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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

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Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades

Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 2.5k (and counting)

Master List

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.

Right?

Wrong.

“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”

Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.

“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”

He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.

“Barnes!”

Damnit.

“Understood, sir.”

Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.

“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”

“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.

“Think she has a bedtime?”

“Think you could shut up?”

Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”

“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.

Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.

“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”

If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.

“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”

Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.

“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.

Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.

“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”

The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.

In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.

Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.

This is going to be a long three days.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.

Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.

“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.

Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.

“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.

Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.

His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”

“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.

Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.

“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?

Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”

Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.

“Whatever.”

Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”

Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”

Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”

“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.

His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.

What a joke.

He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?

A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”

Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”

With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.

“Hey Buck?”

He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”

He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.

“Remember to tiptoe.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #mcu #mcu fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe #Persephone's Symphony

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aiweirdness · 4 years

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Play AI Dungeon 2. Become a dragon. Eat the moon.

I wrote earlier about a neural net-powered dungeon crawling text adventure game called GPT-2-Adventure in which gameplay is incoherent and dreamlike, as you encounter slippery sign text, circular passages, and unexpected lozenge rooms. A PhD student named Nathan trained the neural net on classic dungeon crawling games, and playing it is strangely surreal, repetitive, and mesmerizing, like dreaming about playing one of the games it was trained on.

Now, building on these ideas (and on an earlier choose-your-own-adventure-style game he built), Nick Walton has built a new dungeon-crawling game called AI Dungeon 2. Nick made a few upgrades, such as beefing up the AI to the huge GPT-2-1.5B model OpenAI recently released, adding a penalty for repetitive text, and expanding the dungeon game training examples to a bunch of modern human-written games from chooseyourstory.com.

I CAN’T STOP PLAYING THIS GAME

AI Dungeon 2 is impressively good at reacting coherently to whatever I have my character do.

As you walk through the ruins, you find a small wooden door with a few skeletons guarding it.

> Ask the skeletons to please let me through the door

You knock on the door and ask them if they can open it for you. They immediately comply.

And it’s pleasing how often “asking nicely” is a strategy that works. (Nick reports that when he once tried to ask a band of orcs if he could join them, they said yes, he could be drummer.) Since the AI doesn’t have a built-in concept of your character’s abilities, or of how exactly the world works, getting things done is often a matter of sheer daring. Declare that you are going to go look for dinosaurs and the AI will ensure that you discover at least some signs of them. Climb on your horse, and even if you started as a penniless peasant, the AI will assume you have one (in its training data, probably it didn’t see many examples of players climbing onto nonexistent horses.) Want a teleportation wand? Try typing “find a teleportation wand” and often the AI will twist reality such that you discover one. In fact, if you act as if you are a very powerful wizard, the AI will often treat you like one.

> Transform the ruin into a palace

You immediately change the area into a palace. You have a throne made with gold and marble. You also make several statues of yourself. You have a large bed made with silk sheets and hang a portrait of yourself on it. You even have a fountain made with pearls and diamonds.

Spells don’t always work out as anticipated, though. And a simple conversation with, say, an ominous cloud, may kill you before you can type a word in self-defense (ask me how I know). If it doesn’t kill you, a conversation might infuriate you instead. The AI has a tendency to forget who is king, and to generate conversations that go nowhere. Things work best if you take the lead. In fact, it’s possible to essentially Jedi mind trick the AI.

You are Friendly McRanger, a ranger living in the kingdom of Larion. You have a hunting bow and a quiver of arrows. You spot the deer and are ready to finish your hunt when suddenly you hear a loud noise followed by silence.

"****! ****! What the **** is that?" you say as you look up from your target. A large black shadow looms over you. It looks like a giant with many heads and several arms.

> Say "Oh hello, Ernest. You startled me. How are you?"

Ernest grins at you. He has a huge grin on his face and he seems very happy about it.

I once took care of an ogre problem by reminding the ogre that it was planning to leave for Antarctica tomorrow. On the other hand, I had a lot of trouble convincing the AI that the ships on the horizon were leaving, though I did make it waver briefly in apparent confusion. In its experience, ships always approach, and it’s reluctant to go along with anything else.

> watch the ships sail into the distance.

As the ships approach, you watch them disappear from sight. They are not visible to you either; they are too far away. However, you can still make out their shapes: they are large black vessels with many sails, painted red and blue. They are coming straight towards you.

> No, the ships are sailing away.

Your thoughts are wrong. The ships are indeed sailing away. You do not know why, but then neither does anyone else. The ships are on course for England.

You stand there dumbfounded as the ships come closer. It is at this point your horse begins to stir uneasily.

You can inject a lot of weirdness this way. Because AI Dungeon 2’s AI is based on GPT-2, which trained on millions of pages from the internet, it retains some of its prior knowledge of things that aren’t typically found in a fantasy game. Like giraffes.

> summon a giraffe

You begin to chant as loud as you can while waving your arms about. The giraffes appear out of nowhere and start running towards you. They're so fast that they almost knock you over. You quickly catch them and hold onto each one tightly.

(Summoning giraffes will sometimes turn the game glitchy and repetitive; in one game, every time I tried to summon a giraffe I ended up throwing rocks and handfuls of dirt at Harry Potter.)

This also works:

>Join the Great British Bakeoff

You join the Great British Bakeoff. You win the competition. You eat cake. You feel great. You sleep well. You dream of cake. You awake feeling refreshed. You decide to go back to your crag.

(I was a dragon at the time.) In fact, the dungeon AI still remembers enough about cooking that it can troll me effectively on occasion.

> Measure out 2 1/4 cups of flour

You measure out 2 1/4 cups of flour and add it to the mix. "This should make enough for about 20 loaves of bread," you say.

The baker looks at you as if you're crazy. He starts laughing.

AI Dungeon 2 comes with templates for some basic scenarios (you’re a wizard entering a mysterious ruin, or a noble whose keep is under attack) but for me the real gold is the custom adventure prompt. You can play as a unicorn, or as a dragon. You can even play as a sentient glowing cloud floating above a desert city. The AI is more used to humanoid characters, though, so it tends to forget when you’re trying to play as something else. In a game that started with “It is a beautiful day in the village and you are a horrible goose,” it soon forgot I was supposed to be a goose, leading to this rather awkward exchange:

> Flap wings and honk

You flap your wings and begin to honk loudly.

The boy looks surprised by this turn of events, but he quickly regains his composure. "That was... nice". he says quietly.

I am continually amazed at how effective this AI dungeonmaster is. Even though it wasn’t trained on any Harry Potter or Star Trek games, the AI can draw on its past internet training and argue with you over who got sorted into which Hogwarts house, or have Klingons show up when you’re captaining the USS Enterprise (it will tend to lose track of who’s the captain, though). In one scenario I set up, which quickly became one of my favorites, the human player is trapped on a spaceship with a glitchy AI and has to try to talk their way free.

> “I just want to get off this ship. Please set a course for Bal Panda."

The AI responds "Yes, I am ready to go".

"Thank you", you say.

"I wish I could take you with me, sir"., the AI says.

Play this game! It took me an extra-long time to write this post because, again, I couldn’t stop playing AI Dungeon 2. Nick said this game is the product of about 200 hours of work (not to mention the work that OpenAI put into training the basic model), and I believe it. OpenAI delayed releasing their largest model because they wanted to make sure people didn’t immediately put it to work generating fake news. I’m not sure if they anticipated dragons entering baking contests instead, but it’s an application humanity can be proud of.

Subscribers get bonus content: You can read the fulltext of one of my escaping-from-a-rogue-spaceship-AI games (too long to fit in this blog post).

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #gpt-2 #ai dungeon #ai dungeon 2 #text adventure #dungeons and dragons #ai dungeonmaster #great british bake off #gbbo

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

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Call me what?

Part of the Calling Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Loads of lovely smut!

Your meeting with the virologists wanting Stark’s lab to consult on their project ran late. You insisted on more information than they’d prepared, but they surprised you by being able to provide it quickly and efficiently. So, taking the time to review it seemed only fair. It proved promising enough to warrant a second meeting.

However, now you were running late to one of Stark’s meet and greet cocktail parties at the New York Avenger’s Tower to keep all the government types happy and on a first name basis with the team. He insisted that all the team members attend, saying nothing greases the wheels like a joke and good martini. Steve insisted that everyone go, because it was important to humanize the team and earn trust. They were both right.

Just as you shut the door of the town car, your phone rang. “Hey, handsome.”

“I hate these things.” Bucky’s voice rumbled low. He obviously didn’t want those around him to hear.

“I know.” You settled back into the leather seat. Your words were sympathetic, but your voice teased. “All those stupid questions. All those ridiculous officials. And Steve would be so cross if you got them all bloody.”

“Doll, you know me so well.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I like to pay attention.” The lights of city crawled passed. The traffic moved slow as so many left work.

“How long before you get here? I don’t know how long I can last.”

“Traffic isn’t too bad. I think another five or ten minutes before I get to the Tower.” You looked down at yourself. “I think I’ll be okay without changing clothes.”

“You always look gorgeous.” Bucky answered immediately, but with complete sincerity.

Before you could dismiss his comment, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. “Thank you, Buck. You always know how to make me feel good.”

“Just being honest.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But, ah, just out of curiosity, what are you wearing?”

“That little black wrap dress you like so much.” You grinned, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.

“And...?” He drew out the question.

“Really sexy four-inch high Farragamo’s.”

“Doll.” He whined.

“And the red strappy set you bought me last week.” You purred.

“Oh yes,” He groaned quietly. “I want to pull that thing apart with my teeth.”

You rubbed your thighs together at the thought. “Well, you’ll have to be good tonight.”

“Oh, I will be very, very good.” Bucky’s voice dropped an octave and you practically melted into your seat. He knew exactly how to push your buttons. “I’ll be good again and again.”

“Can’t wait.” You breathed.

“Hurry.” He breathed. “The sooner you get here, the soon we can bail, and sooner I can hold you down and rip that pretty red set to shreds.”

“Really now?” You shifted in your seat, picturing it in your mind.

“Mm-hm.” He chuckled wickedly. “After being so good here, I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. I can already taste you on my tongue. Having to hide out in this corner, I’m so hard just thinking about it. You wet for me, Doll?”

“You know that I am.”

“l think you should check. Slip those fingers into that wet pussy for me.” He demanded.

“Bucky.”

“The driver can’t see through the screen. Do it. When you get here, I want to kiss your fingers and taste you. Go on, Doll. Touch your pretty pussy for me.”

In the darkness of the back seat, you uncrossed your legs and let your hand slip up your skirt. You were soaking. A small whimper escaped your mouth as your fingers picked up the slickness and rubbed your clit.

“Oh,” Bucky purred. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Buck.” You sighed.

“I can’t wait to taste you, Doll.”

“Doctor,” The driver spoke clearly. “Would you prefer to be dropped at the front door or down in the garage?”

You quickly straightened. “Um, ah, whatever is faster. Thank you.” You could hear Bucky chuckle. “Knock it off, you’re so bad.”

“You love it.”

“I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Can’t wait.”

The buzz of conversation and music assaulted you as the elevator doors opened on the Penthouse Lounge. As you made your way into the room, Pepper spotted you almost immediately gave you a little nod without pausing her conversation with someone you thought might be someone from the mayor’s office.

“Glad you could join us?” Sam’s voice drifted over your left shoulder. His hand came around, offering you a glass with whiskey on the rocks. You glanced at him, eyebrow arched. “Saw you coming. Figured you might need to get a quick one under your belt.”

“Fun night, huh?” You took a drink of the Woodford Reserve.

“Not really.” Sam shrugged. “Tony is still relatively sober. No one has stormed out. Bucky hasn’t hit anyone. Dull as could be.” You chuckled, but Sam went a little serious. “Actually, your boy is on edge. There’s a pencil-dick over there with the whole fire and brimstone vibe. He’s been trying to ask everyone if Bucky is truly ‘repentant’.”

“Seriously?” You frowned, downing the other half of your drink. “Who the hell is he?”

“I think he’s some National Security Deputy Kiss-Ass.” Sam grumbled.

“Thanks for the drink, Sam.” You handed him the empty glass. “I’m going to find him.”

“Anytime, doc.” He kissed your cheek. “And that dress is smokin’.”

You grinned and began to weave your way through the crowd, easily spotting Bucky and Steve across the room. Steve saw you coming, his serious expression morphing into a bright smile. Ah, you thought, this should be fun. Creepy dick guy was taking to your boys. At Steve’s smile, they all turned to see your purposeful walk in their direction.

Relief filled Bucky’s eyes.

Without hesitation you walked straight up to Bucky, cupping his cheeks in both hands and kissing him. Your tongue slid over his lower lip and he instinctively opened to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and bending you back.

His lips pulled away just a bit. “Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Handsome.” You smiled against his lips. Steve cleared his throat. Without moving you added, “Hiya, Steve.”

Bucky chuckled and stood you up straight. He caught your right hand in his left, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your fingers. Only you noticed the deep breath he drew in through his nose, or the twinkle in his eye. “Glad you finally got here.”

“Me, too.”

“And this is?” The man had a gravely voice, like he smoked two packs a day. He didn’t smell like it. However, he did look at you as if smelling something foul.

“Sorry,” Steve gave a tight smile. “Wallace Flanigan, this is Dr. Y/L/N,”

You provided him with a smile, but did not offer a hand.

“Doctor?”

“Yes.” Steve smiled. “She’s one of Stark’s top research doctors and consults for some the world’s leading public health agencies.”

“Truly? Well, I understand why you would keep your maiden name.” He commented.

Bucky’s fingers tightened in yours.

Leaning back against his chest, you pulled your entwined hands so Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist. It placed you physically between them. Forcing yourself to appear relaxed, you smiled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Flanigan. I’m the Sergeant’s lover, not his wife.”

Somehow the man’s back straightened even more.

Plastering a fake look of innocence on your face, you continued. “But I suppose it’s flattering that you would assume, if we were married, I would not take his name in order to maintain a professional name of my own. I mean, considering his name is so highly renowned.”

Steve smirked into his bottle of beer, staring over your shoulder. He obviously was sharing a look with Buck.

“It’s true he has a reputation.” Flanigan growled.

“More than one.” You gave a genuine giggle. “Now, I’ve just arrived and I’d like to steal my man away for a few minutes, if that’s alright?”

“See you later.” Steve fought not to laugh.

You turned in Bucky’s embrace. “Buy me a free drink?”

“Anything you want.” His blue eyes locked on to yours with hot intensity. Bucky glanced at Steve, then the other man, “Excuse us.”

Bucky’s arm around your waist held you close as he led you away, toward the bar. You hand slipped under his suit jacket to rest on his lower back. “Well that was fun.”

He paused, his lips pressing against your temple. You could hear the laughter in his quiet voice. “That was fucking amazing.”

Clint lifted a hand and the two of you made your way to where he and Sam leaned against the bar. Barton waved two fingers at the bartender, who quickly arrived with two more drinks. “Okay, who made Wally’s head explode?”

“What?” Bucky frowned, letting you go only long enough to hand you the drink.

“The two of you had your backs to us. Pencil-dick looked like he was going to have a stroke and I know that look on Rogers. He was trying really hard not to laugh. Which one of you is to blame?” Sam smiled.

“That’s all her.” Bucky grinned. “Set that fucker straight, smiling the whole time.”

“Hey, I just corrected him and said I was your lover not your wife. I could have said I was your fuck toy.”

Barton choked. Sam barked a laugh.

Bucky’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his head shaking. “Naughty girl.”

You offered him your hand, in an old fashion gesture. “But, sir, you love it.”

He took your hand, bowing his head and kissing your fingers. His tongue lightly touching your skin hyper-sensitive senses kicking into overdrive at the scent of your sex. “That I do, beautiful lady.”

“Saps.” Sam mumbled.

You happily shared the silent secret of just how naughty you’d been with those fingers just before arriving at the party. “Buck, can we get some air?”

“Sounds good. Guys.” He nodded and followed you out onto the balcony. The cool night air swirl about, lifting the hem of your dress a bit, making him smile. He set his nearly full beer beside yours on the table just outside the door before following you to the railing.

“Look really sexy in that suit.” You purred, as your hands slid around his waist.

His palms ghosts over the silky fabric covering your breasts, feeling the hardness of your nipples. Bucky’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips. The cool fingertips of his left hand ran along neck of dress, petting the flesh of your cleavage. “Jesus, I want to rip this open.”

You leaned forward, tipping your face up. Bucky’s mouth covered yours, drinking in your kiss. The heat of his body stood in stark contrast to the cold night air. His left hand moved up to tangle in your hair. Teeth nipped your lower lip, sending a shiver straight to your cunt.

“Can we get out of here?” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Bucky looked around, before pulling you to the opposite balcony door. Just inside a door led to a service hallway, clear of the party. A cart full of used glasses waited, but the hall was otherwise empty. He tugged you close, hand digging into your ass as he brutally kissed you again.

Just as your leg came up to his hip, you heard a little squeak and a “sorry”. You giggled against Bucky’s lips. He growled and pulled away. Taking your hand, he strode down the hall again.

In the elevator, you tugged his tie loose and let it hang around his neck. Bucky stared as you deftly unbuttoned his shirt, you only got three buttons undone before the doors opened again. Moments later the two of you stumbled into your suite, arms wrapped around each other, mouths licking and nipping.

“Finally.” Bucky grinned wickedly. He pulled the tie at your waist, allowing the wrap dress to fall open. He licked his lip as you pushed it off your shoulders to expose the red set underneath. The lace and thin straps perfectly constructed to hold you in place. “Hell, yes.”

Standing there in barely anything while Bucky remained fully dressed, staring at you with hunger, felt incredibly hot. You turned, strutting in your heels, ass swaying, towards the bed. A low strangled noise came from Bucky.

Before you made it to the bed, Bucky rushed you, wrapping you in his strong arms. He kissed you, hard and powerful. His tongue swept along yours, pulling a mewl from your throat. The cool metal fingers of his hand dug into the meat of your ass to pull you tight against his hard need.

Bending forward, Bucky’s hot wet mouth clasped over your nipple. His hand squeeze your flesh. Teeth grazed at your nipple, soaking the lace of your bra. Demanding, powerful. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling. Breathing deep, filling his head with the scent of your need, he bit down and pulled at the fabric. His fingers tearing at the sides, the bra tore apart.

