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idolatrybarbie · 4 months

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pairing: santa!francisco "frankie" morales x fem!reader

word count & rating: 2.4k words | explicit - minors dni

summary: more santa frankie porn anyone?

tags: santa kink???, free use, spreader bar, creampie, come eating, facefucking, throatpie, anal sex, degradation, cum, pet names (honey, little girl, sweet girl, baby), praise, CUM AGAIN GUYS LIKE IDK WHAT HAPPENED HERE.

notes: i have had too much alcohol to edit this so take it as is. this is the part where i tell you i am actually gonna go on hiatus now, no posting from me. merry christmas, and to all a good night!!!!!

The spreader bar has your legs cramping, pulled tight against your body as your knees touch your bare chest. You’re wet, dripping and aching as you wait for him to get back. During the visit this morning, Santa saw to it that your pussy was put to good use, cumming inside you twice before he lapped at what dripped out. He’d left you with a swat on your thigh, promises of turning you into a toaster strudel later on something for you to hang onto.

It’s been hours since then, his cum still leaking from your used hole as you lay spread on this dark oak work bench. By your count, it’s been about a month and a half since the incident at the mall. True to his words, once the holiday season had wrapped, Santa whisked you away from the harsh reality of your real life back to the magical wonderland of Christmasville. Here, you have nothing to worry about—except, of course, swallowing Mr. Claus’ snowy load. Despite your efforts, you have yet to convince him that you’re a good girl. Luckily you’ve still got most of the year to get him to change his mind.

You can hear the soft metal thud of the unlatched security bar falling from its place within the metal frame. Before being turned into an elf’s workshop-slash-playroom, this had been a stable for Dasher, Dancer, and the rest of the fleet. Now, it was where you stayed, getting very little sleep between the raucous orgasms that Santa Claus brought you with the smooth glide of his sugary cane. Your favourite activity was sucking his cock, Santa’s cum settling on your tongue with a slow-rolling sweetness to it.

When the barn doors swing open, he’s there, eyes waiting to take you in.

“You been a good girl while I was gone?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr. Claus,” you say softly.

“Hmm. I don’t know about that, little girl.”

“Please, Santa. I’m a good girl, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove it to you.” The fine links of metal that connect the leather cuffs that bind you to the bar between your legs rattle when you huff.

“In what world do good little girls talk back?” Fra—Santa asks.

He stalks over to your body with pounding steps. Santa rounds the table towards the end closer to your head rather than your pussy. He hauls you to the edge of the work table, your head jutting out from the edge of the surface. Immediately, he begins unbuttoning the front of his striped long johns. Whipping out his stunningly long cock, he rubs the swollen head across the seam of your lips. Sticking your tongue out, you lap at the sugary precum beading at the very tip of him. He pulls it away and smacks the length of himself against your cheek.

“Gotta teach you a lesson about politeness then, huh?”

Santa digs the thumb of his right hand into the crook of your jaw, forcing your mouth open. As soon as your lips part, he’s shoving his cock inside. He blocks your airway with his dick, sliding all the way to the back of your throat. A short thatch of hair tickles your nose.

“That’s right, little girl. Nice and quiet, huh? That’s how I like you.”

He runs the rough pads of his fingers over the skin of your throat, poking it with a firm press to touch himself. The action has you gagging, breaths stuttering as they come out of your nose.a

“Swallow,” Santa instructs you. You do as your told, swallowing around his cock as he rests inside your throat. “Bet you like it when I keep my sleigh in the garage like this. Nestled deep inside of you while you keep my cock warm. S’all you need to do, honey. No need to get all fussy, alright?” he asks.

You try your best to nod, telling him you understand. Still, he isn’t convinced.

“See, you’re hearing me but I don’t think you quite get it. Gotta really—” He withdraws from your mouth the slightest bit, only to slam back in with force from his hips. You choke again. “—communicate the point. Drive it home.”

He sets a punishing pace fucking your face, using your mouth for all it’s worth. Every time your throat bobs with a swallow, he squeezes your neck. The diminished airflow keeps you hazy, lightheaded as your vision swims. The sight and smell of him taking you like this has you wetter than the Atlantic Ocean, slick dripping from you down the seam of your ass.

“My little baby think’s she knows what’s best, huh? Only I get to determine when you’ve been a good girl. I know you think you are, but trust—fuck—trust me. Santa knows.”

Those words have you moaning around him, drool gathering on your lips and at the corners of your mouth.

“Gonna give you a little treat, alright? See how you like it.”

With another few thrusts, he’s spilling his silky load down your throat. Santa grunts roughly as each stripe paints your gullet. When he’s finished, he gives your cheek a gentle slap.

“Good job, honey,” he says as he slips out of you.

Hauling air into your lungs, your throat feels clogged. Cheekily, you blow him a bubble with the remnants left in your mouth. This earns you a rare-sought smile as he pops it, sticking his thumb in your mouth to suck. You lave your tongue over the ridges of it slowly, watching as Santa tucks his balls and cock into his fleece pants once again.

“You’re learning,” he whispers. From down here, it almost sounds endearing.

