not too bad yourself, Dicky.” He swears he almost had a heart attack.

- You guys often spend most of your time in each other’s company. Whether it’s dragging Dick along on your shopping trips (he will go out of his way to carry all your bags), last minute restaurant visits (he’ll be a total gentlemen; pushing your chair in for you, paying for the meal, holding the door), or just lounging around your apartment (he spends this time admiring all the bits of your personality he can’t seem to learn enough about), you two are inseparable.

- Let’s just say, you’ve definitely had a couple failed attempts at relationships because the guys/girls quickly picked up on your “friendship” with Dick.

- Those situations often left you confused, asking millions of questions and attempting to explain that two of you are just friends. They say something along the lines of, “Keep telling yourself that, you’ll see!”

- Unfortunately for Dick, as your “best friend”, he has had to witness many date night preparations and spent the entire time hoping that one day he’ll be the one you’re picking out dresses and makeup inspo for.

with mountains of clothes across the floor, haphazard piles of strappy heels askew, and lord knows how many purses littered across the floor; it appeared as though a tornado passed through your room. Dick sat criss-cross on top of a pile of cocktail dresses and watched as you continued to rummage through your closet, mumbling curses about how you didn’t know if it was a formal or casual kind of night. you were getting ready for a date with some guy from your book club. obviously, Dick was far from enthusiastic. he felt helpless. the woman he loved more than anything was getting ready to meet a guy that he knew, and Dick swears he’s not biased, could never make you as happy as he could. the thought of this guy holding your hand across the table, making you laugh at his jokes, and even leaning in for a kiss, made his stomach churn.

you suddenly turned around to face him, holding a deep blue sequined dress against you body, asking him if he thought it’d be a good choice. he couldn’t help but frown as he attempted to come up with a half-assed response. “it looks great, but maybe you should look for something more comfortable? don’t want you to be in itchy clothes for hours.” he mumbled, trying to come up with an excuse to keep you home for as long as possible. maybe even make you late—force you to cancel the date. however, you were far from dumb and had known Dick for too long to not notice something was bothering him. you threw the dress down on to the floor, allowing it to join the mess of your wardrobe, and dropped to your knees to make eye contact with him. you reached for his large hand as you studied his face, searching for signs of disdain or discomfort with squinted eyes. “what’s wrong? did i do something? i’m sorry to drag you into my mess.” you rambled, words coming out all at once. he immediately shook his head, “no, it’s not you—i promise. i’m here because i want to be,” he paused, “i just wonder if things could be different.”

you raised an eyebrow before speaking, “sorry, i’m not following?” he stood up then, rubbing his hand down his face as he walked to the other side of your room. you jumped up after him, following him and reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Dick, don’t do this to me. this isn’t fair and you know it. i can’t help you if you don’t speak to me.” you whispered, your calm voice easing the tension he felt building inside him. reluctantly, he let out an exasperated sigh before speaking. “look, i don’t need help okay—it’s not anything like that. we can talk later i guess, i’ll leave so you can go on your date.” he spared you one last glance before walking out the room. knowing how stubborn he is, all you could do was remind him that you’d always be there to listen before letting him go on his way.

- after an interaction like this, he became noticeably distant as if he was hiding something. you definitely started to put the pieces together around this time

- i imagine you two having a movie night in your apartment when you find yourself more focused on him than the movie. stolen glances between you two, silently hoping the other would have a sudden surge of confidence and say those three words

- as you went to take another sneaky glance at him, you’re met with his eyes pouring back into yours

- wordlessly, he places hand on your cheek and leans in for a tender kiss

- albeit shocked, you quickly begin to kiss back and lean into his touch

- you two only stop when you realize you need to breathe, but not straying far from each other as your foreheads touched

- “i love you, dick.” you whisper, so quiet he almost misses it.

- the cheeky grin that appears on his face causes you to both giggle

a/n: I loved writing this! it’s my first time posting my writing of any sort so feel free to leave critiques and comments <3

[marigold-field]

i wanna do headcanons😋!! if you come across this, feel free to leave requests in my asks for any fandom/character in the tags :3

[marigold-field]

i need arthur and john fic/blog recs right neowwwwwwww someone please help😞🙏🏽

[marigold-field]

HIIIII FRIEND

how are you?????? Long time no talk, I missed you sm🤍

How’s life treating you?🤍

HII LOVE OMG

i’m doing well!! so happy to hear from my favorite mutual :)

i’ve been enjoying this much needed winter break from uni, but the snow storm passing through my area has been so bad 😅. i hope you’re doing well!! what have you been up to?