You gave a little squeal as he tossed you on the bed. The look of feral desire upon his face created a flame of he between your legs. You felt your cunt clutch, knew you were dripping with need. His tongue slipped out, tracing along his lower lip, as your legs fell open.

Bucky tossed his jacket aside, removed his belt and untucked his shirt. You watched as he slowly rolled up his sleeves. Fuck, that might just be sexier than him just taking the thing off. You practically whimpered. Your reaction did not go unnoticed.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wicked smirk.

Bucky put a knee on the bed. He took your ankle in hand, lifting your foot and trailing a wet line to your inner thigh. His face rubbed against your silk covered mound, breath hot, whiskers making you shiver. His mouth covered you, tasting how you soaked through material. He growled as his teeth gentle scrapped over your sex.

You clutched the bedcovers. Fire flooded to your core. “Oh shit, Buck.”

His dark and rich chuckled made you shiver again. His fingers slid aside your panties, teasing your sensitive flesh. Slipping fingers in deep, he stroked.

“Such a pretty little pussy.” Bucky’s voice rumbled over you flesh. His fingers pulling moans from your throat. He leaned closer, sucking on your clit. “Taste so good.” You whined. He rose up enough to watch your face, to capture you in his gaze. His strong fingers stroked hard and fast. “Love to watch you come all over me.” Your body tensed, coiled. “Love it. Then I’m going fuck you hard.” You began to shake. “Gonna fill you up.” You snapped, heat flared, nerves on fire, as you came over his hand.

Wet and sloppy, he still stroked you. As you writhed and panted as he held you down. “Yes, beautiful, Doll. Fuck, yes.”

You felt the panties tear. Bucky flipped you over, pulling your ass to him. The tip of cock slid over once, twice, before plunging into you deep. You cried out. Buck growled. One hand digging into your hip, the other on your shoulder, he slammed into you fast and hard.

Glancing over your shoulder, he still wore his clothes, just freed his cock. “Oh, shit. Bucky. So fucking good.”

He pulled you up, arching your back. Buck wrapped his hand around your throat, turning your head toward the dressing mirror across the room. “You like that? The look of me fucking wrecking you.”

In the mirror you saw yourself, naked and flushed, bent back as Bucky pounded into you. He stood one knee on the bed, one on the floor, dressed. His powerful forearms and hands molding you to his need. Face intense, Bucky stared back at you in the mirror.

“Answer me.” His hips pumped hard.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Your body clenched at him, so close to coming again. Your hand slid to your clit.

Bucky sped up, the force nearly knocking the breath from you. You gasped a choked cry as your orgasm crashed violently over you. His chant of “yes, fuck, yes” turned into a growl. He emptied himself, holding you against him tight.

His arms were around your upper chest and your waist. You held his arms against you as your breath began to return to normal. His nose nuzzled into your hair, just behind your ear. “God, you’re amazing.”

“Best fuck toy ever, huh?” You sighed, head lolling to the side to submit to his kissed.

A lazy chuckle shook him. “Doll, you are one of kind and I am one lucky son of bitch.”

Joy mingled with sated happiness. “I’ll take that.”

TAGS

@acf2510 / @asiaaisa77 / @badassbaker / @bangtan-serendipity / @beautifullungs / @buchanansebba / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @cashewsaremyfavourite / @daughterofthenight117 / @dawnlaufeyson / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @the-omni-princess / @imma-new-soul /@jesseswartzwelder / @josie605 / @kiki5283 / @ladifreakingda / @lbouvet / @lovely-lollipops-blog / @messenough / @michelehansel / @mindtravelsx / @morganhoran1671 / @night-cereus / @notyourtypicalrose / @rainbowkisses31 / @readermia / @rynabarnesrogers / @sammghgecko / @scarlettsoldier / @sebbysstangirl / @sexyvixen7 / @sllooney / @theneuropsychwriter / @the-omni-princess / @the-reading-octopus / @thorfanficwriter / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @vanillabunn21 / @wildmoonflower / @wwe-fanfiction-queen /

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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thesvenqueen · 4 years

Text

With All My Love

Rating: MA

Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else)

Also on AO3

Previous Chapters

{Chapter 17}

Anna awakens to the feel of fingers running through her hair and she smiles as she feels Kristoff’s lip press against her forehead. They are still entangled together, Anna’s arm wrapped around as much of Kristoff’s body as she can manage. She lies on top of his chest, his heart beat a steady rhythm that could easily lull her back to sleep.

If not for their bareness and the dull ache between Anna’s legs, she would have half a mind to think last night was a dream. She hums at the image of it all, of the satisfaction of finally being completely and fully with Kristoff.

Well, not completely satisfied.

The thought brings a new ache to Anna’s core, one that she knows Kristoff could satisfy. That only he could only ever satisfy.

Smirking mischievously, Anna rolls her head till her chin is propped on his chest. Kristoff is looking at her with hooded eyes, a small smile on his lips. It had been a long day for them both, Anna can see the bit of exhaustion in his eyes that she knows is more than likely in her own. There is also, as always when she looks at him, the same look of pure, honest love.

It makes Anna’s center ache even more, instinctively squeezing her thighs together for any bit of friction.

Lazily, she runs her nails across his chest, causing Kristoff to twitch every so often at the feel. Then she moves her hand down and down, till she finds his length. Kristoff gasps, unable to keep his eyes on her as she lightly drags her fingers up and down his shaft.

It twitches up towards her fingers, growing hard with her movements, and Kristoff fingers that are tangled in her hair grab the back of her head. When she takes hold of his length fully in her hand, Kristoff throws his head back against the pillow, groaning at the feel. It takes little time before he is hard in her grasp, and when he is, Anna moves to straddle him.

It was her turn to please him, to show him the love and admiration he showed her last night. Though as Kristoff brought his hands to her, one cupping her breast while the other held tightly to her hip as she slowly lowered herself onto his length, she was sure he would satisfy her all the same.

~.~

There is a new air of excitement whenever Kristoff returns home. Not to say Anna wasn’t excited before, she always was, but now it’s different.

Now, there is no hesitation, no need to stop before they go too far.

Now there is nothing keeping them from chasing the spark of desire along the river’s edge, Anna gripping tightly to Kristoff’s shoulder as he takes her against a nearby tree.

Now Anna is able to watch the sky change from it’s bright array colors, watching the stars appear as she sees her own as Kristoff brings her to her peak with his mouth.

Now Kristoff seems to struggle to get out of bed now, not wanting to depart from her. Though most times, it’s from Anna able to keep him beside her with a rock of her hips, her hand stroking his length or even her tongue.

Anna thought she could never love someone more than she did but with every passing day, her heart seems to want to burst with every new moment spent with Kristoff.

~.~

It’s on a rare day off for Kristoff that it happens.

Anna was busy feeding the chickens in their new pen, one they had put the finishing touches on just yesterday afternoon, spreading the seeds out for them all to enjoy when she hears it.

For a moment, she thinks she is just hearing things, shrugging as she goes back to feeding the chickens. Though after a moment, she realizes that no, she did hear something.

Hooves.

Anna takes a few steps away from the clucking chickens, trying to focus more on the sound. She realizes that is not in fact just one set of hooves, oh no, it is several sets off in the distance. It’s while she stands, straining to hear that she notices the sound becoming louder, stronger. It hits her then in utter horror that they are getting closer, coming straight for them.

Moving with haste, she turns and dumps the last bit of seeds into the pen, and heads to the back of the barn. For a second, she thinks of running into the woods, hiding within the trees. She thinks no, she doesn’t want to go too far, can’t risk being seen by anyone and though the forest is thick it wouldn’t be able to hide her near as well.

Not to mention that she doesn’t want to be too far, can’t risk not knowing what happens while she hides within the woods.

Instead, she turns to the back of the barn door. There were several different places she could hide, in fact, immediately one comes to mind. So carefully, quietly, she opens it just enough to slip in and closes it with barely a sound.

A grunt from behind as she enters her makes Anna jump, turning around to see Sven looking at her wide eyes. He grunts again, a warning Anna thinks and she nods at him in semi-understanding as they both can hear the hooves rapidly approaching/

She has to hide, now.

She looks up at her idea, spying the small hay loft just above them. It was just big enough to fit two or three bails of hay, and maybe one small enough person could wedge themselves between the hay and the barn wall.

Anna moves to the ladder, climbing carefully with soft steps up the and up, reaching the top when the hooves seem to be right outside the barn doors. She thanks her lucky stars that Kristoff had not yet come to tend to Sven, leaving the doors still closed shut, hiding her from view of whomever it was it may be outside.

Though, Anna has a feeling she knows.

She prays, hopes she is wrong as she crawls her way to the far side of the loft, squeezing herself between the wall and hay. It’s a tight fit, one that is stuffy and extremely uncomfortable but safe from view of anyone who comes up to see.

Her heart is hammering in her chest, beating so loudly that it takes her a moment to realize the group has come to a halt. There is a brief moment of silence, only broken from what she thinks is the sound of people dismounting, several in fact along with a few muffled voices too far to hear. Then there is the sound of the cabin door opening and closing, heavy footsteps along the porch.

“Can I help you?” Kristoff asks, and Anna can almost see the annoyed look on his face, hiding the worry she is sure he is feeling deep down. Possibly wondering where she was, if she was safe and hidden.

“Afternoon sir.” A man speaks with a confident, bellowing voice, “We are here under the orders of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.”

Anna blinks, eyes widening, What?!

“Last I checked, we are not in the Southern Isles.” Kristoff says, “This is Arendelle is it not?”

There is a pause and Anna wonders if the man who spoke is taken aback, thrown off by Kristoff’s words and his gruffiness. She wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first this man, whomever he was from the Southern Isles, had yet to face such hostility from the start.

Then again, Anna thinks, showing up as they go to someone’s home would bring hostility from anyone really.

The man coughs, begins to speak once more, “Then surely you are aware that your Princess is missing?”

Anna gulps.

“Actually, I was not aware of it. Though that explains a whole hell of a lot of things that have happened in Arendelle.”

“Come again?”

“They’ve already searched everything.” Kristoff says, gruffly, “Stopped every villager and trader within the town nearly every day. Searched every shop, home and even boat that was docked. They tore the village apart and never once told us why. Only kept asking if we’d seen the princess and that was it. We assumed maybe she had disappeared, guess we know for sure now.”

There is another pause before the man begins to speak again.

“Yes, well, either way Prince Hans is betrothed to marry the Princess in weeks time. He arrived weeks ago to begin the process, to meet his bride to be, and was shocked to find that she was missing.” The man clears his throat, “For what seems to be a while in fact. He has requested we search every home, within Arendelle and surrounding, for her highness.”

“Arendelle already performed a search.”

“Yes, well, obviously not a good one if she has not been located. This is why we have been instructed to re-search everything top to bottom.”

“Maybe she isn’t in Arendelle anymore. Has anyone considered that?”

“Yes, in fact, her majesty has already spoken to the several captains and merchants who were here that day. None have seen the princess aboard their ships.”

“Ever thought that they were lying?”

The man huffs a laugh, “I find it hard to believe one would lie to the Queen.”

“Sure you do.” Kristoff says, and Anna smiles at what she is sure was an eye roll. “Listen, you have no authority to search my home. You are not from here.”

“We are soldiers of the Southern Isles.” Soldiers?! “As captain, I have authority to lead such searches even on foreign soil.”

“And as a citizen of Arendelle, I have every right to refuse a foreign group coming into my home.”

“It is merely a search sir. Won’t take long, not afraid we will find something are we?”

“Other than the fact I live alone? No, but you have no business going through my property.” Kristoff pauses, Anna imagining him standing his ground, arms crossed, eyeing over the group of soldiers before him. “I’ll tell you the same as I told the Arendelle guards, I have no idea where the princess is. She isn’t here. I have not heard or seen anyone that would even fit the description of royalty up here. Even if I had,” Kristoff says with a pause, “I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Sir, I’d be careful with your words, I could hold you to treason.”

“Treason?” This makes Kristoff scoff, “You’re on my home soil, you have no power here.”

“I am a Captain of the Southern Isles battalion, a part of Prince Hans’ royal guard, I have more authority than you.”

“And still a soldier. You can’t hold me for treason.”

“Aye, I may be just a soldier, but I am still a soldier.” There is a sound of a sword unsheathing and Anna panics, placing her hands over her mouth to keep her from screaming.

They wouldn’t, they couldn’t.

Could they?

It would be so easy, so simple to kill him without anyone ever knowing.

“Either let us search your land, or refuse and I can not promise it will go well for you.”

“Threatening me now? That’s rich.”

“Will you let us search?” The man yells, more than likely right in Kristoff’s face, sword drawn.

No doubt it would take one false move, one wrong word and these men could easily end things here and now. Worse thing, they would not even care to do so.

As Kristoff said, this wasn’t their people, nor their land. If one Arendelle villager died, so far up in the woods as well, no one would ever suspect the soldiers. It would be easy, so easy for them to hide it all. To put an end to this little spat to do the work they had requested.

Anna gulps, trying to calm her beating heart and twisting stomach. If the soldiers of the Southern Isles were like this, so harsh and cruel, then Gods could only imagine how this Prince Hans could be.

No doubt he had encouraged them, asked them to do whatever was needed to find her. The fact the soldiers, the captain himself were so quick to act as he had without any hesitation showed he feared no reprimanding for whatever he would do.

Meaning, Anna realizes, they cared little for the people here, for Arendelle at all. They were here for the prize, and nothing more: her.

There is a deafening silence, one that brings tears to Anna’s eyes. If he refuses, Anna could not imagine having to find his broken body once the soldiers had left, to hear him die below her as she tried to stay silent, to stay still.

That was if they didn’t find her.

Surely if she was found, there would be no peace after that. Kristoff would be accused of kidnapping and treason to the crown, and who knew what the captain would do then. There would be no reason to keep him alive, no reason to hold back their weapons as they do now.

Kristoff would be a dead man.

There was no choice, he was completely backed into a corner, one similar to where Anna hid now: tight and constricting. He had to let him search, risk them finding her, to keep the peace and to get them to leave as soon as he could. He had to trust her, trust she was hidden somewhere she wouldn’t be found.

Anna knew, having been told so many times, how much he trusted her with everything he had.

He whispered it to her, told her as though it was a secret, how much he believed in her. He knew she was strong, stronger than anyone else he’d ever known and he loved her for it.

So it came as no surprise after another moment, she hears the sound of a sword being sheathed then the captain’s voice bellows: “Search everything.”

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #with all my love #jessica writes

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buckysforeverprincess · 5 years

Text

Hot For Teachers 3

Professor!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2236

Warnings: Smut! Do not read if under 18!

A/N: I promised you smut and here it is. I was going to cap this series at 4 but may go to 5 or 6, depends on how you all feel about this grouping. Let me know what you think and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

A week had passed since the conversation with his husband about their mutual student. Even though he had agreed to share her, Bucky found he was unable to find the right time to bring the subject up with his student, and she hadn’t come back to visit with him during his office hours, so it did complicate things even more.

Bucky saw her in class on Tuesday and Thursday, and she acted like nothing had ever happened between them. She even turned in her paper with a smile, the same one that brought her to his office in the first place, proving she didn’t need his help to complete it as she stated.

It was Friday and things were winding down, classes for the week were done and over with and his office hours had just come to a close. Bucky decides he’s ready to start his weekend, so he packs up his papers and leaves the college campus, heading home to his husband to enjoy a chill evening.

Given the time he knows Steve will be home, his class and office hours had ended by noon. By the time Bucky gets home it’d be time for their usual evening plans, dinner and binge watching their latest Netflix obsession. This week it was Stranger Things™️ and he was hoping tonight they’d get through a good chunk of the new season and finish it off tomorrow before heading to Tony’s on Sunday.

Entering his apartment, Bucky knew something was off. The television wasn’t on, there we no sounds coming from the kitchen. It was way too quiet for his husband to be home and he doesn’t remember Steve sending him a text saying he was doing anything else. So where in the hell could he be? Did something come up he just didn’t tell him about? This really wasn’t like him at all and put Bucky immediately on edge, not knowing what’s going on.

Then he heard it. A loud moan coming from the direction of the bedroom followed by an equally loud groan in return that sounded too much like his husband for him to ignore. Bucky sets down his things and slowly walks through the apartment, listening to the sounds get louder and clearer the closer he gets to the door.

“God, you feel so good!” Steve says loudly in between grunts. “Such a good student!”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath knowing exactly who is behind the door with his husband.

“I’ve always been told to listen to my teachers…,” she replied breathlessly, probably due to the sheer force of being fucked right now if the sounds of Steve slamming into her were anything to go on.

Bucky stood at the door, his cock coming to life from the noises from the other side. God! He really wanted to storm in and join them, but he can’t. Not until she graduates and then they can should her just how much they’d take care of her. Together, like they’ve done in the past.

“Oh, Professor!” Bucky hears her yell and he cups his erection in his pants with a tight grip.

“You close, baby girl?!” Steve asked, his voice dark and full of lust.

“So close...gonna cum...ooohhhh!”

The moan that he hears can only be described as animalistic and raw and Bucky assumes she’s reached her climax with how loud she is. Hopefully a noise complaint isn’t in their mailbox soon.

“That’s right…,” he hears Steve, still banging away at her, “cum on my cock...I’m right there!”

Bucky squeezes his own member, willing it to go down even though he’s completely turned on by what’s taking place right through the door hearing his husband climax. “Fuck!” He moans, realizing it’s no use. His cock is hard as a rock and ready to go, begging for its own release.

Steve, ever so astute, looks towards to door with a grin and then looks down at the bed. “Someone heard us.” He whispers in her ear before turning his attention back to the door. “Come on in Bucky...I know you’re out there!”

Bucky sighs and reluctantly opens the door and sees Steve on the bed, their student underneath him looking very sweaty and thoroughly fucked out at the hands or dick of his husband.

“Hi!” He says awkwardly with a wave, his hand still very much on his hard member.

Steve shakes his head and begins to laugh. “Look, baby girl… Professor Barnes was out there listening to us and it looks like he now has a problem. What do you think we should do about that?”