Santa uses the leverage on your head to push you back onto the table fully, the back of your skull resting against the warm table. Then he moves to the other end of your body, unlocking the small locks along the cuffs to release your hands and feet. Instinctively, you curl into yourself, nursing the spasming pain in your muscles.

You’re shocked when Santa engulfs your body in his arms, picking you up from the table in a cradling position.

“How does a nice hot bath sound?” he asks.

“Good, Santa. I’d like that,” you say. “Please and thank you.”

“Aw, honey. Bein’ a good little whore teaching you some manners, is it?”

He carries you from the shed-workshop, shielding your body from the Christmasville cold with the fluffy fabric of his coat sleeve.

“That’s a fuckin’ good girl,” Santa groans. You’re on his knees for him, panting against the table as you crane your neck to get a look at him. His eyes are trained to your rear, watching as he feeds his cock past the tight rim of your ass.

Your pussy flutters at the alluring sight, Mr. Claus purely enraptured as you take him into your body. He settles in your hole, pausing to savour the restricting warmth around his already spent cock. He’s been out here for a while, fucking your throat to train you out of that pesky gagging habit. Then he’d moved onto your pussy, giving it some well-deserved attention (his words) and wringing two orgasms from you.

“You’ve got a cute little cookie,” he says. “But nothing can beat the feel of this tight ass, honey.”

“Please, Mr. Claus. I need it,” you whisper.

“You’ll get it, little girl. Gonna be leaking pure Christmas Claus from all of your sweet fuckholes in no time.”

When he moves, he starts off slow, the glide aided by a generous helping of your slick, his cum, and some sort of sparkling lubricant.

“Snowman tears, honey. This shit will keep you slicker than egg nog.”

Each slow thrust has you moaning softly, the new sensation of fullness almost too much for your brain to process. You can’t think straight—not that you do much of that too often anymore anyway. Santa keeps a solid grip on your hips as he spears you, moans growing louder with each slide in and out of your asshole.

“Anyone ever had a piece of this brownie back here, little girl?”

“N-no, Mr. Claus. Just you.”

“That’s very nice to hear,” Santa says. “Ho ho, baby. This might just be enough to get you off that naughty list.”

Another thrust has you muttering a curse.

“Or not,” he says. “Sometimes I think you wanna stay there, honey.”

God, yes. Absolutely. If being bad gets you all of this? You’ll stay naughty forever.

Santa picks up speed, hand slithering down your side to find your clit. He takes advantage of your soaking folds, swiping a finger between them before returning it to your swollen nub. He pinches and pulls at it for a moment, more painful than pleasurable, before swirling around it with his index in time with every thrust.

Your forehead wrinkles as you draw your brows together, focusing on the candied coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your low belly. Squeezing your ass around him earns you a drawn out moan and a harsh slap on your left cheek.

“Fuckin’ little whore, aren’t you baby? Born for this, eh? Shit, this hot little ass is gonna be full of me.”

“Please Santa. Mr. Claus, I need it.”

“How bad do you need me, little girl? How bad d’you need your Santa?” he asks.

Your Santa. Like Mrs. Claus isn’t his wife, like the world doesn’t turn on his holiday dial. If he’s yours right now, there’s no way you’ll ever get to keep him.

“So bad, Santa. I need it so, so bad. Need to take it. Feel it drip out of me.”

You gasp with a particularly harsh thrust, teeth set on the edge of your lip. He flops over your back, chest meeting your spine as he turns you into a festive twinkie. When he’s done emptying himself inside you, Santa pulls his cock out of you in one go. You can feel it dribble past your fucked out sphincter, leaving dots of icing at the edges of your pussy.

He runs a soothing hand down your spine, moving around the work table to take your face into his hands.

“Santa’s little girl,” he coos. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or not. When he slips two fingers past your lips, you forget about it instantly.

He takes them away just as quickly, returning to your ass as Santa gathers his cum that’s spilled out of you and presses it back into your hole. Over-sensitivity rocks your body in waves, each gentle push of him of him cramming cum back inside giving you shivers.

You lay on the floor, thick blankets beneath you as you look up. Santa holds himself over you, inside of you, panting into the crux of your neck. You can still feel him pulsing, thick cock stretching you open as he grits his teeth through his orgasm. When he’s finished, he carefully pulls away from you to lay on his back beside you.

“You’re a good girl, honey,” he says. You can feel his cum start to leak back out of you.

“You think so?” you ask.

“I know so,” Santa says. “Don’t play coy. You know it too.”

You roll onto your side, hips parallel with the floor. Holding your head up with your arm, your eyes find his. “Then why am I still here?”

It’s been months. By now, it must be nearing the warmer months of the year in places unlike Christmasville—which stays bitterly cold all year long. If he knows that you’re good, if you’ve earned a spot on the nice list…why has he kept you?

“I’ve grown a little fond of you, I guess.” You give him a curious look. “Lonely out here for an old man.”

He doesn’t look that old, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you say, “It gets lonely back home for me too.”

“I can’t imagine how that’s true,” Santa says.

You stretch your legs, toes bending as his sticky spend smears between your thighs. “I don’t know how to explain it. Kind of like a resounding emptiness. Everyone’s moving a little too fast to catch them in time. Here, it’s…slower. You’ve got a moment to appreciate the little things.”