[marigold-field]

i need him so bad bye😭

NSFW ALPHABET: JOHN MARSTON

MINORS DNI // 18+ ONLY

🍂

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

• a little quiet, using the moment to catch his breath and adjust himself.

• he’d probably clean you with the closest thing to him (his bandanna, whatever clothes surround you).

• will pull you under his arm and caress your waist while enjoying the silence.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

• John probably has low self esteem because of his scars so he doesn’t really think of himself as attractive.

• ( likes his hands and fingers when teasing you during foreplay: “ Hmm, this pussy gets so tight roun’ my fingers.” ).

• Your breasts!! no matter the size, shape, or color, he will definitely grab them any chance he gets.

• Loves to lay his head between them when you two are alone!!

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

• will definitely come close to cumming inside you sometimes.

• cums on your chest because he loves seeing his spend drip down your nipples, off your breasts, on your thighs.

• (^^ especially if you’re holding your breast and his cum gets on your fingers!!).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

• wants to cum inside because he wants to feel your pussy milk his cock while being fully wrapped in your warmth.

• LOVES when you beg and whine a little during sex. (when you say to him, “mmm, you’re so big inside me!!” , “oh John, please fuck me faster!).

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

• Yes, but I don’t think he’s very confident in his abilities.

• Learned through working girls in whatever town was closest to camp in his wild and adventurous youth. (obviously excluding Abigail from this)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

• The Pretzel Drip!!

• Fucking your leaking heat as you look in his eyes while he plays with your breasts, pinching your nipples.

• Spreads your legs wild open so he can lean over your body and nip on your nipples while fucking you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

• Probably starts with some snarky remarks that get outta hand between you two and he gets flustered then takes you somewhere more private.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

• probably average based on his hair length and stubble.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

• cautious and definitely waits for you to give him signals to keep going or stop, (especially when you guys first start sleeping together).

• focuses on you more during foreplay because he loves teasing you and gets a little pussy-drunk when inside you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

• Simple answer, no. John would probably wait until you two are alone.

• BUT… if you’re gone on a job or hunt and he’s been drinking that night??

• He’ll fantasize about you, thinking about your little noises and slick heat. Quickly snaps out of it and rushes to his tent. Palms himself before impatiently pulling out his cock.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

• Cockwarming: LOVES having you completely wrapped himself and feeling your wet pussy clenched down

• Teasing: not necessarily him making fun of you but more so YOUR reactions to him and what he says.

• Titjob: when he’s sitting down and you’re kneeling in front of him, jerking your breasts up and down his cock while lickin his tip, it will take everything in him not to bust.

• Exhibitionism: in the form of quickies in the sense that, if John sees a chance with you in an alleyway, secluded train car, or in the open woods.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

• In a real bed preferably at a hotel or cabin, so you guys can also be away from the gang for total privacy.

• (but if the opportunity presents itself, he’ll snatch it so damn fast).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

• Honestly, attention from you turns him on, ( gets in his own head and likes when you ground him).

• if you wear a shirt/dress with a low-cut or a few top buttons undone, he can’t help but stare before noticing he’s hard.

• When you’re a little mad because then when you two fuck, you’ll be on top and he’ll be playing with your breasts, (win-win in his eyes).

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

• Causing any pain to the point where it actually harms you (would feel very guilty and somewhat reclusive about sex until you reassure him).

• Anything that would de-masculine him, (because he’s a bit self conscious) so pegging or being tied up.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• personally receiving because he loves it when your tongue twists around his shaft (thinks your mouth feels so nice and warm, and whines a little when he hits the back of your throat).

• If he’s giving then his tongue will go down to your opening and tease it then clamps his mouth around your clit, harshly sucking on it before devouring you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

• Usually faster because he gets off to your noises and breasts bouncing up and down. He works you open with fingers while teasing your clit, making sure you’re dripping before shoving his cock inside you and setting a quick rhythm.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

• happens when there’s a safe opportunity.

• he LOVES them because he can be in any mood and feel instantly better if he gets to feel you dripping down him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

• With both your lifestyles, you two constantly are risking your necks, so I don’t think so.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

• He can last about 3-4 rounds before needing a break.