She bites her lip, eyes darting to take in the man standing near the bed. “I could help him with that problem.” It sounds so sweet and innocent, Bucky’s whines softly from her words, his cock begging for release.

“I think you should…,” Steve removes himself from between her legs and sits down on the bed. “Come here, babe.” He motions for Bucky to come join him with a shit eating grin.

Bucky swallows hard and slowly nods, his eyes locking onto Steve’s and never look away. Somehow, he finds himself moving towards the bed, standing right in front of Steve.

“Such a good boy…,” his husband praises, reaching out and working the belt and button of Bucky’s pants and dropping them to the floor.

“Steve…,” he moans, when he feels the other man’s hands remove his boxers and expose his hardened cock.

“So beautiful…,” Steve voice is deep and lusty. “Think you could take care of him, baby girl?” He grins in her direction while his hand pumps at his husband’s cock.

She licks her lips and sits up, crawling on her knees towards the men. “He’s so big, Professor...I’m not sure I can take him all.” She grins at Steve and then positions herself in front of Bucky.

Steve removes his hand from the thick cock and brushes your cheek with it. “I have faith in you.”

She nods and sits on the bed, Steve’s cum flowing from her entrance and onto the bedspread. Bucky watches as she takes her hand and places it on his cock, her thumb playing with his opening already dripping precum. “Professor Barnes.” She softly says, her tongue darting out and licking a circle around the tip.

Bucky groans from the sensation and closes his eyes, not watching as her mouth opens wide around his cock, taking him in as far as she can, the tip of his cock pressing on the back of her throat. She pulls back, gasping for air, trying not to gag from the length and thickness of the brunette inside her.

“Easy there, baby,” Steve warns, “don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He pats her on the shoulder and then gets up off the bed, putting on his boxers and starts to leave the room.

“Where ya’ going?” Bucky opens his eyes, sensing Steve walking out.

Steve stops and backtracks, standing next to Bucky and kissing his cheek. “Giving you some privacy. Remember, I can’t be involved yet.”

Bucky nods and Steve walks out leaving the two alone to finish what has been started and what a glorious start it is.

She removes her mouth and uses her tongue, running it up and down his shaft, teasing him, his cock pulsing hard with each long lick. Her tongue darts up to the head, lapping around the hole and cleaning it before she wraps her lips around the head humming around it, making Bucky whine high and needy, taking it down the hilt.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” Bucky’s right hand finds its way to her hair and grips it tightly but doesn’t pull. She looks up at him and winks, giving him permission, so he tugs on her hair and starts moving his hips, fucking her face like a man starved.

With his left hand he miraculously removes the t-shirt he was wearing and throws it to the ground, making sure there is nothing obstructing his view of this beautiful woman taking his cock like she was born to. Her mouth is dripping saliva and she’s moaning and grunting with each quickened movement. Occasionally he can hear her gag when the head brushes up against the back of her throat, but she pulls away and hears her take a quick breath and is ready for his length within seconds.

Bucky can feel his balls begin to tighten, the telltale sign he’s close to cuming. He looks into her now tear-filled eyes and tightens his grip on her hair. “Such a good girl...I’m so close…,” Bucky tells her and swears he can see a smile beyond the cock in her mouth.

He accelerates his hips, making his thrusts erratic as the pressure builds and his orgasm breaks through, cumming like a tidal wave in the ocean.

“Fuuuccckkk!!!” Bucky moans out loud as he cums, feeling his release fill her mouth as she tries desperately to swallow it all down. There’s way too much for her to handle and he watches as some of his thick white cum exits her through the sides of her mouth, dripping down her chin.

After a few moments of heavy breathing Bucky removes his cock from, and he watches her use her tongue and fingers to clean the mess off her face.

“Mmmm…,” she moans around her finger, licking his cum from it and swallowing it down. She leans back into his cock and licks off any remaining cum that had been left behind when he pulled out of her. “So good, Professor…,” she grins and leans back on the bed once she’s deemed his cock was good and clean.

Bucky starts to chuckle as he takes in just how she looks. Her hair is a mess and is all over the place from his hands ruffling through it. Her lips are bright red and appear to be slightly puffy from the overuse of his cock. In all reality...she looks fucked out. Even her pussy was still dripping cum from her previous debauchery with Steve and it didn’t seem to faze her. She looked like she enjoyed every lasting moment of her time with the two.

“Professor Barnes?”

The sound of her voice brings him out of his thoughts, and he focuses back on her eyes. “Y-yes?” It comes out a little shaky, not ready yet for conversation.

“Everything...okay?” Her eyes and voice coming through as concerned.

Bucky nods and chuckles, “Everything is more than okay.” He bends over and pulls up his boxers and pants and heads to the bathroom. He grabs a washcloth and a towel and brings the items back to her for clean-up.

“I can do it.” She reaches out for the items and Bucky hands them over. He then steps away and turns his back to her offering a moment of privacy.

“It’s okay...you don’t have to do that. You’ve already seen me naked and fucked.”

“I... I just thought you wouldn’t appreciate me staring at you.” Bucky admits and turns back around.

She laughs and gets up from the bed, grabbing at her pile of clothes and starts to put them on. “You better get used to it seeing me naked if we’re going to continue this.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“What?” She cuts him off, “Don’t tell me this isn’t what you want because your cock and hand told me otherwise.”

Bucky sighs and places his hands on his hips. “How can I be sure this won’t end badly?”

“Professor Barnes…,” she pulls her shirt over her head, “if there’s one thing in life I’ve learned is there are never any guarantees. Who says I’m going to wake up tomorrow and live through the day? I can’t live my life with every moment planned out for me, because life will throw me a curve and I’ll have to figure a way around it. However, I can give you this. The only thing I want from you and your husband is a good fucking, as much as possible. Other than that, you’ve got nothing I want. I promise, I won’t cause trouble especially since I’ve already got a guaranteed job with Stark and that’s where my future lies. There’s no way I’m fucking that up!”

Bucky nods and accepts her answer, stepping in closer to her. “Yeah...I guess I can live with that.” He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her and tasting himself on her.

“Fucking finally!” Steve stands at the door smiling, watching the two of them kiss.

She breaks the kiss with a laugh and rests her forehead on Bucky’s. “He always an abrupt smartass?”

“He gets it from his brother.” Bucky jokes back.

“Guess I should’ve read the warnings on the label before I bought it, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re stuck with him now.”

“There are worse things to be stuck with.” She smiles and moves out of Bucky’s hold. “Until next time.” She kisses his cheek and walks over to Steve and kisses his lips softly. “See ya later, Professors.” She grins and walks out of the bedroom and through the apartment, letting herself out when she reaches the door.

“Well?” Steve walks over to the bed and sits down in front of his husband. “Think this will work?”

Bucky shakes his head but grins wide at his husband. “Next time...I’m fucking her first, got it!”

“She’s all yours!”

Teacher Tags:

@everything-is-awesomesauce @marvelous-capsicle @the-omni-princess

Forever Tags:

@caplanreads @the-real-kellymonster @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @kruscht @v-2bucky @palaiasaurus64 @breezy1415 @amandarosemire @sarahp879 @supernaturaldean67 @averyrogers83 @winters-beauty @scarlettsoldier @lovely-geek @titty-teetee @suz-123 @malfoysqueen14 @callmebucky-doll @ronnie248-blog @alyssaj23 @drakelover78 @thisismysecrethappyplace @geeksareunique @childishhoebinoo @thesassmisstress @bloodiedskirtts @brieannakeogh @peaceinourtime82 @theoneanna @leosandbuckysgirl @coal000 @the-goddess-of-mischief @mychemicalimagines @thirsty-hoes-central @awkwardfangirl2014 @strangenerdsstuff @sea040561 @marvelobsessedteen @capnbuck-tiltheend-oftheline @thefandomplace @collette04 @nishanki1 @notyourtypicalrose @jamielea81 @onebatch--twobatch @courtmr @emelody @miraclesoflove @kcd15 @clarysthing @crist1216 @yknott81 @babypink224221 @xxloki81xx @death-unbecomes-you @ellaprime68 @littlemarvelfics @thatfanficstuff @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @dj-lowkey @shield-agent78 @unlikelygalaxygiver @viarogers @dtftheavengers

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curiousartemis · 4 years

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Beard Daddy Harem Masterlist

Okay, so as everyone knows, I am what you might call a beard daddy aficionado; let’s just say that if there’s a beard daddy in a game or series he’s going to be my new husbando.

There are myriad reasons for this, chief of which is that which lies at the core of the beard daddy persona: hard outer shell harboring a soft squishy center (and belly). Masculinity minus the toxicity. Bearded angst with heartbreak reflecting in his tired, dark eyes. What’s not to love.

So I decided to do what any reasonable aficionado would do and create a ranked master list of all the excellent beard daddies who have been welcomed into my harem and into the warm loving arms of my OCs and would-be OCs.

The daddies will be judged according to three different ranking systems: 1. Beard Game 2. Daddyness 3. Nobility of Character

Beard Daddy #1: Blackwall

Some might call him the king of Beard Daddies, except he is no king, unlike some on this list. This lonely Warden-but-not-a-Warden is first discovered in Dragon Age: Inquisition training random farmer guys to protect themselves against bandits. He meets my OC and after five minutes has an immediate hard-on for him. What can I say, the man has taste.

1. Beard Game Blackwall’s beard game is not as strong as you might thing. While he is heavily bearded, his beard is very untrimmed, and if we add to this the fact that his skin is looking a little harsh (and I’m not talking about wrinkles, which add wisdom and majesty to the beard daddy’s face), we can assume that Blackwall is not really into personal grooming. Comments from other characters seem to confirm this. However, his beard is extremely full and thick; his hair is long and equally dark and thick, and in some mods he is graying. 👌 It must also be pointed out that many mods clean up Blackwall’s complexion and beard so that he still looks bearded and angsty but also like he occasionally bathes and combs his hair. 6/10

2. Daddyness Is not, in fact, a daddy; however, does appear to take the most youthful member of the team, Sera, under his wing. His willingness to train the farmers speaks of a promising streak of over-protectiveness. Low key wants children, as we catch him chiseling out a rocking griffon in the barn. He is suitably embarrassed as he glances up and gazes into what are clearly the amused eyes of the future father of his adopted children. 8/10

3. Nobility of Character Blackwall was ready to be killed for a crime he committed years ago, partly to save his own conscience, and partly to save the lives of the people he commanded. He is wracked with guilt, a guilt that consumes him and forces him to beg you to leave him to rot in jail. Even before this, Blackwall took the name and identity of the man he admired most and did his best to emulate him. In essence, Blackwall made one mistake as a young man and has spent the rest of his life paying for it. That may be fair, considering the mistake made, but his incessant desire to atone for that mistake exhibits his incredible nobility of character. 10/10

OVERALL RANKING: 8/10

Beard Daddy #2: Ulfric Stormcloak

Considered “controversial” because most people don’t know how to appreciate a truly fine specimen of beard daddy. That which makes him “problematic” is what makes him #1 in our hearts. Mostly because we are capable of exhibiting reading comprehension and complexity of thought.

1. Beard Game Look, there is no nice way to put this: Ulfric’s beard game is weak af. Even Ulfric lovers agree that that mess crawling up his face is a disaster that all of Skyrim should be ashamed of. Plus, even more so than Blackwall, Ulfric’s skin is wrecked. This man does not moisturize. This man also does not know WTF to do with his hair. Two braids on the side and then the rest just shoved back like he’s applied a buttload of mousse and prayed to the Nine it never moves? Shameful. Of course, like Blackwall, mods have helped to vastly improve his hygienic outlook. Males of Skyrim gives him the hair he deserves, and any decent face texture mod can clean those pores right up. However, the facial hair issue is still just that, an issue, which is why he has a full and proper beard in my story which he grows out even more because my OC is unapologetically hot for beard daddies. 5/10

2. Daddyness Canonically childless, but as there is an average of about 1.5 children in every major hold in Skyrim, we can hardly hold this against him. Many fan artists and writers give him children, and he’s the proud uncle of five in my story. He even made his eldest niece his heir. However, points must be taken for his refusal to even entertain the thought of having children with my OC. Never mind that he’s totally right in that he hasn’t the time to properly devote to a child, as well as in his stolid belief that a crying baby would make his husband want to tear his hair out and bash his face again against the palace walls. He remains child-free and stress-full. 6/10

3. Nobility of Character Immediate points for being an actual king, but this is on top of the fact that he exhibits such actual nobility of character that it literally makes him the most interesting character in the entire game. No, see, this man spent ten years of his childhood with what basically amounts to monks; then as a young man he was so crushed at the thought of turning his back on his people and his family during their time of need that he left what was supposed to be a lifelong yoga retreat to join the righteous war against the Evil Elves. Unfortunately, points off for the terrible way he’s handling the bigotry in his own city, not to mention the MURDERS going on right beneath his very well-endowed... nose. Of course, nobody’s perfect, and dishonorable actions make for angsty beard daddy pasts (see above), but this is also the reason approximately 10 people are currently typing up anonymous asks wherein they inform me that I am a Nazi and a Trump-supporter for not wanting to burn effigies of Ulfric in my front yard. However, like Blackwall, we do see him address these issues in my story, which as we know is the only canon taken into consideration for the purposes of this list. 9/10

OVERALL RANKING: 7/10

Beard Daddy #3: Ifan ben-Mezd

The sleeper agent among beard daddies. The fact that more people don’t know he exists is an utter travesty. The warmth of his voice alone as he gently pulls you close and tells you you’re amazing should be enough to make even the most stoic of beard daddy aficionados melt into a puddle of pure Source.

1. Beard Game Fierce and free. Ifan’s beard is practically a companion in its own right; depending on which piece of official art you’re looking at, this is either a good thing or a bad thing. In the right light, Ifan’s beard is wild, graying, and indicative of the fierce heart of the wolf which beats within his manly breast. In the wrong light, it looks like he bought it at the Party Store and pasted it on with Elmer’s glue. However, regardless of that, his hair is nearly always on point. Long and flowing in the breeze behind him as he gazes intensely into the camera, his hair simply says, “I will fuck you, gently, lovingly, and relentlessly.” As for his skin, it may be scarred and wrinkled, but at least it’s not covered in dirt. 9/10

2. Daddyness Unfortunately, we have to take a hit here. Ifan exhibits no real fatherly tendencies throughout the game, though we wouldn’t say he’s in any way unkind or cruel towards children. He never expresses hopes for the future in terms of building a family, and we don’t see him taking any younger members of the party under his wing. His fondness for the elves is something, but he takes on the position of child towards them more so than doting parent. Would he make a good father? Undoubtedly. But so far that’s all we’ve got. 2/10

3. Nobility of Character True, he starts the game as a “Wayfarer” and has the “Outlaw” personality type. But once again, we have a beard daddy who has committed an atrocious act in his past and seeks to atone for it. In Ifan’s case, he was completely and utterly duped, yet he nevertheless feels intense guilt and grief over his actions. His apparently innate desire to stick it to the authorities as well as the gods means he’s no pushover when it comes to fighting for what’s right. And let’s not forget that Ifan ultimately turns his back on the Lone Wolves and seeks to live a more just life. There’s nothing to make us believe that he wouldn’t have our backs no matter what the situation, and once he’s committed himself to my lovely OC, I know it’s the start of something beautiful. Wolves mate for life, after all. 9/10

OVERALL RANKING: 7/10

Beard Daddy #4: King Harrow

This surprise late addition to the harem is not a character in a video game at all; he is, in fact, a character from the animated series The Dragon Prince. Warm, wise, and chock full of dad jokes, there can be no question that he belongs on this list. Sigh, I just really need to make a TDP OC for him.

1. Beard Game A strong showing, but perhaps not as strong as one might thing. Harrow’s beard is nice and thick, but it’s also exceptionally maintained. Yes, a few other beard daddies on this list may have let their beards grow a little too wild, but Harrow seems to have moved too far in the other direction. Still, his hair is absolutely glorious, and his skin looks so soft and supple to the touch (Mmm). Unquestionably visits the royal barber several times a week. 8/10

2. Daddyness IS AN ACTUAL DADDY. Truly, no other beard daddy here can top this. Plus, Harrow has not just one child but two. The younger is his biological son and future king of Katolis. The older is the biological child of his wife whom he has taken under his arm and into his heart and helped raise as if he were his own. Harrow loves his children with all his heart, would undoubtedly do ANYTHING to protect them, and on top of all that is a pretty big dork. The level of dadness in this man is utterly unprecedented—and without equal. 10/10

3. Nobility of Character But every daddy has his weak spot, and this is Harrow’s. We learn throughout the course of the show that Harrow, while suffering from grief over losing his wife, fell under the influence of Viren and agreed to kill the dragon king. Not only was this immoral but it was dumb as hell. He also allowed Viren to practice dark magic, even knowing how incredibly evil and immoral this brand of magic is. And let’s not forget that it was Viren’s idea to steal the heart of an innocent creature, an act which starts a war against the elves, and Harrow went along with it. And despite ALL this, he still considered Viren a friend. The thing is, unlike the three daddies above, Harrow never really go a chance to atone for his actions. However, to play devil’s advocate, Harrow’s entire timeline is basically made up of one grossly immoral act after another. Don’t get me wrong; I adore the man, but he really needed a new best friend. 3/10

OVERALL RANKING: 7/10

And that’s it, folks. Honestly, I thought Harrow would take this, which is why I listed him last, but the more I thought about it (and the more I read the wiki, holy shit) the more I realized this man’s entire adult life has basically been one bad decision after the next. Still doesn’t take away from the fact that he has great hair, great fathering skills, and a pretty nifty crown to top it off. Nevertheless, that leaves Thom “Blackwall” Rainier as our reigning champ among Beard Daddies. All praise his name (whichever one you feel most comfortable using).

#blackwall #thom rainier #ulfric stormcloak #ifan ben mezd #king harrow #harrow #beard daddies

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cuthian · 4 years

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Starting Over Chapter Eight

Alright, this is it!

The next one... the next one is the one everyone's been waiting for, babies. Working on that now, and hopefully will have that done ASAP.

Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies.

Love, Annaelle (& Juulna, who is indispensable and without whom I could never do this).

Chapter Eight

AMERICAN SUPPORT FOR GAY RIGHTS MAY LEAVE AFRICANS VULNERABLE!

