Bucky Barnes is not fond of the cold. But he's very fond of you.

A still-living Annie finds Mitchell bleeding to death in an alley after a fight with some werewolves. Can she nurse him back to health? Can he resist his nature long enough to get out of there without killing her?

She doesn't look at him when he touches her. He's not entirely sure what to make of that.

What if you, the reader, were summoned to a grand ball at the palace, and then chosen as the prince's consort? AU. Second Person/Reader POV. Some violence and dubcon so be aware, but it does go beyond that.

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Stokes had arrived and the team cleared out to give them privacy together, Sara had already disappeared. He seemed to be the only one who noticed. Everyone else was so exhausted, so drained, so giddy with relief, that she just seemed to have slipped their minds. But he couldn't stop thinking about her. Adult, but not overly graphic.

Set right after The Good, the Bad, and the Dominatrix. Sara can't help but feel a little insecure when she takes the time to compare herself to Lady Heather, and it doesn't help things that Gil just spent the night with the other woman. Where do they stand now? Can Sara even look him in the face again? GSR, of course.

Sherlock wants to bring a mirror into their bedroom. John is reluctant, but the idea grows on him.

John hears Sherlock's violin playing downstairs and, unlike all the times this has happened before, he knows that it's real. Sherlock's just downstairs, playing his violin like he never left. Takes place after Reichenbach and after Sherlock's return.

I am happy to finally announce that we have made it internet-official, dear readers: Sherlock Holmes and I are going steady. Madly in love. Oh and by the way if there are any gay-bashers out there, we're definitely not just doing this to catch you.

It was a perfectly normal day until John came home and had a mental breakdown.

Jim Moriarty was not a good man, but he was a very good actor. It's okay for me to miss the character he was playing, because he managed to fleece all of London into loving him just like I did. Hints of Johnlock.

John is sick. Incredibly, extremely, dangerously sick. Plagued by a high fever, he begins to hallucinate, start seeing things that aren't really there. Because they can't be there. Can they?

It's the first Christmas after Sherlock's return, and everyone's gathered to share the morning. Shameless, shameless fluff. Sequel to Silvestris and The Return. Should make sense without them. Johnlock. Now Complete!

They tell him it's not healthy to feel this empty, but it's not as though he's in charge. 221b drabble, despite the word count listed. Reichenfeels: you know.

It's been three years since the Fall, and Sherlock's finally finished. He's got blood on his hands, so much blood, but his friends are safe, and that's all that counts, isn't it? Sequel to Silvestris, but can stand alone.

John's scars symbolize death, the bullet and the infection which almost killed him thousands of miles from his home. They should not hold such fascination for Sherlock. It's...strange.

John Watson wasn't a cat person. Wasn't much of a dog person, either, if he was going to be honest. Wasn't much of a pet person just in general. Post-Reichenbach. JohnMolly friendship. Chapter 3 of 3.

Did John really think it was dangerous to get Sherlock into crap telly? Just a bit of Johnlock fluff.

Maybe if he had been more rested, or less weighed-down, or more observant like the great Sherlock Holmes, he might have noticed more in time.

He could tell when John was dreaming about the war and when he was dreaming about The Fall. Tonight was another Fall dream. In fact, every night since Sherlock had made his cautious return, the doctor had been plagued by Fall dreams.

John and Mrs. Hudson have gone away for the week, leaving Sherlock all alone. Certainly a man of his intellect would have no trouble getting along on his own, right? 221b drabble.

Sherlock. Of course it had to be Sherlock. He wrapped the duvet around himself and padded downstairs to make sure that his flatmate had not actually found a way to move the whole building to Siberia overnight. Unabashedly Johnlock.

"Surely this isn't your first headache, Sherlock." The idea was preposterous. How many people got through life without ever having a headache, even once? Johnlocky. It comes and goes.

"Do you believe in God?" The boy's face is close to yours, so close you can see the peach fuzz on his cheeks and chin, where it sticks up through the grease paint.

It took several moments for Amy to realize that his clear blue eyes had fixed on hers, but even as she felt her cheeks burning at the fact that she'd been caught staring, she couldn't look away. Rated T just to be on the safe side.

When the doors slid closed, taking him away from his team forever, she heard a quiet sob. Rated for language at the moment, possible situations later. Zabby.