• Usually holds himself off and waits for you to finish at least once or twice before he cums.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

• it’s 1899, so no.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

• When fingering you, he LOVES to tease since he lives for the noises you make, the feeling of your hot, slick pussy between his fingers, your hands gripping his arm and blankets.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

• He really does try to be quiet when you guys are in camp.

• But alone: the sound of grunts, raspy pants and his teasing can be heard among you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

• Whenever you whine, sometimes John teases your moans with a “yeah?” In a deep raspy voice.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

• 7 ½ inches, average thickness with prominent veins

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

• Pretty average and would get higher after you guys are together.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

• Either stays awake longer than you do, thinking about you, whatever’s happening to the gang, or himself

• Or instantly curls beside you so he can feel your warmth and softness against him.

[marigold-field]

Van der Linde Gang boys with a boy cat that growls when they get close to you.

Gang Members: Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, John Marston, Dutch Van der Linde, Kieran Duffy, Sean MacGuire, Micah Bell.

Tags: Fluff, GN Reader, protective tuxedo boy cat, I don't know how to tag.

Arthur Morgan

Surprised at first, he's seen a dog get protective over his owners...but a cat? That was surprising. "Oh my gosh!" you say, quickly picking Shadow up, the tuxedo glared his green eyes at him but then swiped his head over your chin.

"He has never done that, I don't know what's gotten into him." You drop Shadow onto the couch and Arthur chuckles "It's fine, darlin' I'm jus' glad you have someone to protect you while I'm not here," he said, cautiously glancing at tiny menace now and then.

Bill Williamson

Bill wasn't a cat person before and now that your cat growled at him, he definitely wasn't one now.

"Sorry," you chuckle nervously, "He does that a lot, he's just really protective." Bill shrugs "S'fine," he says, his gruff voice trying to hide that he was in fact, hurt by a cat growling at him when he was just trying to kiss you.

John Marston

He wasn't that surprised, you warned him that your cat can get a bit protective and doesn't really like men so when he tried to sit beside you on the couch and your cat growled and swiped at him, he didn't really care.

"Where'd you get him, anyways?" John asked, as your cat was curled up on your lap.

"I found him in the shed one night, poor thing was weak and hurt," you said, scratching his chin, which earned you a purr.

Dutch Van der Linde

His ego was hurt ngl.

He thought everyone and every animal liked him until your cat growled once he stepped foot into your homestead. "Seems like your cat has a problem with me," Dutch chuckles, although he was wary.

"Don't take it personally," you tell him, scooping Shadow in your arms, "He does it to everyone, it just takes him some time to warm up."

Dutch nodded "I suppose I can understand that," he says, "I'll win him over eventually."

Kieran Duffy

Kieran considers himself a devoted animal lover so when you told him about your cat prior to coming over, he was ecstatic and ready to befriend the little guy.

Until that "little guy" turned out to be a 12 pound tom cat that started letting out deep growls whenever he got a few inches close to you.

Kieran frowned a bit and when you noticed you immediately said "It's not your fault, Kieran, he acts like that with everyone, especially strangers." Kieran understood but everytime he tried to kiss or cuddle with you in the bed and Shadow growled at him, he would get more annoyed than hurt.

Micah Bell

Micah instantly glared his eyes at him, the cats low growls didn't sway him.

"Sorry," you chuckle, scooping Shadow into your arms, "He's like that with everyone if he doesn't know them." Shadow tail swayed back and forth, but you let him jump onto the couch and led Micah so you two could sit together.

Once Micah sat beside you and put his hand on your thigh, Shadow hissed and darted onto your lap. Micah let out a low chuckle and looked at the mangy creature on your lap before speaking.

"You know, at least me and that cat have one thing in common," he begins.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, "What's that?"

"Protecting you."

Sean MacGuire

"Who's this then?" Sean asks, bending down to get a closer look at your cat, who was narrowing his eyes at you and wrapping his body around your legs.

"Shadow, but uh...he's not really soft on men," you warned, moving out of the way so both Sean and Shadow could have a better look at eachother.

Shadow growls right after Sean tries to pet him and Sean jerks his hand back.

"A bit of a temper, eh? Should’ve known better than to mess with a cat like that," Sean says, standing up. He clicks his tongue, looking at you with a raised brow. "Maybe he’s just worried I’ll steal you away, eh?"

You roll your eyes and link your arm around his, "You wish, MacGuire."