The soft line of his jaw, the white-grey beard that he keeps trimmed shorter now than when you first met. The way his eyes roll back when you twirl your tongue in tricks around his cock, or the smile he gives you when a particular moan of yours spurs him on further. Not yours, not yours, not yours. Mr. Claus is not the present he promised you. He is a man and myth covered in red tape—do not touch. Even though that’s literally all the two of you ever do.

Santa Claus lets out a deep yawn, pulling at the white whiskers of his mustache above his lip. He’s only clothed from the waist up, his plush coat unbuttoned as it hangs loose by his hips.

He blinks a few times, eyes finding yours. “Come here, little girl.”

Santa motions you closer to him. You scoot across the soft fabric—had he said it was polar bear pelt?—and let him envelope you with his arms.

Your relationship has evolved much beyond the simple terms of Santa and his little toy. The sex is gentler, and he shows up more often now. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when you’re half asleep and drowsy. Your encounters don’t always start with sex now, either. Cuddling, gentle caresses to the skin of your throat and clavicle. He always holds you as he does now, a sense of dread crawling through your gut as you anticipate when Santa will take his leave.

You don’t love Santa Claus. That thought alone is insane. But then again, none of this makes a lot of sense in the first place. Sure, he’s married. Sure, he is the most prolific gift-giver of contemporary western culture, a holly jolly icon for children and corporations everywhere. He is already everyone else’s. Does that mean he can’t be yours, too?

Santa presses a kiss to your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. His cum is still seeping out of you, his cock wet and spent against the back of your thigh. These aren’t things to think about right now. Another time.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: dashing through the ho #triple frontier

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callsign-hexen · 10 months

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Barn Lights and Haylofts

Summary: After being away on a trip out of state, you find yourself going to the Abbott ranch to visit on your way home. Little did you know that you were about to walk into something would make you wish you just drove off...

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: cursing, sexual tension, the character death of an asshole, descriptions of a dead body (my hyper fixation on the stages of death really starts showing in this), hiding said body, possible grammar mistakes, an insane amount of commas (Seriously, you could take a shot every time you see one and be completely hammered by the end of this), if I miss any let me know!

Author’s note: I finally wrote something! The editing is slim to none, I was too excited!

tag list: @beacheybabes97

You watch as the headlights of your truck light up the road. The moon lights the rest of the way as you drive through the fields of Wabang, Wyoming.

You’ve been out of town for nearly a month at craft festival down south. As much as it feels great to be outside of state lines, you can’t help but feel homesick, so you take a few stops as possible on your way back. You’ve been driving for half a day in the beaten old truck.

You’ve lived in Wabang for as long as you can remember, you were born there, and you can see yourself buried there with the rest of your lineage. Your family worked in wood crafts. For generations, your family has hand carved many items throughout the town. Instead of playing with dolls, you grew up learning to carve. The business was run by you, your mother, and your father. That was, until your mother passed when you were 14, and your father just three years ago. It was all yours now. The old house, the workshop, and a small plot of land that a few cows and other animals that have made their home there.

The shop was where you met Rhett.

When you were 12, Royal brought Rhett with him into town to run some errands, one of which being to pick up an order he had placed. It was a simple wooden plaque with Abbott name burned into it to sit on the front porch. Your family ran the business in the workshop across from your house. Your days were spent waking up early, making sure the cows are taken care of, go to school, and come home to learn about wood working. When the Abbotts came by you were sitting on the workshop bench whittling your next little project, a carving of a little wolf howling at the sky. You turn around as you hear them come in.

Royal and the younger Abbott boy stopped at the entrance as they noticed it was just you. Royal greeted you with a call of your name, “Is your dad around?” he asked. You nod your head, hopping off the bench. “Yes sir, he’s over yonder in the pasture. One of our calves started wondering off so he went to make sure she’s alright. Are you here to pick up, Mr. Abbott?” you answered him, shifting your eyes over to the boy next to him. Rhett was in your grade, but the two of you never shared a word to each other, barely even a glance at one another. You sat on the opposite sides of the room and never got near enough to touch.

Now that you stand just a couple of feet from him, you almost feel like you can’t move anymore. Frozen in place until you finally snap yourself out of it before he thinks you’re as weird as everyone else does. You were always the loner everyone picked at.

“Right you are, does your father normally leave you alone at the shop?” Royal asked as you went to pick up his plaque off the shelf on the wall of the workshop. You take it over to him and placed it on the table for him to observe it. “Yeah, but only if it’s either an emergency or if he’ll only be gone for a few minutes. He should be back soon, the calve didn’t wander too far today,” you said. Royal picked up the plaque, admiring the work your father put into it, with a little bit of your help here and there.

“Damn fine work, Cecelia is gonna love this hanging up on the porch,” Royal gestures to Rhett as he looks at the woodwork. “This is my son, Rhett. I understand y’all go to school together.” Rhett shifts his gaze from the projects laying around the shop to you, his height is about the same as yours, his blue eyes looking into yours. He nods his head as a way of acknowledgment, you nod back. No words were said, you didn’t think you could for them in regard to him. You couldn’t tell at the time, but it might have been a schoolgirl crush.