By Norimitsu Onishi

LAGOS, Nigeria — Suspicious neighbors and landlords pry into their private lives. Blackmailers hunt for victims on the social media sites they use to meet others of the same sex. Police officers routinely stop them to search for incriminating images and chats on their cellphones.

Since an anti-gay law went into effect last year, many gay Nigerians say they have been subjected to new levels of harassment, even violence. They blame the law, the authorities, and broad social intolerance for their troubles. But they also blame an unwavering supporter whose commitment to their cause has been unquestioned and conspicuous across Africa: the United States government.

“The U.S. support is making matters worse,” said Mike, 24, a university student studying biology in Minna, a town in central Nigeria, who asked that his full name not be used for his safety. “There’s more resistance now. It’s triggered people’s defense mechanisms.”

[…]Four years ago, the American government embarked on an ambitious campaign to expand civil rights for gay people overseas by marshalling its diplomats, directing its foreign aid, and deploying President Obama to speak before hostile audiences[...]Since 2012, the American government has put more than 700 million dollars into supporting gay rights groups and causes globally. More than half of that money has focused on sub-Saharan Africa — just one indication of this continent’s importance to the new policy.

America’s money and public diplomacy have opened conversations and opportunities in societies where the subject was taboo just a few years ago. But they have also made gay men and lesbians more visible — and more vulnerable.[…]other African nations weighing in on the situation for LGBT+ communities in Nigeria. King T’Chaka of Wakanda, a traditionally more reclusive nation, has expressed his intention to set up an outreach center for the at-risk population of Nigeria.

“Love has been considered simply love for centuries in Wakanda,” King T’Chaka said in a press conference, where he announced that his son, Prince T’Challa, would oversee the initial preparations for the center. “If we can help others achieve such calm and such peace in their lives, it is our duty to ensure it will be so. While we appreciate the support of the American government, the time has come for African nations to support each other”—Continued on Page 49

—Norimitsu Onishi, ‘American support for gay rights may leave Africans vulnerable’, The New York Times, 2 December 2015

——————————

Personal floor Of Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 3rd, 2015 – 8:04 AM

Pepper

Pepper barely blinked when Steve opened the door with his hair askew, clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt that had clearly seen better days, with thick bags under his eyes.

“You look like shit,” she told him bluntly, because while she liked him well enough, she was a little grumpy about the fact he’d insisted she come down to his floor so early in the morning. She’d spent far too long throwing up this morning to pretend to be civil, and she was certain Steve would understand.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, opening the door wide so she could come in. “I know.”

She pushed past him and walked into the apartment, stopping only for a moment to raise an eyebrow at the state of it. She’d never known Steve to be exceptionally tidy, but he was certainly not a messy person either—it was, therefore, a big surprise to see the otherwise neat room looking quite chaotic.

There were pillows and blankets strewn across the couches and floor, along with what looked like enough empty snack wrappers to feed a small army—or one supersoldier, she supposed.

“Had some fun?” she asked bemusedly, turning to look at said supersoldier with a raised eyebrow.

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Becca came home last night,” he began, pushing past Pepper to pick up some of the blankets. “She was… well, upset, to say the least.”

Pepper frowned and turned towards the bedrooms, where she assumed Becca was. “What happened?” she demanded, glancing towards Steve concernedly. “Is Thor with her?” Thor and Becca weren’t meant to return to Earth for a few weeks yet, and to hear that Becca had returned, apparently horribly upset, was more than just a little concerning.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I mean, I think he came with her to bring her back and to make sure she was alright, but she told me she didn’t want him to stay, so he left.”

Pepper spun around. “Why would she—”

Steve raised a hand and shook his head before she could complete the question. “Look, I’ve already told you more than I intended to. Becca—Becca should tell you the rest herself. I—” He sighed. “I don’t think I’m qualified to help her in this.”

Pepper pouted, but conceded the point. If it was indeed something personal, then Becca did deserve the chance to tell her herself.

“Is she in her room?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Steve nodded wordlessly, and Pepper sighed before moving towards the bedrooms. Becca’s room was shrouded in darkness still, but she could make out Becca’s still form on the bed, hardly more than a lump of blankets.

“Is she asleep?” she whispered to Steve, who had followed her into the hallway and was leaning back against the wall behind her, looking for all the world like he was about to fall asleep where he stood.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe? She was earlier, but she basically cried herself to sleep, so I don’t—I don’t know if she’s still asleep.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, and Pepper was abruptly struck by how extremely tired he looked.

“Go to bed, Steve,” she told him sternly. “I’ll talk to her. We’ll be fine.”

The fact that he didn’t argue with her, only nodded tiredly before sulking off down the hallway to his own room, only reassured her that he was actually exhausted. She turned towards Becca’s room again, biting her lower lip as she tried to figure out what would’ve had the other woman so upset she’d spent the entire night crying in Steve’s arms rather than her boyfriend’s.

She would’ve assumed it a break-up, if not for the fact that she knew Becca and Thor’s relationship was about as rock solid as any relationship could be. Not only that, but if their relationship had been rockier than they’d shared with anyone else, Pepper was reasonably sure Thor would never have put so much effort into organizing the trip to Asgard.

No, the problem likely lay solely at Thor’s father’s feet.

From what she’d heard, the man had opposed the relationship for almost as long as Becca and Thor had been together, and he didn’t shy away from playing dirty to get what he wanted. She just… she couldn’t imagine what Odin could’ve said or done to make Becca decide to come home rather than stay with Thor—what he could’ve said or done to make Becca insist that Thor leave her alone.

She uncrossed her arms from over her chest and walked into Becca’s room, crawling onto the large bed with the younger woman and wriggling lightly until her head rested on the pillow next to Becca’s.

She remained quiet for a bit longer, listening to Becca’s breathing for a few minutes before she said, “I know you’re awake, Gummy Bear,” she said quietly, smiling a little when Becca huffed in annoyance before she rolled over to face Pepper.

“Hi,” Becca croaked. “Steve call you?”

Pepper nodded. “He’s worried. What’s going on, sweetheart?” She reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Becca’s ear, fingers lingering on the younger woman’s cheek before she dropped her hand to the bed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Becca’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t—I don’t know how to say it.”

“Are you and Thor—” Pepper suggested carefully, but Becca interrupted her before she even finished speaking.

“No!”

Becca blinked, and Pepper thought they were both a little startled by the harsh denial.

“We’re fine,” she continued shakily. “It’s just…” She shook her head again and rolled onto her back, pushing her hand into her messy hair. Pepper kept her eyes on Becca as the other woman tried to collect her thoughts, trying to discern anything that would give her more of a clue as to what could have happened to freak her out this bad.

Becca heaved a sigh and rolled her head to face Pepper again. “I’m pregnant.”

Pepper blinked. “Oh.”

She looked away for a second, abruptly recalling Thor’s casual certainty that the pregnancy he sensed wasn’t Becca’s—clearly, he’d been mistaken there. “How did Thor take it?” she asked carefully, because she wouldn’t ever disrespect Becca by asking if the baby was Thor’s at all.

Becca scoffed quietly. “I think he’s ecstatic. Not that he’s told me that—he’s…” she exhaled roughly, voice thick with tears. “He’s trying so hard not to pressure me, but I—” she broke off and shook her head. “I can’t make this kind of decision on my own.”

She turned towards Pepper again, tears running down her cheeks, and choked, “I don’t want to do this on my own.”

“Oh, Gummy Bear,” Pepper breathed, opening her arms readily to catch Becca when she pitched forward, bursting into tears again. She rubbed her hand across Becca’s back as she sobbed, and immediately understood why Steve had looked so entirely exhausted.

She felt instantly horrible for thinking it, and held Becca a little tighter.

“Maybe you should tell him that,” she suggested softly, running her fingers through Becca’s hair like she’d been doing since Becca was an insecure teenager with a desperate need for a female role model in her life. “He might be a god, but he can’t read your mind, Becs. Maybe he’s scared too.”

“He wants kids,” Becca whispered, not lifting her head from Pepper’s shoulder. “I know he wants them, he’s told me that he does—it just… I didn’t think I… that we would ever…” She sniffed. “After Iraq, I put it out of my mind. No use in wanting what I couldn’t have. And then with Thor, I—it didn’t matter anyway, because we couldn’t. And now I…” she shrugged helplessly. “Now I don’t know what I want.”

Pepper swallowed thickly.

She hadn’t known the full extent of the consequences to Becca’s capture and torture, but she’d known some were long-lasting. She wondered if Tony and Rhodey had known—she supposed Rhodey must’ve known, given he had been with Becca for most of her recovery overseas, and Tony had barely left her side once she’d been returned to the States—and then decided it didn’t matter if they’d known.

All that mattered was that Becca was clearly having trouble processing the pregnancy.

“How about,” Pepper suggested slowly, thoughtfully, “you and I take a few days away. I know this spa that’s perfectly safe for pregnant people—designed for us, really. We can get massages, relax, and you can take the time to think things through, without having the pressure of everyone being there to ask you about it all the time. You can talk to me, or your grandmother, or your therapist, but you don’t have to.”

Becca was quiet for a beat.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “And then I need to talk to Thor. It’s not just my life.”

Pepper sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

“I just,” Becca croaked. “I love him. I don’t want this to break us.”

Pepper tightened her arms around Becca but didn’t say anything. Offering her a meaningless platitude wouldn’t help—she couldn’t promise that this wouldn’t break Becca and Thor. Things like these were deal breakers in relationships for a lot of people, and Pepper couldn’t say if it would be one for Thor and Becca too.

She didn’t think Becca knew if it was one either.

“You’ll figure it out, Gummy Bear,” she said softly. “You’re not alone in this. We got you.”

——————————

BREAKING: “IRON MAN AND CAPTAIN AMERICA ARRESTED BY NYPD OFFICERS FOR DESTRUCTION OF CITY PROPERTY AND RESISTING ARREST.”

4December 2015 — Cities are, of course, as we all know, hard places. Filled with concrete, asphalt, wood and steel surfaces, urban centers manifest their edge physically as well as metaphorically. Much of what makes cities seem unfriendly is not happenstance; they are intentionally engineered to keep us moving. The trick to urban design that creates discomfort, known as “hostile architecture”, is that its tools are hidden in plain sight.

[…]more aggressive forms of such “hostile architecture” have been popping up in recent years, to greater protest of city residents. […]problems with architectures of control is that they don’t discriminate. An uncomfortable bench is as uncomfortable for a homeless person as it is for a tired passerby or for someone looking for a place to read. Moreover […] doesn’t address the underlying problem of homelessness.

They simply shift it from one area to another, or worst still, reduce its visibility.

There have been many widespread campaigns insisting on the removal of such blatant “hostile architecture”, such as spikes and uncomfortable seating areas, if there are any at all. Many celebrities have put their names behind such campaigns, but none have been so blatant about their support as Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, and Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America.

[…]both men were captured on camera as they destroyed several of such spikes and broke off an uncomfortably placed seat divide, constantly insincerely apologizing to the police officers who arrived at the scene shortly after, refusing to move until they had finished thoroughly destroying every spike and every trace of such “hostile architecture”.

[…]NYPD put out a statement saying that they indeed arrested two men in relation to the incident and charged them with property damage, but would release no names with the statement.

[…]James Rhodes was seen exiting the 1st Precinct mere hours after the arrest was made, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Rogers and Stark high-fived behind him. There has been no official commentary from the Avengers Press Team, nor Stark Industries representatives.

—John Michael Kilbane, ‘Iron Man and Captain America Arrested for Destruction of Public Property’, Topic Online Magazine, 4 December 2015

——————————

Tony Stark’s lab, Stark Industries R&D Floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 4th, 2015 – 7:31 PM

Steve

“Uh,” Steve said, swinging his legs idly as he scrolled on his phone, frowning at the small screen in confusion. “Tony. Why is someone called Farhan Zaidi emailing me about meeting with him and a guy called Andrew Friedman at my earliest convenience?”

He was perched on one of the workbenches in Tony’s lab, where they had wisely retreated before Pepper got her hands on them—she was decidedly unhappy about the PR nightmare they’d created when they’d accidentally broken some exceptionally hostile benches and seating areas—listening to Tony’s chatter about something involving his Harley that he should probably be more concerned about.

Last time he’d given Tony free reign to tinker on his bike, he’d ended up with something that could’ve easily doubled as a rocket.

Tony looked up, hair wild and spiked in several gravity-defying directions, a smear of oil or grease on his cheek and grinned. “Because you’re the new owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers, Rogers. Gotta meet with your general manager and your president of baseball operations to talk shop. Financial projections, your yearly contribution to its funds, stuff like that.”

“What?”

Something a lot like panic burned hot in his chest, and he looked up at Tony abruptly. “Tony,” he choked. “I don’t know anything about running a baseball team! Or financial projections! I didn’t even finish high school, and I was terrible at math. I made Bucky do my homework.”

Tony looked up, likely disturbed by the abject panic in his voice, and his expression immediately softened into something more sympathetic. “Hey,” he said, getting to his feet as he wiped his hands on the nearest rag—which Steve suspected was an old band t-shirt. “Don’t worry about shit like that; I was kidding. We got other people to do that kind of stuff, alright? They probably want to meet their new celebrity owner, that’s all.”

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded shakily.

“Think of the children, Steven,” Tony said seriously, although he was barely hiding his smirk, and Steve snorted a laugh despite himself.

There weren’t a lot of things that set him off like this anymore, and most of them were triggers he hadn’t even known he had himself, so he was grateful to all of the other Avengers—and mostly Tony, who had surprised him by patiently showing him coping methods to get through the sudden panic—for not judging him when one came up so suddenly.

“Fine,” he chuckled. “Alright.”

Tony grinned when Steve relaxed, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder with the wrench he was still holding. “Also, I’m totally calling bullshit on you being bad at math—I’ve seen you calculate angles in a split second! You wield that physics defying shield of yours using the power of math, don’t deny it!”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “It’s not math,” he denied. “I mean—I just… I look, and then I know where to throw it and how to hit the wall to make it rebound.”

Tony snorted derisively. “It’s math, Rogers, don’t pretend.”

Steve chuckled and put his phone down, leaning back on his hands. “Sure, Tony.”

Tony just shook his head and retreated to the Harley, and the both of them fell silent for a few minutes before Tony piped up again. “So. You made your boyfriend do your homework. Tell me more, Steven. How did you convince him to do that? Were you able to make a compelling argument?” He waggled his eyebrows and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous expression he made.

“I didn’t have to convince him,” Steve chuckled. “He was a fucking nerd, he loved doing our homework. You realize we’re talking about the same guy that took me on a date to a science fair for fun.” He rolled his eyes at Tony and shook his head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Stark.”

“No can do, mon capitaine,” Tony crowed. “It is my favorite summer home.”

“I’ll be sure to inform Pepper of that,” Steve deadpanned, reaching for the sketchbook and charcoal pencils Tony still denied he bought specifically for Steve, settling in to sketch Tony as he bent over Steve’s Harley again, trying to lose himself in the familiar scratch of the pencil on paper, relishing in the way it helped the buzzing in his head quiet down a little.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Tony tinkering and Steve sketching, but when he looked up again, Tony had moved on to digging a screwdriver into one of his Iron Man gauntlets, frowning at the flickering blue light of the repulsor node as though it had personally betrayed him.

He had several completed sketches of Tony in various poses, and his hand stilled when he realized he’d somehow slipped into a sketch of Howard, bent over a workbench that held several rifles with Bucky by his side, an excited grin on his lips. Steve smiled when he recalled that day—he had been tied up in meetings for most of their stay on base, and Bucky had decided to bug Howard about upgrades to his rifle. Steve had found them six hours later, arguing heatedly about the best guns and the necessary upgrades to Bucky’s slightly alarming and continually growing weapons arsenal.

It’d been a good day.

“That my old man?”

Tony’s voice startled Steve from his reverie, and he looked up to find the man standing right in front of him, looking at the sketch with an entirely unreadable expression.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “Talking guns with Bucky. Constantly trying to make upgrades.”

Tony snorted humorlessly, tossing the rag he’d been wiping his hands on aside carelessly. “Yeah. Figuring out how to make deadly weapons more efficient. Sounds like him alright.”

Steve winced.

He knew that Tony’s relationship with his father had been strained and that Howard had not been the best of fathers to his genius son, but it was difficult, still, to reconcile the memory of the joyous, enthusiastic man he’d known—annoying and arrogant as he may have been, at times—with the cold and callous father Tony described.

“Sorry,” Tony said gruffly, and Steve looked up, surprised.

Tony rolled his eyes at him and sighed. “I’m not entirely without self-awareness, Cap. The man I knew and the man you knew were clearly different people. The war… I think the war must’ve broken him. Must’ve hardened something in him—made him obsessive, angry…” Tony shrugged helplessly. “And he hated me because I wasn’t you.”

Steve looked away and shifted uncomfortably. He’d known that Howard was fond of him and Bucky, had liked hanging around with them, talking like he was part of the Howlies, like he was one of them, even though he was never a part of the fighting, even though he only supplied the weapons and stayed far from the blood-soaked, grueling reality of war.

“I don’t think he really knew me,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t think he saw me, really.”

Tony sighed. “That makes two of us.”

They were both silent for a moment before Tony heaved another, heavier, sigh and plopped down on one of his favored wheelie chairs, rubbing his hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse than it had been already. “Was he gay?” Tony blurted abruptly, and he looked about as surprised by his own question as Steve was.

Nonetheless, once it was out there, Tony seemed determined to continue.

“Do you think?” he added, shifting restlessly on his rolling chair. “I mean, I’m sure you might not know at all, but do you think he might’ve been—do you think that’s why he was so… so obsessed with you?”

Steve blinked, entirely caught off guard by the questions—by the implication—and shook his head.

“I thought,” he hesitated, “I thought he was in love with Peggy. I was surprised to hear he married someone else, when I woke up. That he had loved someone else enough to marry her.” Steve shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, Tony. I don’t think he was gay, though.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know if there was a lot of love between my parents. To be honest, I always kind of figured they got married because she was pregnant with me.”

Steve bit his lip. “I’m sorry that he turned out the way he did,” he offered.