I'm standing too close to her. She smells like clean clothes and woman, and the air is thick with everything that I've never said, and so I make my third mistake. I kiss her. Female slashy.

Her heart is warm, and her skin is warmer. The thought comes unbidden, and he smiles against it in the darkness.

I've been the other woman before. Men lied about their wives, girlfriends. They took off their rings and took me home. But this time, it was different. It wasn't a matter of denial, but flat-out ignorance. Gabby, kind of.

It all started with a touch, if you could call it that. Rated for later chapters.

He leaned forward a bit, permitting her to slip the beads over his head. Only for her. Only for Abby.

Just some ridiculous crackfic with plenty of stereotypes and themes that are often overused, even by myself.

The death of him. That was what this woman would be. His death, with her pigtails and her tiny little skirts.

They had moved together as though they had never been apart. Her fingernails traced the same lines down his back as before, his lips found their home on the side of her neck. She sighed with the memory, and cringed at what had come next.

“How long have you been here?” His tone is no nonsense, primarily because he already knows the answer.

Does someone on the Squad have a background in acting? Borderline crackfic.

Angela Montenegro had been on the receiving end of plenty of gifts, so what made this one different? Based on The Boy in the Shroud.

When a body is found in a lake, the team must solve her murder. But will her appearance open old wounds for a member of the Squint Squad? Rather Hodgela, with some adult content. Chapter 4 up 2-13!

She looked serious. Serious and scared

A look at Rose during and after The Girl in the Fireplace. Spoilers for The Girl in the Fireplace...clearly. Chapter 6 now up.

He wasn't fighting her—couldn't remind himself why it was necessary to fight her.

When Maria and Liz convince Alex to go to the pool with them, it sets into motion a strange string of events.

Set right after season one. My sister used to have nightmares, bad ones, and, when she did, the same thing always happened. A small voice would wake me up, and I would see her slight figure standing hesitantly in my doorway.

My sister, the strong, intelligent, homicide detective who works out every single damn day of the week and who wouldn't be caught dead squealing or giggling, is afraid of bugs.

You don't look a day over 500. Rose wanders the TARDIS one night after Father's Day. Mild spoilers for Father's Day, so beware.

Until it was measured, it was not known. And yet how he misses her, now that she's flown.

The ninth doctor seems to have forgotten that human women tend to like their privacy.

This is why he didn't do domestic. Things could too easily go wrong, get misinterpreted. Strange how a man so experienced had no idea how humans worked. DoctorRoseJack. Fairly innocent, rating's just to be on the safe side.

He could leap up on the bed and start doing a jig next to her—erm, his—pillow, and she would merely look up at him, narrow her eyes sleepily, and then go back to sleep. He knew, because he'd done it before.

She kept waiting for the day that things would click, that this would suddenly become her home. Nothing yet. Nearly a year, and still…nothing.

Three new chapters as of July 2006, which makes this COMPLETE! Thirteenyearold Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank’s fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn’t expected to see and realizes that things aren’t always what they s

Who’s going to want to touch me now: there’s no telling what else I’ve picked up, besides dust. Slight spoiler, nothing that will ruin the entire series for you, I promise.

I try not to imagine her hand deep in the man’s chest, with her fingers curled around what could be her death. GM because that is my OTP.

Heaven. I'm in heaven.

He could always blame it on Florence Nightingale syndrome.

Damn it. Damn her for taking that away from him.

Mr Monk Gets Stuck in Traffic, from a different point of view.

If they didn’t leave soon, he’d go crazy, and it wouldn’t be just because of the cabin. Oneshot.

All memorable events, I should say, transpire in a morning setting.

He's crazy for her, but maybe she's crazy too. Oneshot.

Despite what she was willing to admit to anyone else, she loved him still. But was it all for nothing? Standalone

The haunted look in the victim’s dark eyes followed him around all day, chasing him to this filthy bar, where he hoped to hide from their gaze in the dim lighting and the smoky haze. More EO than Bottle

How many times had she watched her mother from the shadows, as she sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of anything she could find, slur drunkenly at the walls about how her life was crap? Oliviott Friendship.

A fortune cookie rings true for one member of the ER staff. But is it just a coincidende?