The older Abbott paid for his plaque and the two made their leave. Before hopping into the truck, Rhett looked over to you one more time to see you whipping your head the other direction, trying not to let him see you looking at him back. You continued to see more of the Abbotts bit by bit since that day. You two didn’t get closer until your mothers passing, Cecelia would invite you and your father over for dinner every once in a while, when things got tough. Since then, Rhett began to play the role of some type of bodyguard. He was your only friend. When people would pick on you, they had Rhett to deal with. He would walk you home from school and drive you once the two of you were older. You would work together on his ranch, and he would help around your field if it was needed or keep you company in the shop when you were alone. As the years go on, the schoolgirl crush didn’t go away, but may have worsened. You couldn’t tell him, especially when the two of you were 16 when he caught his eye on Maria Olivares. You never felt like you could match up to her, the prettiest girl in school that every guy fawned over. It wasn’t too bad, at least Rhett was still by your side in one way.

Now the two of you are in your 20s. You’ve attended every rodeo, watched him fall off of every bull and was there to patch him up after every bar fight. After the first few months of your fathers passing, the roles were reversed for a while. You would drink a bit more, and all it took was for one buckle bunny to make a snide remark and her face would meet your fist in a timed record. Rhett dragged you out from the bar one night and drove you home. As he patched you up in the low light at your kitchen table, you would never forget what he said to you.

“Listen, I know this is hard. I know I don’t completely know how you feel, and I won’t for a long time. But it’s not just you still. You have me, and I will always be here. You have Mom, Dad, Perry, and Rebecca. Amy looks up to you and even calls you her aunt. We’re always gonna be here for you, and we don’t want to see you dig yourself into a grave. Let us help you, please.”

You stopped drinking so much that night, and you cried in his arms that night when you finally accepted your grief. He went as far as to sleep over at your house a couple of nights so that you wouldn’t be alone in your childhood home.

You’ve managed to keep the business running well and good. It’s been tough with it being just you, but you’ve been able to keep up with all your father has taught you through the years. You were even able to keep things well enough to go to the craft festival like you and your father did every year. The two of you would spend months preparing all of the little trinkets and projects to sell, and you would sell damn near all of them. You’ve been successful enough to pull it off the past three years.

This is what lands you to where you are now. In the late hours of the night, you were finally made your way back.

It feels like forever, but the Abbott ranch finally makes way into your line of site. You don’t see Rhett’s old, blue GMC in the lot. He doesn’t seem to be home, but with seeing the other cars, everyone else is. You wonder where he could be, it’s later than usual for him to be at the Handsome Gambler. The lights in the house are off except for the faint light from window in the kitchen. You were feeling guilty about possibly waking everyone up, but you feel better knowing that at least someone is still awake at an ungodly hour. Turning off the lights to the truck, you cut the engine and step out. You make your way over to the door leading to the kitchen and gently knock a few times, alerting whoever was inside of your presence. It takes a couple of moments, almost enough to where you think of going ahead and heading home, turning in for the night and catching up on some of the rest you have lost from the drive. As you’re about to turn around, the door finally opens to reveal Royal. He lets out a breath and nods to you, “Well look who it is, when’d you get back in town?”

“Just now actually,” you said with a small laugh and a smile, “thought I would come by and see you guys on my way home, make sure I wasn’t forgotten.” Royal laughs at the statement and gives you a pat on the shoulder. “I doubt that could ever happen, Amy’s been asking when you’d be back almost since you left,” he said.

You both gave a laugh as you thought of Rhett’s niece. You were both 15 when she was born. He was unsure of the arrival of a new child in the house, but the second he held her he knew he would protect her the best he could. He’d take care of anyone who messes with her the same he did with you. Amy follows you almost everywhere you go. When she’s not in school, she’d come with you to the shop with Rhett and watch you work, and you’d teach her how to make a few small things if she begged you enough. “I’m sure she’ll be excited I’m back. I’d go say ‘hi’ to her now, but I don’t want to cause a bother waking her up,” you said. You were about to ask if it was okay to come in and chat a minute, let him know how business was at the festival and how proud you were this year when a noise came up behind him.

You look passed him as Rhett came downstairs, catching your eye in a hoodie sporting a split lip and a bruise on his cheek. He stops and turns in your direction, you lock eyes from across the kitchen as he halts in his place, almost startled at your arrival. “What are you doing here?” he asks you. You chuckle, looking him up and down, “Well that’s something to say after not seeing me for almost a damn month,” you respond. You smoothly walked past Royal, making your way to him to inspect his injuries. You gently take his chin to move his head side to side, he makes a low noise and lazily moves your hand away. “Jesus,” you playfully scold him, “I leave for a while and you get yourself into shit, I really should keep you on a leash, shouldn’t I? Who’d you fight this time, one of the Tillerson boys?” Your comment makes his eyes widen; you see something that you can’t make out in his eyes. Not quite startled, but more of a bit of fear and uncertainty. Within your time together as you got him out of fights here and there, he grew to have a tiny bit of fear over being on the wrong side of your temper. “I guess you can say that,” he says almost as a whisper. You laugh again, glancing back at Royal, “like I said, leash.”