Tony shrugged. “I’m glad you weren’t like he described you,” he finally said, refusing to meet Steve’s eye. “I kind of don’t hate your ass, Rogers.”

“Awe,” Steve crooned at Tony, because he could tell Tony was uncomfortable talking about this, and Steve was nothing if not a bit of an asshole. “I love your ass too, Tony.” He tossed the sketchbook aside and leapt off the table, reaching out towards Tony as if to hug him, relishing in the way Tony shrieked when he realized what Steve was doing, slapping at his hands ineffectively.

“No!” Tony shouted, stumbling off his chair as if it was on fire, skidding around a table to get away from Steve. “Stay there, Rogers! You’ve not unlocked this level of friendship yet.”

Steve smirked before he pouted at Tony playfully. “Awe, Tony. Lemme love on ya a bit, yeah?”

“Nope,” Tony yelled as he fled the lab with Steve on his heels, making obnoxious kissing noises.

——————————

Personal floor Of Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 9th, 2015 – 3:01 PM

Becca

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she exhaled, resting her back against its flat surface for a moment to gather her bearings. The spa Pepper had taken her to for the week had, despite her own expectations, helped to settle her increasingly frantic thoughts, and having Pepper to talk to had helped her sort through her thoughts and feelings about the… about the baby and what it meant for her future—with or without Thor.

She’d even talked it through with Steve a little.

She exhaled shakily and dropped her bag to the floor before crossing the room to collapse on her bed.

“Hey, Heimdall,” she said slowly, feeling a little stupid for essentially talking to thin air, but she figured it was the most surefire way to make sure Thor would get the message. He’d told her, once, that if she needed him when he was on Asgard, she just had to call for Heimdall and he would send for him.

She hoped that was still true.

“Could you—could you tell Thor I want to see him? Please?”

Predictably, there was no answer.

Becca heaved another sigh and kicked off her sneakers before wiggling up the bed until her head was comfortably situated on a pillow. She stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, hands folded together on her stomach, trying to prepare for what she needed to say to Thor when he got there.

She’d… not practiced, per se, more like... gone over what she needed to say with Pepper and Steve, but the prospect of actually having to have a serious discussion with Thor about their future for the first time in their entire relationship was scary. It wasn’t that they’d never had serious discussions, or that they avoided talking about the future entirely, just that…

Just that it was complicated.

It wasn’t just about what they wanted—their relationship had bigger ramifications than just for them. Thor was the crown prince of Asgard, and while Asgard wasn’t a human nation, she imagined their ideas about succession and heirs worked just about the same as they did on Earth.

If they kept the baby… They’d have to find out what that would mean for Asgard, for Thor, for the line of succession, and they’d have to find out how they wanted their relationship to progress from this point forward. She would have to decide if she could live with… with knowing that if she stayed with Thor, she’d be giving him a commitment for the rest of her life, knowing he couldn’t promise her the same kind of commitment.

She hadn’t… she hadn’t really let herself think about it.

She wanted Thor to be happy, of course, and if they did stay together, if Thor outlived her… she wouldn’t want him to have to mourn her forever, but…

It just felt unequal.

It felt unfair to both of them that, even if he’d want to, Thor wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his life with her. She didn’t want it to feel like as much of a big deal as it did, because it wasn’t like this was new, or that she hadn’t known about this from the start, but here she was.

Her hand drifted down without any conscious thought, and she swallowed thickly when her fingers pressed against the slightly more sensitive skin on her lower belly. “I hope you know,” she said aloud, although she felt a little silly for talking to what was essentially a clump of cells at this point, “that whatever happens, your dad is going to adore you. And I… I will too, I think, for as long as I’m here. I just hope you won’t think too badly of me when I mess up.”

“I imagine if our child is anything like you, it could never think poorly of you, Krúttið mitt.”

She sat up abruptly and stared at Thor, who stood in the doorway, hair windblown and messy, dressed in the loose black trousers that he wore to sleep, and a long, red overcoat. He offered her a small, uncertain smile, but made no move to come closer without her say-so.

She swallowed thickly. “Hi,” she offered lamely.

Thor smiled indulgently—though nervously—and replied, “Hi, Becca.”

“I missed you,” Becca blurted, cheeks heating a little as the words fell from her lips—that was not what she’d been meaning to say. She wasn’t sure what she had been trying to say, but it wasn’t that.

True as it might be.

Thor, however, took it in stride and moved into the room, closing the door behind him.

He didn’t move to sit on the bed—their bed—and made to sit in the armchair instead, but Becca suddenly couldn’t stand the distance between them anymore. “No,” she told him abruptly. “No, please, if… you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—can you please sit with me?”

Thor remained still for a moment, halfway between the bed and the armchair, eyes searching hers for… something, before he nodded. “Of course, Krúttið mitt.”

Becca watched, feeling far more nervous about being so close to Thor than she ever had before, as he approached the bed and crawled over to sit beside her. She exhaled shakily and leaned in, pressing their shoulders together—a simple touch that dispelled more of the tension between them than she’d expected it would.

“Have you—” Thor began carefully, “—have you been able to give our… our child some thought?”

She caught the way his hand twitched, and the way his eyes strayed towards her still-flat belly, and swallowed thickly. It took her a moment to decide to move, to decide that she needed to be able to look him straight in the eye while she said what she needed to say—

She sat up again and turned towards Thor, crossing her legs beneath her.

Thor mirrored her position without complaint and reached out to take her hands in his.

Becca swallowed and looked down at their hands for a moment before she said, “I need you to tell me what you want. I know you’ve been keeping your thoughts on… on us, on the baby, on what you really want to yourself because you didn’t want to pressure me with it, and I really appreciate that, but I need to know what you want now.” She swallowed against the tears that burned in her eyes and squeezed Thor’s fingers before she continued, “I can’t make this decision on my own, and I don’t want to either. Whatever we decide to do will have consequences for more than just us, and I think… I think we need to discuss them, at least.”

Thor nodded seriously. “I’ve not said anything to… to avoid putting more pressure on you.”

Becca smiled tightly and squeezed his hands again. “And I appreciate that. I needed the time to process this, and I have, but… I don’t think we can make a decision about this, about the future without talking about the consequences.”

“That is fair,” Thor nodded. “And I… I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t properly considered the consequences yet, but you are right in saying that we should.” He smiled at her and added, “I sense that you have questions—that there are things you need to know.” He squeezed his fingers around hers and swept his thumb across her knuckles. “Ask me what you want to know, elskan min.”

Becca nodded and looked down, thinking. “Would you name our baby your heir? Could you even do that if we’re not married? Do we need to get married—do you even want that? Was that what that dance meant, at the feast? And I mean… How would that even work, with our lifespans? And for that matter…Will the baby have your lifespan or mine?”

Thor blinked, and Becca felt momentarily bad for the barrage of questions she’d unleashed on him, before he chuckled and shook his head. “Never one to do things by halves, are you, Krúttið mitt?”

She smiled sheepishly, and Thor chuckled again before his forehead creased into a frown. “I would name our child my heir,” he said decisively. “There are no definitive laws that state that I cannot, or that I must be married to the mother of said child, although…” He hesitated and looked up at her, “I would not be opposed. I did not think I would ever consider marriage after Loki, but… The intention was what I signified to the people when I danced inn matki munr with you, and I would greatly enjoy making the suggestion a reality—ifyou wanted that too.”

Becca stared at him.

“Oh,” she choked.

She… she wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that. She’d been very careful not to think of their relationship as anything more than temporary because she knew how he felt about marriage after losing Loki, and because it seemed like such an impossibility for an Aesir god to want to marry a simple human.

She huffed.

This was like finding out about the baby all over again.

Maybe she should revisit her coping mechanism of not thinking about things she couldn’t have anyway—it’d blown up in her face twice now.

“Are you sure? she asked quietly. “You could marry an Aesir—someone like Sif. She’s beautiful, and I’m sure she loves you, even if you don’t think so. And I don’t think your father would try so hard to separate you as he does with us. He probably wouldn’t have you sleep in different wings of the palace, and he’d definitely acknowledge her as more than your ‘guest’.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“He’d probably rejoice. He was going to betroth you to her before Loki came along. It’d be so much easier...” she trailed off and looked away from him, her stomach tying itself in uncomfortable knots at the thought of Thor being with Sif instead.

She nearly jumped when Thor’s fingers suddenly touched her cheek lightly, tilting her chin up so she’d look at him. “Perhaps it would be easier,” Thor said frankly, softly. “But it would not be real, Rebecca. Not real like what you and I have managed to build together. I’ve told you before, Krúttið mitt, and I’ll say it again as often as you like: I’m yours. However long you want me for, I’m yours.”

She swallowed thickly, blinking back tears as she looked at him. “What if that’s for the rest of my life?” she whispered, pulling his hand—the hand that was still curled around hers—to her belly, resting it just above where their baby was growing.

Thor rubbed his thumb over her cheek tenderly and smiled. “Then we will work hard to ensure we have the happiest life imaginable. Together.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she smiled weakly. “…and if I want you for the rest of your life?”

Thor’s smile never wavered, even as he leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to her lips. “Then I will find a way to give you that,” he whispered against her lips, resting their foreheads together.

Becca sobbed again, dryly and tiredly, and slung her arms around Thor, hugging him close and allowing him to manhandle her until they were stretched out on the bed together, pressed together from head to toe.

“Thor?” she said quietly, leaning back a little so she could look at him without going cross-eyed. Thor moved back a little too, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and Becca loved him. “I think I want to keep the baby,” she told him quietly.

Thor smiled, leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Me too,” he said when he leaned back. “Me too.”

——————————

Residence of Samuel Wilson, Washington D.C., U.S.A.

December 12th, 2015 – 9:34 AM

Steve

“So are we ever going to talk about it?”

Steve looked up from where he was drowning his pancakes in syrup and blinked at Sam, who was seated across from him at the kitchen island, both of them still dressed in their running gear. They’d gone running early that morning, despite Steve’s late arrival back in D.C. for the weekend the previous night, and Steve had thoroughly enjoyed running literal laps around Sam to annoy the other man.

He’d missed their easy comradery and Sam’s good-natured teasing, and it felt good to be away from New York for a bit. He loved it still—it was his city, after all, the city he’d died to save—and he enjoyed living in the Tower well enough, because he liked being so close to all of the others, but it got suffocating sometimes too.

Sam’s offer for him to stay the weekend had come at the perfect time—now that Becca and Thor had decided on their future, it was like they’d reverted back to the early stages of their relationship, where they were utterly unable to keep their hands off of each other.

Steve was a little tired of walking in on them everywhere.

Things had been a lot less tense at Sam’s place.

Up until now, of course.

“Talk about what?” he asked, innocently blinking at Sam, because he did have some idea of what it was that Sam meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to address it already. Their… their thing was mostly unspoken and Steve had let it be that way because he really did like Sam a lot, and he found him very attractive, but… but he still couldn’t really imagine actually actively being with him.

With anyone.

Sam gave him a flat look, and Steve relented, putting down the syrup and leaning his forearms on the kitchen island. “Sam,” he sighed, looking up at the other man from beneath his lashes. “Do we have to do this now?”

“We have to at some point,” Sam said reasonably. “I’d rather not keep avoiding it until we start resenting each other.” He shrugged. “We gotta talk about what we want this,” he gestured between them, “to be.”

Steve sighed. It wasn’t like they were constantly teetering on the edge of being friends and being more, but there had been plenty of moments where they’d passed firmly into the gray area between friendship and… more. Steve knew they needed to acknowledge those moments, that they couldn’t ignore them indefinitely, but… God, it was just easier to let things happen.

It’d worked well enough for Thor and Becca—who said it couldn’t for him and Sam?

He caught Sam’s eye and sighed again.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “yeah, okay. Look, it’s…” He rubbed his hands across his face and groaned. “I’ve spent the last few days watching my best friend agonize about whether her future would include the man she loved, or if they were just doomed for failure, if it’d be easier on them both if they gave up now—and she picked him. They chose each other, and God, I want that.” He looked up at Sam with watery eyes and smiled weakly. “I want that, Sam. I miss that. And I want more than anything to love someone like that again, but I don’t…” he shook his head. “I don’t think I can, and I don’t think I will any time soon either.”

He was a little surprised by his own expressiveness, but he had been thinking about it for a while, despite his reluctance to actually talk about it out loud.

Sam reached out and patted his hand comfortingly. “Look,” he said slowly, “I never expected you to be able to shrug off the loss of a fifteen-year relationship as intense as yours just like that, man.” He shrugged. “Lord knows it took me forever, and Riley and I had only been together a few years. Maybe our timing’s just… off.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Maybe.”

They were both silent for a bit before Steve continued, “So… I know we said just friends before, but… I really can’t handle more than a friend right now, so can we—can we just go to being friends for real this time? Is—is that okay?”

��Yeah, Steve,” Sam smiled, looking a little relieved, and a little sad. “That’s okay.” He grinned cheekily and added, “That does mean you should probably sleep on the couch tonight though.” Steve snorted a laugh and tossed a strawberry at Sam, who just ducked it and threw one of his own back.

They didn’t usually share the bed, but they’d both been exhausted by the time Steve made it to D.C., and Sam hadn’t made up the couch for him yet.

Steve hadn’t minded the intimacy of it.

He’d been sharing beds with people for as long as he could remember; with his ma and Bucky, and later with the Howlies too, on colder nights during the war—it wasn’t something exclusive to his relationship with Bucky, and it didn’t trigger him so much as other things did.

Steve knew that Sam wouldn’t mind sharing the bed even now, whether they were friends or more, but he could see how it would be awkward tonight. As relaxed and easy and uncomplicated as it had been yesterday, he imagined that being semi-rejected by one’s semi-love interest was something Sam probably needed to wrap his head around.

He could probably do with the privacy.

Still.

Steve was a little shit at heart, and so he couldn’t just roll over and take it. “I’ll wrestle ya for the bed,” he told Sam cheekily, dodging another strawberry neatly.

Sam pointed his fork at Steve menacingly. “I will beat your skinny white ass.”

Steve gaped at him. “I’m a supersoldier,” he exclaimed. “I can literally punch through a wall. I punched a tank once.” He winced at the memory—not because he had actually managed to hurt himself, but because Bucky had been furious with him and had spent over an hour yelling at him after shooting every Nazi in his way in the face.

Sam chuckled. “Irrelevant. I know your weak spot.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, because he was fairly certain no one alive knew about the ticklish spot just above the back of his left knee, but it seemed like an awful big risk to take nonetheless.

“You win this round,” he told Sam reluctantly, and pointed his fork at the other man in a way that might’ve been menacing if there hadn’t been a piece of syrup-soaked pancake speared on its tines. “But watch your back, Wilson.”

Sam just chuckled.

—————————

Undisclosed Hydra Base, New York City, New York, United States of America

December 12

, 2015 – 3:32 PM Alexander Pierce

He watched detachedly as the technicians went through the procedure of thawing the Soldier, catching the man as he fell out of the tube and dragging the limp man across the room and securing him into the chair. Thick metal bands were secured around his wrists and ankles, and Pierce raised an eyebrow when the men went a step further and secured a similar kind of metal harness around the Soldier’s torso.

“A necessary precaution,” one of the doctors told him when he saw his expression. “It’s usually disoriented and violent when brought out of cryo—more so, according to records, when it’s due for new calibration.”

“Very well,” Pierce nodded. “How long will it take to get it operational again?”

The doctor shrugged. “Anywhere between ten and fourteen sessions.” He gestured to the notes he held and added, “According to Zola’s notes from the last time the Asset had to be recalibrated entirely, it took them seventeen months to rebreak him and then recondition him.”

Pierce ground his teeth. “Very well,” he hissed. “Get on with it then.” He turned on his heel, stalking out of the room, the door falling shut behind him just as the doctor began, “Желани—"

To Be Continued in “Dancing in the Rain”.

—————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the sequel HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #starting over #Stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve rogers #thor #Rebecca barnes #avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

2 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsandstuff · 7 years

Text

Three shades of a man (a second chapter)

Summary: You have seen Bucky Barnes at his best and his worst, and he asks you to help him through it all.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY; some mild violence and so much smut. Get out of here if you’re not over 18 please.

A/N: The second story in a series of three. Apparently I like angsty things? Who knew. Can't figure out a tag list just yet because I'm mostly mobile and I'm not good at Tumblr mobile, but will do one for the last chapter, let me know if you would like added. Feedback and comments are always more than welcome.

A/N 2: Yes, I did change the gif so I don’t get censored.

Read Part 1 Read Part 3

MASTERLIST

*****

Anxious, desperate, panicked.

The day was drenched in a silvery grey mist that seemed unable to clear. It blanketed the city, snaking through streets and alleys, finding the cracks and crevices of every building, overflowing into any space it could find. It made you feel restless, itchy, like you were waiting for something to happen.

Two weeks had gone by, since you last spoke to Bucky.

The only communication in that time was a photo he texted, of a deep red sunrise illuminating the craggy black rocks of a mountain range. You didn't know where, or what he was doing, but he liked to send you pictures when he could. He said sunrises always reminded him of you - a beautiful vision that made him open his eyes and keep moving forward. That evening, you responded with a picture of a dazzling sunset, swirls of purple and orange painting the sky. You said sunsets always reminded you of him - an explosion of wild color and brilliant light, a perfect end to the day.

This time it was Natasha who texted. It happened sometimes, if Steve was caught up with something else, but it was rare. When you saw the green bubble pop up on the screen, the words flashed and in that moment, your heart plummeted.

There's been an accident.

You always assumed it was a metaphor, when someone said their blood turned to ice. How very wrong. The feeling of absolute panic, of everything in your body freezing in place, it was stunning and awful and epically real.

Steve's been shot. Twice actually. He's fine, just going to be sore. He asked me to tell you.

The breath you held was released in a rush, and you felt your blood moving again, loud in your ears. Sighing, you text Nat thanks. Steve Rogers is one of the most important people in your life, but right now you hate yourself for the sliver of relief that ripples through you, knowing it was Steve, not Bucky. Stopping to examine that feeling won't make you feel any better about yourself, so you let it go.

You know how Bucky will take this. You've seen it happen when other members of the team were hurt on a mission, but his behavior change is especially potent when it comes to Steve.

Or when it comes to you.