You look back to Rhett, nudging him in the chest, “Seriously, you gotta let me give Luke and Trevor, or whichever one you got into it with, a piece of my mind next time I see them”

Rhett cleared his throat and shifted his stance on his feet. You narrowed your eyes at him a bit, stepping back to completely look at him. You’ve always been able to tell if there was something wrong, or if he was lying. And you can tell now, the stench of lies goes up to high heaven. “You doin’ alright Rhett?” You asked him. He nodded his head a couple of times, “Yeah yeah, my minds just a little fuzzy from the drinks and fightin’ tonight” he said, avoiding your eyes. You nodded your head “mm-hmm” you hummed. You looked back at Royal again, he was looking out the window, as if he was expecting someone. You looked back at Rhett; he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “What did you do?” you asked in a lowered tone.

He finally looks at you, a little more alarmed, “Nothing” he said a little more rushed than he meant to. You stared him down hard, “Nothing” you repeated to him. “So why do you seem so…. jumpy tonight?” He holds your stare, he can tell you have something on him, and he’ll be able to break soon. He was never that good at lying to you or able to keep things from you. “Like I said, drinkin’ and fightin’ cloudin’ my head” he says.

“Rhett” you hear Royal say from behind you. You both look to him; he nods his head to outside in a “hurry up” notion. Rhett seems to understand what his father is trying to say to him and he looks back to you, “Look, it’s gettin’ late, and you drove a good while. You need to go get some sleep. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow, okay? I’ll walk you the truck” he says, motioning you to walk with him. You still stand there, not completely trusting the situation. “Rhett,” you say, “Whatever it is, you might as well say now. I know that you know I can tell when you’re hiding something, and if you want me to still talk to you tomorrow, you’d say it right now.” Rhett almost feels like a child getting in trouble, hell he might as well be. He looks to Royal, who thinks for a second and then sighs, motioning the two of you to go with him. Rhett turns back to you as you await your answer.

“Come on” ……………………………………………………………….. They walk you to the barn across from the house, the moon lights your way as you walk behind Rhett’s towering figure. Your mind is racing, trying to think of any of the possible, stupid situation that Rhett could get himself into, and what it could have been to be hidden in the barn. And how severe could it be for him to try to hide it from you, his closest and only actual friend. When you reach the barn doors, Royal turns around to you.

“Before we show you, you have to swear that anything that you see here must not leave this property. You do not say anything to anyone, especially not to Amy,” he says to you, lowering his voice to where only the three of you can hear. After a moment of contemplation, your mind still soaring over the different situations that this can lead to, you nod your head at him. Royal opens the barn doors, the lights almost burning your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness as dim as they were. When you were finally able to see right, you see that Rhett’s truck is inside rather than where it’s normally parked outside, answering your question from earlier. You shift your attention to Rhett himself; he puts a hand on your back, gently pushing you forward. As you walk closer, you start to see something laying closer to the back. You get a chill running through your spine as you begin to realize what was lying motionless in the back of Rhett’s truck.

Trevor Tillerson was lying in the truck bed, face covered in blood and looking as if he were sleeping. But you have a terrible feeling he’s not. You walk over to him, looking over his pale complexion.

“Him and Perry got into it behind the bar. I wasn’t there when it happened but know Perry’s temper, I’m sure he said something he shouldn’t have while Perry was in the state he was in,” you hear Rhett say behind you. “I left to bring the truck around, he was on the ground when I got back.”

You swallow the lump in your thought that began to rise as you looked at the body. Reaching down to put your fingers to find a pulse point, only to find nothing as you touch his cold skin. You hear Rhett say your name, you can tell he is getting worried at your silence. Your shift your hand to his face, lifting his eyelid, his eyes have already become cloudy just slightly. A sign that this night isn’t gonna end for a long time. You’ve seen death before, all of you have, it’s hard to run a ranch without seeing it. But there’s a hard difference between livestock and a person.

“What are you gonna do now?” you said after what felt like eternity. “What?” Rhett asked. You turn around to the two men behind you. “Rigor mortis sets in within a couple of hours after death. Unless you want to walk up to the police station with a stiff body, I have feeling you guys are gonna try to hide him instead. So you might want to make your plan before we sit here all night staring at a dead body, especially of you don’t want his brothers coming around looking for him.” Rhett looked at you as if you had two heads, walking towards you as he tried to think of what to say to get you out of this. “As far as anyone is concerned, you’re still out of town. If anything, you need to go home before anyone knows you’re here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m standing here, I’m looking at him, this makes me part of it by just being here!” you try to reason with him. They’re gonna need help and they know it; if anyone asks where they were, Rhett could say that he was with you on your first night back as an alibi. Rhett can feel himself starting to get aggravated, he wants you far from here. He wishes he could take you home, or anywhere else as long as it wasn’t the Abbott ranch. “No, your DNA isn’t on anything, you can still go and try to forget this, you need to go before something else happens,” he says. You’re about to defend your case before Royal interrupts you both, “both of you shut up and listen!”

You both turn your attention to the elder man. “Rhett, you help me get him out of the truck, after that I want the both of you to burn the shirt and clean out the back of the truck. I’ll take care of the body,” Rhett was about to say something before his father shot him a look. “We can’t stand here all night arguing, we need to hide the body before his brothers realize something happened.”

After they get Trevor out and wrapped up, you help them get his body strapped to the horse, Tillie. While you strap him in, the lights start flickering. But not in a fuse shortening way, but like they were being manually flipped on and off. You all share a look, “Perry” Royal said. You run over to the door and peak through, “shit!” you say as you see the Tillerson’s at the house. You look back to the men, “The Tillerson’s are here, we gotta hurry.” Royal nods as he mounts Tillie, Rhett going to open the back door. After Royal rides out, you and Rhett quickly throw some bales of hay into the truck bed. You look up at each other as you start to hear voices coming closer by the second. Rhett looks behind you, “Hayloft, up the ladder. They won’t be able to see us under the hay.” You both start that way as the door starts banging against the lock. You both rush up the ladder as fast as you can, falling into the hay just in the nick of time. The Tillerson brothers, along with Perry, walk in only to find an empty stable with a truck full of hay. Not looking up to see the two of you as you cover yourselves.

Rhett holds you close to him as you both hide in the stash of hay. Your bodies flush against one another. You won’t lie and say that you never dreamed of being in this position, except those dreams didn’t involve covering up an accidental murder case.

Rhett’s trying to keep his breathing low, all while trying to catch it. It almost feels like the past two hours have been a blur. With the rush of adrenaline caused by the fucked situation mixed with seeing you after so long, he feels like he could pass out right now with you in his arms like he’s been wanting to for years. The both of you can feel yourselves warming up from the body heat as you lay low in the hay, but not to where you’re suffocating.

After they finally leave, you both keep still as you finally allow yourselves to breath once again. Your body relaxing against Rhett as you calm down from the rush. You can feel his breath against your cheek. His arms tighten around you, almost like he thought you could slip from his fingers. You look over to him, your nose brushing his with how close you were. You shift your body to completely face him, his arms still around you as you two begin to look like lovers in a warm embrace. How you wish that were true. You look at each other, nose to nose, all it could take was a slight movement and you could brush your lips against his. Rhett can feel his heartbeat in his ears, his eyes leaving yours only to look at your lips and back up. You do the same, staring into his bright blue eyes.

You don’t know what makes you pull away slightly. Maybe it’s the fear of rejection, maybe it’s the feeling that it’s the wrong place for this, or maybe you don’t want to ruin how things are between you two. You pull away only an inch from him, still close to feel his body against you, but enough to cool off a bit. “What do you think is gonna happen, Rhett?” you whisper. He looks at you with uncertainty. “I’m not sure,” he says so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him. “All I know is that it’s not gonna be good.” He tucks your head into his neck as you both lay there in the hayloft. He wishes you could both lay there forever, or at least until sunrise.

As you shut your eyes, you wrap your arms around him. You two try to make the most of this calm moment in between chaos. None of you know of what’s to come, but until then, you both rest.

#rhett abbot x reader #Rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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watcher-servant · 8 months

Text

Chronicles of ARC: Hub

Dreams were always weird. At times, it showed what you wanted, what you feared, and what you missed. However, now the only thing that was shown was memories showing familiar scenes of a school in the shape of a castle only for it to shift to look like a clock tower. From clothing resembling a student only to change for more formal and professional like a teachers. The strangest scene, however, was that of a woman with red hair looking at someone, and when she reached her hand out, the vision warped to a woman with fox looking sad and desperately reaching, but only to be met by darkness.

Jaune would wake up feeling that he was on the ground and was greeted with green grass. Letting out a groan, he would try to go back to sleep only to be met by something licking his face, forcing him back up. "Wait, what?!" he thought, getting up from the ground trying to see what had licked him and was hit with a headbutt by the culprit, a giant jackalope with golden fur. "If this is dream I wanna wake now," He said only for the jackalope to get close and started to let out a whine a bit, asking for affection.

"OK ok ok I'm up," Jaune said as he was petting the jackalope, which took it with no issue. "Geez wonder where you came from....and where I exactly am i?" He thought as he finally took notice of his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of a farm, its boundaries marked by a stone wall, standing in front of him was a 2 story house painted blue with a grey roof and off to the side was a red barn and what seems to be a gardening patch. "This looks...kinda familiar where have i....no wait that looks like my family and this area its like my workshop in the countryside....even has my garden patch" Jaune thought as he started to walk towards the barn and the jackalope following him.

Entering the barn, Jaune was shown that it holds a line of big stables as there were big piles of hay, even seeing big tubs for what he assumed was for either washing or drinking water. "Let's go ahead and get you in one, you big ball of fluff," He said, leading the jackalope to an open stable seeing a hay patch for bedding and 2 tubs one for water and the other for food. "Guess that answers my question, but let's go ahead and get you water" He says as the stigma on his arm started to glow a deep blue color as a ball of water forms in front of him and letting it drop splashing him. The jackalope only seemed to laugh a bit as it passed him and started to drink.