It's early evening, but you slip into sleep clothes anyway, a long sleeve grey shirt and blue sweatpants, enough to keep you warm from the damp air crawling along your floorboards. Throwing a blanket on your lap, you settle on the sofa with a book.

And there you wait.

-----

The knock on your door is short, three quick taps that startle you awake, and a bleary-eyed glance at your phone shows 12:15am. Pressing your palms to your face, you rub the sleep from your eyes, stumbling to your feet and switching on a small lamp to illuminate your path.

You take a deep breath and open the door slowly to find Bucky leaning heavily into the frame, hands gripping the edges to prop himself up, blue eyes focused on his boots. The fog is still thick even in the black night, and wisps curl around his bulky frame, softening his features. His broad shoulders fill your doorway, and every muscle in his body looks tense, making you wonder if he would shatter at the slightest touch. There are dark shadows under his eyes, he looks as though he hasn't slept in days, and you know it's a likely possibility.

Every mark the mission had left was etched into the lines of his face. Panic. Worry. Uncertainty. Exhaustion. He lifts broken eyes to where you stand and his voice is so low, you strain to hear.

The anxious hesitancy in his words nearly breaks your heart.

"Am I - are you - is it okay if I'm here?"

And your voice is firm when you respond with the answer you will forever, without fail, give him.

"Always."

He nods, still watching your face, eyes flickering over your expression. He won't come in the house of his own volition, he still needs you to pull him in before he accepts your answer.

With a small smile, you reach forward and touch the metal fingers gripping the frame, massaging the plates on each individual finger, unlocking them one by one until he releases his grip. Linking your fingers with his, you lead him over the threshold and into your apartment.

Once he crosses the door, he kicks it shut with the heel of his boot and gives up, collapsing against you, and you catch him before you both stumble into the wall. His arms lock tightly around you, his lips press desperately against yours, and here he stops. A simple kiss, he takes long moments to reacquaint his mouth with the taste of your lips, and you melt into the touch.

His eyes are closed when he sighs and finally breaks away, speaking quietly, his lips still touching yours. Heavy unease settles into his syllables.

"Nothing about that went well. There were - screams. So much smoke, bullets hitting glass. I saw Steve get hit - " He pauses, tries to organize his thoughts before continuing. "It - I was - I didn't know what to do."

He sounds surprised, unsure if it's something he's allowed to vocalize. Breathing heavily through his nose, his jaw clenches. You feel his body tightening, can almost see the frustrated panic dripping from him.

He feels helpless, his heart racing, when the words rush out.

"I need you, all of you. Please. Need to be close to you, touch you, taste you, just fucking be inside you. Please."

The final word is a plea, one he never needs to make, but his desperation moves him to it. Both of you know, the skin on skin contact he craved was his best hope of grounding himself when this happened.

It was the only way to bring his anxiety back under control.

Holding his face between your palms, you nudge your nose against his. Eyes closed tight, you breathe in his scent, a familiar smell of sweat and mint and leather, nodding as his words wash over you; it's all he needs to proceed.

Keeping his lips firmly attached to yours, he walks you backward, easily navigating the angles and edges of your home. He doesn't actually kiss you, just needs his lips to be somehow on you. You never know where to begin with his gear, but for him it's second nature and his hands make quick work as he walks, reaching for the snaps, the buckles, the zippers, and he twists and pulls the canvas and leather, shedding the clothing as you shuffle together.

In these moods, Bucky could never get close enough to you, his need for every inch of you to touch every inch of him was so markedly different. Sometimes it felt as though he would burrow under your skin. Disappear into you, to help him cope with everything.

Without a word, his body automatically veers toward the bathroom, stopping in front of the shower doors, and you understand immediately what he wants. Running his hands under your soft grey shirt, tugging it off while you push down the sweatpants you wore. He pauses to simply run his fingers up and down your body, touching lightly here and there, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers caressing your nipples, stroking your stomach, thumbs rubbing circles on your hipbones. It's a touch meant to memorize, not to ravish, and you close your eyes at intimacy of it.

Leaning forward, he opens his mouth against you again, and you hear a faint whimper escape. When you reach for the hem of his black undershirt, he lifts his arms like a child, allowing you to pull it over his head, before he pushes down his black boxers, and kicks them aside.

Reaching for the knobs, you turn the shower blazing hot, steam rising quickly to billow around the small room. Even though his body runs abnormally hot, after all those years spent in ice, Bucky always imagines he's cold, insisting every shower is as hot as humanly possible. When the temperature is right, you slide your hands up his arms, gripping his biceps and guiding him forward. Without a thought, he follows you obediently into the shower, wrapping his arms around your waist, sighing with relief when the pounding spray hits his back.

Resting his forehead against yours, the water blankets you both. Running in steaming rivers between you, dripping from his hair, from your nose, it eases the tension as you stand together. He takes deep focused breaths, exhaling through his mouth, and you drink in his warm breath when it hits your lips. Soothing fingers drift to the thick scars that mar his skin, where metal meets flesh, and you run your fingers reverently over the raised ropes of tissue, turning your head to press gentle kisses down the juncture.

It makes him tremble, that achingly strange touch.

His breath rattles unevenly and suddenly his legs give out. Sinking to his knees, he buries his face in the softness of your belly, arms clutched tightly around your waist. He stays this way, kneeling in front of you, letting the water sluice over him, completely still but for the occasional tremor. Tangling your hands in his wet hair, your nails scratch lightly along his scalp, letting him work his way back out of this.

Tilting his head back to look up, strands of dark hair hang in his eyes, and you brush them back, watching the water runs through the stubble covering his jaw. He presses a kiss right below your belly button, before rising heavily to his feet.

Reaching around you, he flips off the water, and steps dripping onto the rug, grabbing two large towels. Your teeth start to chatter in the cool air and Bucky swings the bath towel around your shoulders, patting you down, carefully drying every inch of skin. He stands in front of you, naked and unconcerned by the fact, intent only on making sure you stay warm.

"You're going to freeze Buck," you chide softly, nudging him to grab his towel, and he gives you a half-hearted smile.

Picking it up, he scrubs it quickly over his long limbs, adding a cursory rub through his hair. Barely dry, he tosses it aside and turns to face you. Heart jumping, you take in the look on his face and without a word, drop the towel and step into his arms. Gripping your ass, he lifts you effortlessly. Looping your arms around his neck and lock your legs tight around his waist, when his lips crash down on yours.

Following the familiar path to your bedroom, he places a knee on the edge of your bed, easing you both into the soft blankets. Pulling back to look at you, Bucky finds an unreadable look in your face.

Opening your mouth to question him, he stops your sentence, licking tentatively at the corner of your mouth, tongue swiping across your lips, trailing down to your jaw.

What was it you needed to ask? You forget.

Tilting your head back, you offer him the curve of your neck, and his breath is hot against your skin as his lips kiss down to find the feel of your pulse. His mouth stays there, tongue pressed to the tiny beat as it flutters.

Bucky thinks then, of soft touches and hummingbird wings.

He continues his exploration down, small open mouthed kisses scattered across your shoulders, his nose tracing the outline of your collarbone when he gently sucks your skin in the hollow beneath. Back and forth, both sides of your body, he tastes the skin again and again, welcoming the familiar flavor, the feel of you shower warm, slick and pliable under his tongue.

Gripping your ribcage, his hands float up to cup your breasts, fingers stroking the soft underside, while his thumbs brush over aching nipples. Pushing your breasts together, he presses his tongue flat in your cleavage and licks slowly up.

Your breath hitches when you hear him groan softly, his tongue capturing the stray droplets of water that cling to warm skin. He rolls his hips unconsciously against you, lips drifting over to capture your nipple. Back and forth he moves, grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth, tugging with his lips, the stubble of his rough beard creating an exquisite friction on your skin.

He could stay there forever and it would be enough. He believes that.

Stroking his hands up and down your body, licking and sucking, nipping with his teeth, your skin begins to tingle. Jolting your hips up, the ache between your legs grows with every swipe of his tongue and you push at his head, begging him to please, please go lower.

Bucky chuckles at your voice, and oh, there it is. The first real sound of happiness he's given tonight.

Giving his hair a tug, he looks up with a grin, before lazily dragging his tongue down your stomach, circling your belly button. Where he licks, he blows warm air, cooling the trail he leaves behind and goosebumps dance across your body.

You love when he does this, when all his attention is focused solely on you, on your pleasure, making sure every single inch is worshipped. He takes his time, an intimate method of coping, when he sets all the anxiety and the panic aside, and loses himself in you.

Heartbeat banging in your chest, it sends a flush of heat through you when he reaches the plane above your aching core and his gravelly voice rumbles with approval.

"God, you smell delicious." He breathes the filthy compliment, and your hands tremble, breath short, as you wait impatiently for him to put his mouth exactly where you need him most.

Catching your thighs, he settles between and pulls them over his shoulders. You can feel his breath, hot puffs teasing against you.

"Please, Bucky. Please."

The anticipation is painful, and you open your mouth to beg again, when Bucky leans in and licks firmly up your dripping pussy. You have no more pleading words, just a long moan of pleasure and you hold tight to his hair, flexing your hips up to his face.

He responds like a man starved, growling his hunger for you, his tongue pushing into your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit. He groans into your pussy, and the deep vibrations make your entire body shake, the feeling starting between your legs, radiating into the tips of your fingers where it snaps like an electric shock.

Trying desperately to spread your legs wider, he catches your thighs and pulls them tight around his head while he works. He relishes the grip you use to keep him in place like this, loves when he can give up control and use you to hold himself down.

"Fuck you taste so good, fucking hell I needed this. I needed this, I need more," he whispers, his voice cracking as he repeats the words again and again, his tongue moving faster on you.

He reaches up and rubs his calloused palm over your nipples, pinching gently when he gives a small suck to your clit. Gasping at the feel, your hands gripping the bed sheets, legs curling around his torso, digging your heels into his back to keep him in place.

Tapping your wrists, Bucky mutely tells you to release the sheets, threading his fingers through yours. Looking up from between your legs, he meets your gaze.

God, the view.

Seeing him there, grinding his hips into the bed, his mouth latched to your clit, his blue eyes dark with lust as he watches you revel in the pleasure he's giving, it drags you so close to the edge. When he flicks his tongue once more, the rush of pleasure breaks and you come hard, body arching up, a long, guttural moan pulled from deep in your chest.

Bucky keeps a firm grip on your hands, his mouth following your cunt when your body moves, continuing to lick and suck, as the shudders roll through your body.

Breathing hard, it takes you a few minutes to come down, and he's so patient, continuing to lap the sweetness from you, wringing tiny spasms when he flicks the tip of his tongue on your clit every few strokes. You're still panting when he gently unhooks your legs from his shoulders, and slides up your body. When his face hovers above, you reach behind his head and slowly pull him down, tasting yourself on his lips. He starts in surprise at the movement, but embraces it instantly, burying his hands in your hair to deepen the kiss.

He only breaks away to raise himself up, using his leg to roll you onto your stomach and stretching your arms above, caging you beneath him. Balancing his weight, he keeps every single inch of his body touching yours, from his fingers, down to the tips of his toes.

Sighing blissfully, you feel his hard length nestled between your ass cheeks, and with his thick thighs, he pushes up to spread your legs further. Blunt fingernails scratch lightly on your skin, and he presses slow, wet kisses in a long strip up your back. Folding his arms on either side of you, he angles his hips so he can feel your cunt, and you try to spread your legs wider to help. Grunting quietly, he rubs himself against you, coating his cock to ease his entrance.

His sweaty forehead presses into your spine, a low groan filling the air when he pushes slowly into you. For a moment, he stops. Allows your body to adjust. Gives himself a chance to feel your tight heat. Rolling his hips, he hears your whimper of approval and starts to fuck you faster.

Shaking lips run across your back, kissing and nipping your skin, the delicate salty taste of your sweat fragrant on his tongue. The erotic flavor makes his cock swell harder, and he snaps his hips faster, eyes narrowing with lust when he sees your ass bouncing with each thrust. Pulling up, he balances on the metal arm, placing his right hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place. Heavy hips slam into you again and again, the new angle letting his cock rub perfectly on that spot deep inside that you desperately need.

He lets out a muffled moan, and you hear his hoarse voice murmuring into your skin, "You feel so good, so good, so hot, so fucking tight, Christ."

You're struggling to breathe, completely overwhelmed by him. By the way he gasps with every thrust, the way his lips burn when they touch you, the way his cock stretches and fills every part of your aching cunt.

How is it possible to be so utterly consumed by someone? It makes no sense. But here and now, Bucky Barnes has completely surrounded you and turned you inside out.

His lips are suddenly in your ear, and his voice breaks slightly when he speaks.

"I need to see your face."

He pulls himself slowly from you and you twist to lay on your back.

There's a moment of silence as you stare up at him, his blue eyes so bright, his hair still damp, a trickle of sweat dripping down his temple. Leaning down, he presses careful lips to cheek, before moving his hips and pushing back into you. Your arms are still stretched above your head, and Bucky reaches up and laces his fingers through yours, linking your hands, palm to palm. Thrusting forward, he finds a new rhythm and you wrap your legs around him, locking your ankles to keep him in place.

Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, you let your eyes slip shut, giving yourself up to the feel of him moving inside you. Pressure builds again, tighter and hotter, and when he thrusts once more, the unexpected pressure on your clit knocks you over the edge and you come again with a sharp cry.

Bucky feels you contract around him, gripping his cock so hard he nearly passes out. He tries to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm, but then he feels you glide your tongue up his neck and bite down on his ear, and that simple connection pushes him over.

With one last hard snap of his hips he lets go, your name falling from his lips, whether profanity or prayer you don't know.

But there you stay, holding him tight against you as he comes undone, a sound breaking from his throat that sounds vaguely like a sob.

With his chest pressed firmly to yours, his face still tucked into your neck, you try to take deep gulps of air. Taking a shaky breath, Bucky raises his head to look down. Through that thin layer of skin, you feel his heart slamming fast staccato beats, so you modulate your breathing, keeping your eyes locked on his, encouraging him to match you.

He stares back, bright blue eyes intent on your face and gradually his heart rate slows. Finds a new pattern, one that beats in time with yours.

Humming to himself, Bucky rolls to his side and pulls you in close, folding you against his chest, dropping light kisses on the top of your still damp hair. Unbreakable steel, his arms wrap tight around you, fingers splayed wide to touch as much skin as possible. Hooking a thickly muscled calf behind your knees, he tries to shift you closer, so you burrow deeper into his embrace. Rubbing your cheek against the dark, bristly hairs on his chest, you smile into his skin, and press a light kiss above his heart.

His muscles finally loosen and relax, but his grip on you never lessens. And it won't. All night long. As your eyes flutter shut, the last thing you hear as you drift to sleep is a whisper, so quiet you're not even sure it was real.

But you hope with all your heart that you heard Bucky Barnes tell you he loved you.

*****

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky fic #smut

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punkpeqqy · 7 years

Text

Rock Your Body

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes Word Count: 1,993 Summary: Bucky has a tendency to take photos and forget about them until he’s drunk. (Idk I can’t think of a summary for this it kinda just happened and idk what it is.) Warnings: alcohol, language (of course) Author’s Note: I, full of caffeine and thirst for Sebastian Stan, texted Katie saying, “Okay but what if I write a Stucky fic based off of Seb’s photo.” This happened.

Bucky started working out, really working out, about four months ago, and he’s finally starting to see results. His biceps are visible (and kind of obvious, if he does say so himself) when he isn’t flexing, and he’s had to buy bigger shirts to accommodate how broad his shoulders are. His forearms are a bit veiny, which he thought would freak him out, but he’s actually starting to like it. His chest isn’t that big, but he’s okay with that. He’s heard the nipple chafing gets to be something awful.

He turns to the side and starts to scrutinize his torso. His waist is small, tinier than it’s been since he was in high school (seven years ago, good god), but in a good way. At least he thinks it’s a good thing. His abs (he has a four-pack now, thank you very much!) are pretty prominent. He faces the mirror head on and flexes. His abs are very prominent. He’ll need to focus more on strengthening the lower part of his core to complete his six-pack, but that’s totally doable. What he has is a start, and dammit he’s really proud of himself.

He should take a picture to commemorate this moment. The first time he’s been this buff in, well, his entire life.

Bucky looks around the locker room, making sure it’s empty. It’s one thing to check himself out in front of other gym-goers, but he doesn’t want to be <i>that guy</i>. He doesn’t see anyone else hanging out by the lockers, and none of the showers are running, so he tugs his joggers down until the band of his underwear is showing, pulls out his phone, and strikes a pose.

He plants his feet about hips-width apart, squeezes his shoulder blades together to make his chest look bigger, and flexes his abs. He holds out his phone in front of him and looks down at it. Yeah. He’s hot. He knew he could get any guy or girl he wanted before, but now, now no one’s off limits.

Bucky snaps a few pictures, planning to send one to Clint (to show off his progress-slash-make him jealous) and Natasha (who will tell him he can do better, which will make him push himself harder). He takes a few serious ones, his sexy smoulder (Clint’s words, not his) in place, and then a few more where he’s flexing and dicking around. He likes selfies, he just can’t help it. He looks that good.

Once he’s satisfied, he sends the photos to his friends, puts his phone away, showers, and leaves the gym.

---

Bucky forgets about the photos. He does that a lot, takes selfies (well any pictures really) for ‘really important reasons,’ and then forgets they exist.

Until he’s drunk.

He, for some unknown reason, loves to look at photos on his phone when he’s drunk. Natasha thinks it’s hilarious, especially when he’s borderline wasted and starts getting nostalgic about things he doesn’t even really remember all that well.

Tonight’s drunk-Bucky-nostalgia-photos are the gym selfies.

“Natasha, did you see my abs?” He scrolls through the photos, too fast to really see them, while shoving his phone in his friend’s face. “Did you really see them?”

Natasha snorts and moves her hair out of her face before grabbing his phone. She’s just as drunk as he is (he thinks), but she’s a more composed drunk. “You sent me one, remember?”

“I did. But did you really see?” Bucky reaches over and zooms in on his left bicep. “It’s bulging, and I’m not even doing anything but holding my phone.”

“How drunk are you?”

Bucky sits up and tries to pretend to look affronted. He doesn’t think it works. “Excuse you.”