"I'll come back in a little bit ok" He thought, closing the stable door and starting to walk to the house. He would walk up to the door as he was hesitant to open it. What was gonna greet him? Should he open the door? Was it gonna be folks, maybe his 'sworn brother'? Shaking away the thoughts, he opened ti the door to be greeted with silence and a furnished living room, connected to a kitchen that has a dining table along with a fridge, a big oven/stove and above it cabinets with a microwave in the middle. "It looks just like home....back on remnant," He thought as his eyes took in sight, seeing the stairs leading up along with 3 closed doors. If he remembered right his room was upstairs and taking up, he would past closed doors, reaching his old room. Opening the door, he saw his childhood room, a big bed that had a double door closet, a desk where his computer would be, and a dresser that had a surprising sight of a photo album. Picking it up the first sight to greet him was his family. Going through the pages, he had pictures of his birth, his sisters, and even reaching the point where it had shown beacon. "Wait, when did I take pictures?" He questioned, seeing the ballroom of the first night, his team room, the emerald forrest, the forever fall, and picture that almost made him tear up. It was a group photo of teams RWBY and JNPR after they had destroyed the cafeteria in a massive food fight.

"That was a crazy day....I hope they're ok," Jaune thought, turning the page as it showed his time at the clock tower. His induction to the school, meeting Zelretch and Waver, the El-Melloi class, and the summoning of...'her' as a tear had fallen, hitting the photo. Wiping his face, Jaune closed the album as he decided to walk towards the bath. Coming on the mirror, he would see his reflection only to meet with a surprising sight instead of seeing himself in his early forties of medium length hair and a full beard. Jaune saw himself in his late 20s with short hair and feeling the back of his head, a short braid ponytail, and a thin beard on his chin. "OK, now I know I'm dreaming cause thus just doesn't make sense," he yells out as he also takes notice of his clothes, that being his explorer outfit, a black button-up, white vest, red tie, white pants with combat shoes and a short black coat with what seems to be shoulder padding on it.

Heading back to his room and opening the closet, Jaune would see a full closet of his clothes during his time at the clocktower. Changing into more casual clothes of cargo sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. Walking back downstairs, a slight rumble would shake the house, making him run outside and see an odd sight that of a sword stuck to the ground bearing the exact same handle of his crafted mystic code and a stone blade. He would walk towards the blade, questions running into his mind as he tried to make sense of everything that happened. The house, the barn, the garden, the PHOTO ALBUM, and seeing his mystic code in the ground in front of him. The answer slowly dawned on him as he backed up and fell to the ground. "Did....did I die?" He questions, looking up to see a familiar blue ball with 2 rings circling it. The reminder of his oath and what stole him away from remnant....the counter force.

(From the wiki and visual of a manifestation)

#rwby #jaune arc #crossover au #fate series #counter guardian ARC #the beginning #of some sort #juniper #possible series #more to come

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pudding-parade · 3 months

Text

@batsheba and maybe @beatricecrumplebottom

I've got waaaaaaaaaay more to say than will fit in a standard reply, so…

Not gonna lie, Planet Zoo has a learning curve. Quite a steep one, in fact. There are so many aspects to it. There's acquiring animals and managing them and building habitats for them (they all have specific requirements) and breeding them for good genes while avoiding inbreeding. There's building staff and guest facilities and managing staff and guest needs. There's designing the zoo layout as a whole. There's a research tree to unlock stuff relating to the animals as well as different aspects of the zoo, like better power generation as well as different styles of building pieces. And much more.

It's a lot, frankly, and I'm still learning. It does have a mode called Career Mode, where you play guided scenarios. The early scenarios serve as a half-assed (at best) tutorial. The good news is that there are a lot of good videos and tutorial playlists on YouTube made by various people. I've learned the most from these three YouTubers, so I'm linking to the first episode of each of their tutorial playlists, but all of them have lots of other videos, too.

youtube

You can watch a bit before buying the game to help you decide if it's for you. I'll warn you that if you get everything, it adds up to a tidy amount of money. But, it usually goes on sale on Steam's summer and winter sales, and you can buy bundles that way for not too much money. (I got the "Ultimate Bundle," during the summer sale last year, which was the base game plus all the DLCs up to the time I bought it, for I think about 80USD, which was more than half off. The DLCs are 10USD each normally and they usually come with about five new animals as well as a buuuuuunch of stuff for building/decorating.) Also, two of the above linked YouTube creators have affiliations to Instant Gaming that will give you a good discount any time on the base game and DLCs.

As for the building, specifically…It can be very easy. The game comes with blueprints, which are pre-built things that you can just plunk down wherever. They include everything from staff and guest buildings to different climbing frames for arboreal animals to full habitats for all kinds of animals. Many of them are pretty nice-looking, even. You can also download tons of player-made blueprints from the Steam workshop for the game if you get the game via Steam...or even if you don't, if you know some tricks. So, if you go that route, you hardly do any building at all. It's all just figuring out a layout for your zoo (and that can be hard, since you start with just a big, blank plot of land and a pre-built entryway building) and then plunking down blueprints and getting right into the animals.