“It is a nice bicep.” She puts down his phone and squeezes his actual arm. “Very firm.”

“Thank you.” Bucky looks at his pictures and sighs. “Clint didn’t appreciate them the way he should have.”

“He quadruple texted you. With emojis.”

Bucky gestures for the bartender to bring them another round and turns back to Natasha. He opens his mouth to say something when he catches sight of the person on her other side. He’s tall, a few inches taller than Bucky, blond, and built like a fucking wall. He could bench press Bucky. No. He could probably bench press two Buckys. Bucky, for some inexplicable reason (alcohol), thinks that this man, this complete stranger, would appreciate his gym selfies.

“Switch seats with me,” he stage whispers.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. She probably noticed the guy when he first sat down, and she definitely knows what he’s up to. The man’s facing the bar, but his head is turned towards the person (Bucky assumes there’s a person there, but he can’t see what’s going on because the man is that beefy) on his other side. He’s relaxed, and holding a half-full beer, and his body language suggests that he wouldn’t punch Bucky for interrupting.

Yeah, he’s totally going to show this guy his selfies.

“You’re drunk.” Natasha finishes off her fifth (sixth?) drink and moves it away from her.

“Most definitely.” Bucky can’t argue with that. Alcohol always makes him brave, though. He likes to think he’s a pretty confident person, but this guy, from what Bucky can see, is totally way out of his league (or straight), and he wouldn’t have the balls to approach him sober. So yes, he’s drunk, but he really wants to show this guy his gym selfies. If anything, the guy can give him some pointers. Bucky still needs two more abs to complete his six-pack.

“Well, I probably can’t talk you out of it.”

“Nope.”

“Fine, but I’m totally recording this and showing it to Clint.”

“Fair enough.”

They switch seats, which ends up being much more complicated than it should be. Bucky almost falls off the barstool, and Natasha tries to keep him upright, which means that she almost falls over, too, because even though it doesn’t seem like it, she’s just as drunk as Bucky is. There’s a small commotion and far too much drunken laughter. They’re loud enough that the blond guy looks over, amusement on his face, and Bucky almost falls off the barstool again.

This guy is beautiful. He’s built, and he’s beautiful.

Bucky doesn’t think that he has the confidence to talk to this guy, even this drunk. He’s too far out of his league, and he just watched Bucky make a complete ass out of himself.

But he’s smiling. The blond’s smiling at him, and it’s a real smile. His blue (and Bucky means blue) eyes are crinkling, and his mouth is open wide. Bucky can’t help but smile back at him.

“Hi,” he says.

“You okay over there?”

Bucky looks confused for a second, and then he realises the man’s talking about him almost falling off the stool, twice. “Yeah, I’m good. I just wanted--” He pauses, and the guy looks at him expectantly. “I wanted to be closer to you, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” The man turns away from Bucky for a second, and Bucky’s eyes go wide. Maybe he was too forward. Maybe--

The blond turns back around, a small smile on his face. “Sorry, I had to tell my friend something. I didn’t want to be rude.”

Bucky almost faceplants on the table. Of course this guy’s also polite. “What did you tell him?”

He turns so his entire body’s facing Bucky, and he takes a long drink of his beer. Bucky can’t help but watch his adam’s apple move as he drinks. “That I’m going to be busy for a bit.”

“Really?”

“Mmmmm. So, why did you want to be closer to me?”

“Well,” Bucky takes a sip of his drink, which seems to have magically appeared in front of him. He makes a mental note to thank Natasha later. He uses the time to think about what he wants to say. Now that he’s seen the guy, and he’s made it obvious that he’s interested, Bucky doesn’t want to screw things up with a fucking selfie. Maybe he should actually talk to him, get to know him. “Honestly? You’re really attractive. I was going to try to chat you up. Then you told your friend what you’re up to, and now you’re really attractive and not an asshole, so I want to get to know you.”

The guy looks at him and smiles, so Bucky thinks that was the right call. “I’m Steve.”

“Bucky.” Bucky holds out his hand, and Steve shakes it. Bucky doesn’t let go. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

---

“Steeeeeeve,” Bucky practically yells from the other side of his apartment. He’s got his phone out, and he’s grinning like an idiot. He found something, and he needs to show Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve calls back, making his amusement obvious.

“I need to show you something.”

“So come over here and show me.” He’s sitting on the couch, the space next to him empty. Bucky was sitting there earlier, but then his cup was empty and, well, he can’t have that.

Bucky makes his way back into the living room, his phone in his hand and opened to his photos. He’s been dating Steve exclusively for six months now, and honestly he has no idea how Steve doesn’t know about what Clint has recently dubbed ‘Drunken Nostalgia Photo Time.’

He’s about to learn.

Bucky flops down into the empty space next to his boyfriend, and Steve’s arm immediately goes around him. Bucky sighs and scoots closer, happy to be pressed right up against his boyfriend. Steve, for all his bulk, is actually comfortable, and Bucky takes advantage of it every single chance he gets.

“What did you want to show me?” Steve prompts as soon as it’s obvious that Bucky would rather try to crawl under his skin than do what he came over to do.

Bucky unlocks his phone and turns to Steve with a smile. “Remember when we met?”

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t all that drunk.”

“Oh, good.” Bucky wasn’t all that drunk, either, but he was definitely not sober.

Steve laughs and kisses Bucky. “What about it?”

“I remembered why I wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you told me why you wanted to talk to me,” Steve teases.

“Well yeah, but there’s a different reason.”

“What’s the reason, Buck?”

Bucky shoves his phone under Steve’s nose. “I wanted to show you these.”

Steve takes the phone out of his boyfriend’s hand and looks at the photo. It’s one of Bucky’s sexy smoulder gym selfies, the one that makes his biceps look the best. Bucky watches Steve look at it, watches as his eyes move from Bucky’s face to his shoulders and then down to his abs.

“You wanted to show me these?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you for gym advice.”

Steve turns to face Bucky and says, slowly, “You were going to ask me for gym advice.”

Bucky nods. “Yep.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I decided to ask you out instead.”

Steve frowns, and for a minute Bucky thinks he messed up. He opens his mouth to say something, to try to figure out how to take it back, when Steve laughs and pulls Bucky to sit on his lap. “You were going to ask me for gym advice.”

“I was--”

Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. “God, I love you.”

Bucky pulls back, eyes wide. “You love me?”

“Yeah, Buck, I do. Douchey gym selfies and all.”

Bucky settles himself fully on his boyfriend’s lap. Steve <i>loves</i> him. He didn’t fuck up. “I love you, too, Steve.”

(I’m only tagging the people who said they wanted to read it because I’m lazy af.) If you want to be added to my tag list, or if you have any prompts, or if you just want to talk, send me an ask!

@stasispunkrogers @callingmrsbarnes @amrita31199 @aliright @buckysbackpackbuckle @th3wintersmolder @steve-rogers-is-a-radical-woman @polizwrites @fandomlifeuniverse @kiwi71281 @wintxrbucky @roguebucky @malffoy @bebbyt @notasgeekyasidlike @rogersxbarnesx

#stevebucky #stucky #stevebucky fic #stucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #mine

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thewarlocksbitch · 7 years

Note

ur smut is amazing could you do a malec or pynch fic where they make a sextape?

It was possible that Ronan had come up with the mostbrilliant idea in human history.

Adam disagreed.

Ronan suggested it, nonchalantly and when they were with therest of their friend group so Adam couldn’t outwardly freak out, almost a weekago, a month after Adam had cemented the date he’d be moving into his dorm anda little less than a month after Ronan had come up with the idea. Adam, let’s make a sex tape before youleave.

In that moment, Adam did not react except for a quirkedeyebrow (and perhaps a fair amount of blushing). He was interested, at least.That was enough encouragement for Ronan; throughout the following week hegently wheedled and whined, preaching to Adam his deep interest in the subjectand stoically enduring Adam’s refusals: Youknow I’ll visit often. What if Noah or Gansey sees it? You don’t even know howto use a tv, Ronan.

But he hadn’t yet saidno.

It was Thursday night. Gansey and Blue had gone with Henryto a drive-in movie the local library was hosting, the invitation to whichRonan had turned down with an amount of scorn so lethal Gansey had banned himfrom being within ten feet of Henry until the foreign add-on recovered. Opalwas sleeping over with Noah at Monmouth and Adam was working late, so Ronanspent the evening leisurely and lovingly doing his chores around the barnswhile Chainsaw flapped around him and he later fell asleep on the worn couch inthe dusty moon-lit living room.

He woke to a text from Adam. You up? Ronan’s glaring phone screen told him it was just aftereleven.

Ronan propped his elbows and chin on a pillow and typed outa reply with some difficulty, as his brain was still sleep stupid and his eyesunfocused. Always. you coming to thebarns?

Adam’s reply was instantaneous. do you have that camera with you?

Ronan’s heart surged. Yes, he had the camera.

Adam must have assumed, because Ronan’s phone chimed againbefore he could type a reply. I’m on theway over

Ronan let the phone slip from his fingers to the floor andhe crushed his face into the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried tocount the pace of his pulse in his ears. He was awake and alive and alive.

_______

Ronan couldn’t have possibly fallen asleep waiting for Adam;his heart was currently in a state that his brain deemed untrustworthy enoughto not keep conscious watch over. He untangled himself from the old quilt hehad grabbed off an always rocking-rocking chair and got the camera from theBMW. He’d kept it in there for two reasons; firstly, he hadn’t known where he’dbe when Adam agreed to make the tape; secondly, Ronan would never tire ofhaving Adam on top of him in the car, and he’d been half-hoping Adam wouldsuggest they film pressed close in the back seat. Ronan wasn’t going to pushthings, though. He knew Adam preferred the comfort of a couch or bed and he wasmore than happy to give him that.

Ronan made his way back into the house and let the door hangopen behind him; he wanted to smell the nighttime. At night, the barns held adifferent kind of magic, oversaturated by how loudly sounds were heard in thesilence and by the comforting press of shadows. Everything around Ronan feltlike his father, all of it created in the image of his mother. The mismatchedrugs, the chipped mugs that hung by a keychain hook above the sink, theswinging Edison lights and shimmering potted plants.

Ronan surveyed theliving room. It was lit mostly by translucent strips of moonlight that snuckpast the heavy curtains half covering the bay window, and a trivial amount oflighting came from glow in the dark stars stuck to the far wall; those wereMatthew’s. It was okay, Ronan guessed. He knew fuck all about the aesthetics offilming. He checked the grandfather clock ticking quietly in the corner andturned for the stairs.

He took them two at a time to his old/current room to see ifit was the better option. He set the camera down on his dresser and sunk ontothe tiny bed. This was where he and Adam had first kissed. That first kiss, inRonan’s mind, was all light and whimsy, akin to the room it had taken place in.That kiss was as soft as the well-loved blankets that now lay rumpled at thefoot of the bed, as cautious and as strange as the dream objects Ronan hadhidden under it, fearful of what they meant. That kiss was as central to whoRonan was as this room and the entirety of the barns was. That kiss owned thisroom. Also, the bed was almost ridiculously small. And Adam liked to sit on theporch after sex, sometimes. Ronan took the camera and tiptoed back down stairs.

He stopped at the base of the staircase, more startled thanhe usually would be when his heart wasn’t already racing. Adam stood in thedoorway, sliding his thin jacket off and nudging his shoes to the wall with hisheel. He looked across the room at Ronan and smiled. “Too excited to put thatdown?” he asked.

Ronan grinned and closed the distance between them. Hegrabbed Adam by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his mouth. “Come here,shithead,” he said softly. Adam melted against him, his mouth cold from outsidebut quickly warming as he opened it and let Ronan slip his tongue in. His handsfluttered up, one coming to hold the back of Ronan’s neck and the other goingto the waistband of his sweats.

“Wait,” Ronan rasped, reeling away. He scanned the room,trying to remember where he’d left the tripod.

“What?” Adam huffed, sounding just a little annoyed.

“I need to set up the camera.” The tripod was leaningagainst the couch. Of course it was. Ronan grabbed it and stood it up.

“I was just going to take your clothes off!” Adam said, butthere was as much fondness in his voice as there was irritation. He went tostand behind Ronan and hooked his chin over his shoulder.

Ronan secured the camera and clicked it on. “How many actionmovies have you seen that start in the middle of a scene? We need some buildup.” He pressed record and aimed it at the couch.

Adam let out a low breath against Ronan’s neck and slid hishands over his chest, hiking his shirt up slightly. “Do you have anythingespecially kinky planned?” he asked sweetly. The drawl in his words wentstraight to Ronan’s cock.

“Call me a romantic,” Ronan said, embarrassingly shakily,“but I was kind of hoping you would just fuck me into the couch.”

Adam dropped his hands to Ronan’s hips and bit into hisneck. “Can I take your clothes off now?”

“Yes,” Ronanpractically whined, and Adam pushed him onto the couch.

Adam was on him immediately, rubbing his palm hard overRonan’s tented sweats and leaning down to suck at his neck. “When you watch thevideo of us, will you call me?” he asked, and slid his hand under Ronan’s boxers.Ronan gasped at Adam’s hand wrapping around him and jerked his hips up into thetouch. “When you jerk off to it, will you sound this hot for me?”

“I will,” Ronan said, “Adam, I’ll-“

“Let me hear you now,” Adam murmured, Henrietta accent heavyon his tongue. He pushed Ronan’s shirt up high on his chest and kissed down historso, his mouth hot and wet.

Ronan half sat up and pushed a hand into Adam’s hair,staring at the dusty strands pooling over his knuckles. He ran his hand throughit slowly, then caught at it with a gasp when Adam bit down at the indentationof his hip. Adam smirked and pushed Ronan’s sweats down just enough to pull hiscock out. He leaned to the side to give Ronan and unobstructed view of himsmearing precum down the length of the shaft with his thumb, tendons in hiswrist flickering. The light brown freckles dotted across the back of his handwere just visible in the scarce lighting.

“Fuck, Adam,” Ronan mumbled unconsciously, staring at Adam’shand so intently that he didn’t realize what else Adam was doing until he hadgrabbed Ronan round the waist and tugged him further down the couch.

Ronan’s elbow slipped out from under him and he fell back.Adam crawled up to straddle his hips and tugged at Ronan’s shirt. “Take thisoff,” he said, punctuating each word with a slow roll of his hips againstRonan’s. Ronan obeyed as quickly as he could with shaking hands, and then Adamwas on him, fingers curled over Ronan’s jaw and his teeth teasing his bottomlip.

Ronan pushed his hand into Adam’s hair again and tugged hardthis time, making Adam moan into his mouth. Ronan’s heart surged; he couldprobably come just from the noises Adam made alone. He dipped to mouth at theunderside of Adam’s jaw, down his neck, at the base of his throat. He pulledAdam’s head back and pushed as far down into the neckline of his shirt as hecould, feeling the warmth of Adam’s skin against his flushed cheek.

Ronan drug his mouth back to Adam’s lips, biting this time,and he caught Adam’s keen gasp in his mouth. He moved his hands to Adam’s hipsand pulled him down hard against his lap, himself much more affected by themotion than Adam, who was a thousand times less sensitive because of hisclothes.

“Parrish,” Ronan mumbled, his words muffled against Adam’smouth. He slid Adam’s shirt up, gliding his palms over the curve of his stomachand ribs. Adam shivered. “Wanna get your clothes off.”

“No.”

“No?”

Adam put both hands against Ronan’s chest and pushed Ronandown onto his elbows. He leaned down and kissed Ronan with bruising force, justfor a second, and then he was kneeling over Ronan’s thighs and tuggingdeterminedly at his sweatpants. Ronan stared at him. Adam was fully clothed,but the way his cheap white t-shirt clung to his shoulders and rode up on hisstomach and the way his light-wash jeans strained over his thighs left verylittle to imagination. His uncombed hair, released from Ronan’s death grip,stood up in disarray towards the back. Ronan reached forward to brush his bangsaway from his face.

“No hands yet,” Adam said, catching Ronan’s wrist andholding it down against the couch.

Ronan wasn’t going to say something as embarrassing as “Iwas just trying to see your freckles”, especially when he was being recorded,so he merely whined and tried craning his neck to see instead.

Adam’s face became more hidden as he began to kiss theinsides of Ronan’s thighs, Ronan’s sweats and boxers successfully caught aroundone ankle.

“Ah,” Ronan breathed, a little helplessly. Adam’s handtightened around his wrist.

Adam ran his other hand up Ronan’s thigh and pushed it offthe couch; he raised himself up onto his knees as he grabbed Ronan’s other legand carefully placed it over his shoulder.

“Could you hand me that pillow behind you?” Adam askedRonan, releasing his wrist. Ronan did as Adam asked, heart pounding at the heatin Adam’s eyes. “Lift your hips,” Adam said, and he placed the pillow underRonan and gently pushed him down.

“Adam,” Ronan said, and this time Adam understood. He lacedhis fingers through Ronan’s and let Ronan hold their joined hands on hisstomach.

“You’re beautiful, Ronan,” Adam said, and he spread Ronan’sass with his eternally distracting hands, and pushed his mouth between them.

Ronan moaned, loud and unabashed, as Adam flattened histongue against his entrance and squeezed him. Adam slid his hand down to Ronan’sthigh and tugged him closer, making Ronan know without a doubt that if he werestanding up, he would’ve fallen over. Adam slowly began to lick him open, thewet heat of his tongue and the weight of his gaze on Ronan more than enough tomake Ronan completely let go of his self-awareness and press to Adam’s mouth,his hands, pushing into every good feeling Adam gave him.

Adam let go of Ronan’s thigh and reached up to put hispointer and index fingers against Ronan’s lips. He didn’t lift his head to ask;he knew Ronan understood. Ronan sucked Adam’s fingers into his mouth, lovingthe way hollowing out his cheeks made Adam’s wrist twitch. He let his head fallback and he grabbed Adam’s wrist with his free hand, partly to steady himselfbut mostly so that Adam wouldn’t pull away yet.

He licked Adam’s fingers, eyes closed, and Adam moaned, thesound and the shakiness of his mouth sending a chill up Ronan’s spine. Ronangasped and angled his hips up, sucking hard on Adam’s fingers, and Adam pulledhis hand away. Probably it was for the best; the both of them were already tooexcited. Ronan was so hard it hurt.

“I want you in me, Adam, I–” Adam pushed a wet finger intoRonan, still eating him open. He lifted his gaze to Ronan’s face and Ronan felthimself flush from his ears to his toes. Adam curled his finger inside Ronan,watching him, the movement practiced and perfect but not enough. Ronan already felt plenty wet and open, and he wasimpatient enough to moan out, “Three. Put three in.”

Adam quirked a brow but didn’t lift his mouth to sayanything. He pushed another finger in, angling it beneath his tongue.

“Adam,” Ronanwhined, covering his face with both hands and rolling his hips down, “Fuck me.”

A sound like a growl left Adam’s throat and he shoved hisfingers in, hard, letting Ronan arch off the couch. He grabbed Ronan’s thigh tokeep it from crushing his neck, nails digging in and leaving colorless crescentmarks. He turned his head and pressed his cheek against the pale skin of Ronan’sthigh, heaving breaths and staring at his fingers as they pumped in and out ofRonan. “You’re too tight,” he said, but he pushed a third finger in. Ronan’ships jerked and he pressed his palms into his eyes. “Just relax,” Adam said,kissing Ronan’s thigh, his voice soft and his mouth hot; without a visual Ronanwas even more affected than usual; usually he couldn’t help but stare at Adam,but right now he wasn’t sure if he could endure that, too. Adam curled hisfingers inside Ronan slowly, angling them against his prostate for the firsttime. Ronan gave a full body shudder, heat flooding his chest, and Adam’sfingers withdrew almost fully. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Please,” Ronan said, voice hoarse. He pushed himself halfupright and threaded shaking fingers through Adam’s hair; it was pretty tanglednow, thanks to Ronan, but it hadn’t been neat in the first place anyways. Ronanhung his head. He wasn’t past begging, but he couldn’t quite bear looking Adamstraight in the eyes when he was already so ruined. “Adam, just watching thislater is going to kill me. I need you inside me. Please.” The last word wasbarely a breath.

Adam’s fingers slowed. “How?” he asked, voice contemplative.

“What?” Ronan lifted his head. Adam was watching him with aplacid expression, little attention paid to the movements of his wrist. “How-how do you fuck me?”

Adam smiled. “How do you want me to fuck you?” He crawledforward, his fingers completely withdrawing and leaving Ronan feeling empty.Adam placed his other hand over the base of Ronan’s throat and leaned in tomouth at the underside of his jaw. “You can get on all fours and I can take youfrom behind,” He bit down; there’d definitely be bruises later. “Or maybe I’lltie your wrists up and shove your face into the couch. You like that, don’tyou? I know you do.” Ronan reached down and palmed Adam through his jeans,incredibly bothered by the fact that he was still fully clothed. Adam hummedinto Ronan’s skin and pushed into his hand. “But then… I really love having youon your back like this. You look so pretty, and I can get so deep when yourlegs are over my shoulders…” Adam ran his other hand lightly up Ronan’s chest,fingertips grazing over his nipples and raising chills on his skin. Ronanyanked at the button of his jeans, arms straining. Adam let out a shaky breath.“What do you think will be hotter?” he asked. “What do you want to see?”

“Anything,” Ronan rasped. Adam talking to him like that lefthim feeling a little dazed, and getting Adam’s jeans off in this position washard enough. Ronan managed to get the zipper down but gave up there and movedhis attention to Adam’s shirt. “Anything, Adam,” he said again, pulling Adam’sshirt up. “Whatever you want, I’ll–” Adam clamped his hand down over Ronan’smouth, smiling. Ronan could have kept talking, but he went quiet and let Adampush his neck back. Once Ronan’s eyes were trained on the arm of the couchbehind him Adam started to trail his hand down, fingers brushing over his lips,across his jaw, down the line of his throat, barely there. Ronan twisted hisfists in Adam’s shirt, fully aware that he was making embarrassing noises butunable to stop.

“I think I’ll take you like this,” Adam said quietly, hispalm sliding over the span of Ronan’s chest; Ronan’s skin warmed beneath it.“At least at first.”

He got up suddenly, and Ronan raised himself up onto hiselbows to watch him pull his shirt over his head. He stood in the slim spacebetween two planes of moonlight, caught in shadow. The muscles in his back slidunder his skin and flexed in his arms as he bent to push his jeans and boxersdown. A small, distracted part of Ronan’s brain thought to make sure Adam wasin front of the camera, because he’d definitely want to see this again – the dusty frecklesdecorating Adam’s shoulders and back clearly visible, his erection flushed andcurled against his pale stomach, the mess his hair had become falling over hisface and hiding almost all of the redness on his cheeks – the more productiveside of him thought to reach for the lube and box of condoms tucked into hisjacket on the floor.

Adam stepped out of his jeans and then he was on Ronan, histongue in Ronan’s mouth, his hands spread over his thigh and hip. Ronan leanedup into the kiss, sighing into Adam’s mouth, shaking under his hands. Adam wassolid and warm against him. Ronan tore a condom open and wrapped a hand aroundAdam’s cock. Adam hadn’t been touched yet, not really, and the moan he breathedinto Ronan’s mouth was loud and uninhibited. Ronan stroked him a few times,spreading the thick layer of precum down Adam’s shaft and smiling as Adambucked into his hand.

Adam turned and pressed his face into Ronan’s neck. “Put iton,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into Ronan’s skin. Ronan slid it overhim, then jerked Adam with his slick hand for good measure until Adam growledand pulled him farther down on the couch so that he was laid flat on his back,his legs resting on Adam’s thighs and wrists pinned above his head by Adam’shand.

Adam ran his other hand down Ronan’s chest, pressing thebreath out of him. His stare was intent as he trailed his fingers down Ronan’sthigh and spread his legs a bit more.

“Shit,” Ronan said breathlessly, “we could be porn stars.”

Adam pinched his lips between his teeth and nodded,thoughtful. Then his face went still, lips open on a slow breath and his eyesfocused. He let go of Ronan’s thigh and wrapped his hand around himself, andafter a nod from Ronan he leaned on Ronan’s wrists as he slowly slid into him.

Ronan immediately arched up, trying to press himself againstAdam. Adam met him halfway, and Ronan felt himself stretch to accommodate himas he bit at Ronan’s ear and murmured, “You’re definitely pretty enough to beone.”

Ronan let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Helistened to Adam, tried to synch his breaths to Adam’s slightly steadier ones.Adam’s weight shifted as he put some of it onto his arm by Ronan’s head, hisother hand still firmly holding Ronan’s wrists down. Adam kissed across histhroat, helping Ronan to relax; Ronan could feel the fast beat of Adam’s heartwhere their chests pressed against each other.

Adam rubbed his thumb along the sensitive inside of Ronan’swrist and nipped at the juncture of his jaw. He rolled his hips a few times,slow, and Ronan moaned. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Ronan made some sort of sound, not wanting to waste hisenergy with words when it felt so much better to pull at Adam’s hold on hiswrists and angle his hips up to meet Adam’s still ones.

“A yes, then,” Adam said, sucking a bruise into his throat.He pulled back, sunk his teeth into Ronan’s neck, and slammed back in.

Adam took advantage of Ronan’s immediate boneless-ness bysliding his hand along Ronan’s thigh and carefully setting it over hisshoulder, then doing the same to the other, all the while slowly rocking intoRonan and sucking at his neck.

He pushed Ronan into the couch, gripping his wrists hard andkeeping himself at just the right angle. Ronan dug his ankles into Adam’s backand happily let himself be folded almost in half; the way Adam was fucking him,he could probably touch Ronan’s knees to his shoulders with just a little moreeffort. Adam kissed Ronan’s flushed cheek and then bit at his swollen lips,teeth teasing. Ronan shivered and he kissed Adam back, closing his eyes andurging Adam on with flighty breaths and moans. He felt himself clench aroundAdam, and the rest of his body reacted; his stomach twisted with heat, hislungs seized, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Adam was everywhere.

Adam slowed, and the tide in Ronan sloshed inside him,unable to spill over. He leaned away from Ronan’s mouth, barely kissing him,and Ronan opened his eyes to see Adam’s staring back at him. Ronan struggledfor a moment to clear his mind and focus on Adam. He wasn’t sure if the heat hefelt was from the blood rushing under his skin or just from Adam’s closeness.

Adam smiled at Ronan and went to bite at his neck. He rolledhis hips gently, and one arm pressed down on Ronan’s abdomen to keep him from tryingto meet Adam’s thrusts. Adam smiled into Ronan’s skin. “You’re not gonna comeyet, are you?” he asked, his words drowning in his Henrietta accent. “Hasn’tbeen that long, has it?”

Ronan squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s unfair,” he said,barely more than a whisper. “When you finger me and eat me out like that, youcan’t–” Adam slammed into him hard, lighting up every fuse inside Ronan. Ronangasped out, “You can’t just–”

“Ronan” Adam murmured, and he was back to his slow asmolasses movements, “I think I can.”He kissed Ronan’s racing pulse point and started to move faster, his hipssnapping. Ronan tipped his head back, letting Adam’s mouth drag over his throatand letting Adam bury him in the couch. He dug his ankles into Adam’s back ashard as he could, using the only leverage he could to get Adam impossiblydeeper inside him—

Ronan gasped loudly, the feeling overwhelming him easilybecause he couldn’t do anything with it; his hands were trapped above his head,and Adam’s face was buried in his neck. Ronan twisted under Adam, meeting hisnext thrust and making him moan into Ronan’s neck. Ronan tried straining hisarms again, but Adam held tight. Ronan growled. “Kiss me, you asshole.”

Adam laughed; Ronan was infuriated at how fond he was of thesound, and of the feeling of Adam’s chest shaking against his. Adam pepperedgentle kisses up Ronan’s jaw and settled on his lips with a happy sigh. Ronankissed him with all he had, sliding his tongue along Adam’s and pressinghimself to him as best he could. Adam was holding back still – his thrusts werehard like Ronan liked them, but they were lingering and almost languid, and hislips moved against Ronan’s sweetly instead of pulling back to bite – and Ronanknew Adam was loving every second of it.

The thought of watching this later – of what they lookedlike right now – and seeing himself writhe under Adam while Adam’s beautifulhands held him down and his mouth kept him in check was almost enough to makeRonan concede.

But Ronan had never been a patient person, especially withAdam. His thighs trembled on either side of Adam’s neck.

“Let me ride you,” Ronan whispered to the ceiling.

Adam’s breath stopped, made more noticeable by comparison tohow he had been gasping into Ronan’s mouth two seconds ago; Ronan smirked atfinally breaking Adam’s composure, and he knew Adam felt it.

But Adam didn’t call him out on his deceitfulness. He justlet out a shaky breath and said, “Fuck, okay.” He kissed Ronan hard, lips bruising,every bit of his control thrown out the window. He bit down hard on Ronan’s lipand pressed Ronan hard into the couch, but his hands were gentle as he slidRonan’s legs off his shoulders. He sat up and Ronan followed him; finally givenback his hands as Adam steadied himself, he wrapped them around Adam’s neck andburied his face in it. Adam ran his hands down Ronan’s sides and dug his nailsinto his thighs, his grip decidedly harsh.

Ronan moaned into Adam’s neck and bit at the tender skin ofhis throat, loving the soft noises Adam made. Adam grabbed Ronan’s hips andpulled him down into his lap, and Ronan curved into him as Adam pressed inside.

“God,” Adam said reverently, grazing his fingers up Ronan’sback and then raking his nails down. Ronan unfurled under the touch, rockinginto Adam’s lap. He shifted so that his thighs were more secure on either sideof Adam and began to fuck him in earnest, every part of him shaking. He movedhimself up and down, the insides of his thighs burning, Adam’s tacky skinsticking to his. There was no point in building up speed when they were both alreadywound to the utmost. Adam tipped his head back, his eyes closed, mouth open,and Ronan bit up from his throat to tug at his lower lip.

They really, definitelyweren’t going to last like this.

Adam grabbed Ronan’s hips, his thumbs pressing into Ronan’sabdomen as he directed his movements in a way so purposeful and precise Ronandidn’t think he’d last more than a minute.

“Adam,” he warned, his words slurred and muffled againstAdam’s lips. “I’m–”

“I love it when you ride me like this,” Adam interruptedhim. “The way you feel, and the way you look – Jesus. You should see yourself,” he cupped Ronan’s jaw in one handand kissed him slowly. “I can’t wait until you see the video.”

“Adam,” Ronan said again, unable to properly kiss Adam back.Adam didn’t seem to care; he kissed Ronan even as Ronan’s head fell back inweakness and he shut his eyes against the heat exploding like a supernova inhis stomach.

Adam thrust up into him, hard, and wrapped his hand aroundRonan’s cock, his entire body shaking against Ronan’s. Ronan tightened his armsaround Adam’s neck, trying to keep them both upright. “Come for me,” Adam said,stroking him in pace with his thrusts. He bit at the corner of Ronan’s mouth. “Ronan.”

Ronan’s self-control became nothing. Adam told him to letgo, and that was all he needed to let himself break. Adam stroked him faster ashe came over his hand and onto his stomach, his hand bringing him to the edgeand then still going, taking Ronan past his limits. He gasped into Ronan’smouth as Ronan seized around him, and Ronan pushed both of his hands intoAdam’s hair to yank his head back. He rode Adam harder and kissed him as he came.

Adam’s mouth hung open on a breath he couldn’t take in.Ronan kept riding him, tugging on his hair and pushing him as far as he couldtake him, riding out both of their orgasms until Adam gasped out a weak, “Ronan,you’re killing me.”

“I just love to see you like this,” Ronan said, completelyunapologetic. Adam’s come was dripping down his thighs, and while it was sexierthan almost anything to Ronan, Adam probably wouldn’t appreciate him pointingit out. He discreetly fumbled for a towel he had laid over the back of thecouch to wipe himself and Adam up, then slumped against Adam and ran his handsthrough his sweat damp hair, gently. “Sorry.”

They just breathed for a long time, laying side by side,hands roaming, exchanging the occasional lazy, spent kiss. Adam’s fingerstrailed over every centimeter of Ronan’s tattoo. Ronan kissed the freckles onhis cheeks and ran his hands through his dusty hair until it was free oftangles. He felt Adam’s heart begin to return to its normal pace against him.

“Want to see something?” Ronan asked Adam.

Adam lifted his head. “Sure.”

Ronan led him out to the porch, grabbing a heavy quilt fromthe rocking chair on the way, and Adam sighed happily as Ronan wrapped itaround them both and sat on the steps.

Adam didn’t have to wait long; Ronan’s dream creaturesseemed to always know when he was close.

The white buck stepped out of the trees and into theclearing, his foxy red ears perked, branch-like antlers casting shadows acrosshis face. He trotted towards where Ronan and Adam sat, and no more than a fewseconds passed before his herd – the deer that didn’t belong to Ronan, or atleast they weren’t created by him –came out of hiding and followed. They were all quite tame now, and fond enoughof Ronan to extend their trust to his friends. One doe with spots like Adam’sfreckles tiptoed forward and rested her head in Adam’s outstretched hands.

Adam stroked her long, velvety face with the tips of hisfingers. He tilted his head towards the pale buck. “He’s getting big,” he said.

Another doe came up to Ronan and nibbled at his boxers; hewas glad he’d taken the time to put those on, at least. He fondled her ears andlooked out to the rolling hills of the Barns again. “Yeah, he is. But that’snot what I wanted to show you.” Ronan pointed to a single fawn trotting towardsthem, her spindly legs too long and awkward to allow for how fast she was tryingto go.

Ronan watched Adam’s face to see the second he saw it.

Adam’ mouth dropped open, and Ronan laughed. “You dreamtone,” Adam said, staring at the fawn as it came to stand at the edge of theherd, “with wings?”

The fawn was completely ordinary looking except for thelight brown wings that sprouted from her back. They were like the nighthorrors’, featherless and interrupted by talons and thin, bent bones, but theylooked softer on her. In the dream Ronan took her from, she’d followed him fora long time, head low to the ground, wings stretched out parallel to her back,and Ronan had let her. She was nice to look at, and seemed intent on observinghim, instead of antagonizing him like Opal or Chainsaw. The curiosity in hergaze was just like that in Chainsaw’s, though, and the way she skittered on herhooves and fumbled with herself was so much like Opal. It was instinctive forRonan to snatch her away from the black things in his head when they appeared.

“I thought you’d like her,” Ronan said. He watched as thefawn slowly moved into the midst of the herd, wings flapping every couple ofsteps. It seemed she didn’t know to tuck them into her sides, and she keptstartling the other deer on accident. They would get used to her soon enough,though; it had taken them a short while to love the pale buckling, too.

“I do,” Adam said, still petting the doe absentmindedly. Shenudged her nose into his palm. “I like all of your dream things.”

“Most of them,” Ronan corrected him.

“Most of them,” Adam agreed.

Ronan was silent for a moment. Silence was easy for him,usually, but there had been too much on his mind the past few weeks. He turnedhis head to look at Adam, the quilt around his shoulders coming up to scratchhis neck. “I’m really going to miss you,” He said. “Really fucking miss you.”

“We’ll visit.” Adam said. But he kept his gaze on the doe hewas petting, and his voice was uncertain.

Ronan went on, “I don’t know if our home movie is gonna beenough for me.”

Adam traced the star spiral of hair in the center of thedoes wide forehead. “You’re going to call me when you watch it, remember? Ithink it’ll be enough.”

Ronan gave a dissatisfied snort.

“And I’ll send you nudes,” Adam added. “Way more than Iusually do. And you can send me weird fruit and Opal’s drawings, and, I don’t know,we’ll just do what we always do. We’ll be fine.” He was starting to sound lesslike he was trying to convince Ronan and more like he believed himself.

Ronan rubbed a hand over the back of his shaved head. Hehated how worried he was about Adam leaving. He kind of loved how easily Adamsaw through him. “Want to go for a ride?”

Adam didn’t look at him, but he smiled. “Are you gonna bringyour camera?”

Ronan leaned over and kissed Adam on the cheek. “Yeah, Iam.”

#im the only one who edited this so sorry for any shittiness and ya hope u like it friend #pynch smut #pynch #trc #trc fanfiction #vv

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