However, much like in Sims games, I like to build for myself, and the system in PZ is frankly amazing. I wish the Sims games were like it. It can be very, very fiddly, especially if you're a perfectionist, but it's also amazing. You have the "basic" pieces which are wall, floor, and roof pieces made of many different materials and that have different shapes, like for making curved walls. These snap to an adjustable-size grid and form the basis of a building. But from there, there are hundreds (thousands, if you have DLCs) of pieces that don't snap to a grid (but there are controls for them so you can line things up properly, for instance). The pieces that don't snap to the grid can all be moved laterally in all three dimensions as well as rotated on all three axes, and can be used as, for instance, trims on buildings, so you have complete freedom with them and you can do really creative things to decorate your buildings and habitats. This is why I can spend many hours building one frickin' barn. LOL

Everything is keyboard-and-mouse, as the game is currently PC-only, though it's rumored that it's coming to consoles soon. There are many hot keys pre-assigned, and everything is easily controlled with a mouse.

There are lots of modes to the game, the main one being franchise mode, which starts you with a limited amount of money and is connected to an online server. Animals are traded between players. It can be hard because many players set frankly ridiculous prices on the animals they sell, but it's part of the challenge of the mode. There's a challenge mode, which is basically the same as franchise only not online, so if you don't want to deal with ridiculous players and/or can't/don't want to play with the internet turned on, you can. In that, all of the animals you can buy are created by the game, not other players. There's "career" mode I mentioned. There are timed scenarios, which I've never played so I don't know what they're like. Annnnnnd there's the sandbox mode, which has no money limits and no research requirements (unless you impose them on yourself) and has all sorts of controls that you can use to customize your experience. There are always four of every animal (two of each sex) available in the market, which as in the challenge mode are game-generated. (Game-generated animals generally have sucky genes.)

So, yeah, I love the game, and would highly recommend it, especially if you like to build stuff and, of course, like animals. Definitely watch some of the videos I linked, though, because they'll give you a better idea of what the game is like.

#non sims #planet zoo #Youtube

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3615rose · 1 year

Text

A long recovery (Lu Four x Reader)

Tw : PTSD, past abuse from reader, reader is afab, and canon typical violence

You sat outside of the ranch for another sleepless night. Those were reoccurring more frequently these days, feeling back everything you his behind the walls you created.

Did you talk about this to the chain ? No. They all defeated a greater evil either being Ganon, shadow images of themselves or black magician, so being traumatized by its own mother is kind of weak.

With them, you forget most of your problems, and at the ranch, you would talk about aliens with Malon for eight hours straight if no one interrupted you. But there were those times where you felt on your own, against your own demon that you can't even defeat.

You aren't a knight in shining armor, or a blacksmith speaking in tongues, you're just a lost girl that nine guys kept along. Why though ? You weren't good in combat, just to make potion and healing, cleaning wounds before any fairies or potions.

At least you felt normal with Malon. You would both laugh at the cows that roamed at night in the farm, talking about books, different places you saw, how she loved Time too.

Drops of rain made you realize you were still outside, and the shining stars were hiding behind a large cloud, filled with electricity. You sighed again, leaving your mind wander.

With every drop, you relived each hit you mother put on you, with each roar of the distant storm, you heard her insult you. The hands would clasps around your neck until you were dizzy, your nose was broken more than enough to make you wake up from not breathing at night.

You hated sleeping since then.

So you were outside, and when your brain would calm down, the soothing melody of raindrops against the cows barn calmed you.

"Where the fuck are you ?"

You recognized that voice. One of the Link, Four to be precise. He was one of the guys that cursed the most too.

"Here. I am enjoying the rain."

With a korok leave he approached you, you were literally soaked in rain from head to toes.

"Are you fucking crazy ? You're trying for being sick the quickest ? Get back inside."

He was cute when he was angry, you always liked him, like a big brother that forgot to grow in size. But he was powerful when working on a sword, smithing like you never saw.

Now that you think of it, you liked being with him, the nice cut grass smell that lingered on his clothes, his expressive face with a big goofy smile when he was happy. You liked when he hugged you for the first time, you were panicked after cutting a bokoblin head. You liked it when he gifted you a small fairy he made with scrap metal.

For now, he was holding your wrist, putting you inside his workshop where the fire of the force felt nice on you.

"I'm gonna get your pyj and some towels, they're on the bed right ? Try to warm up during waiting."

He wasn't angry weirdly, more concerned. You knew it as he was the type to go nuts for the smallest thing, but here, he wasn't.

You looked at the flames, twirling in the oven, like a fragile ballet. Then it hits you again.

She's back, you weren't good enough so you had to put more wood in the fireplace, you burnt yourself, but no, it needed more. To be a grownup you needed to suffer. It was her words. Her shadowy figure taking your hand and putting it directly in the flames.

"Woohoo, are you with me ?"

Four was back with some towels and your nightgown. He was too nice.

"Yeah, excuse me... I was thinking."

You grabbed the first towel to dry the hair.

"Looks more like someone is having past events that haunts them"

You looked at him dead in his eyes. His wonderful blue eyes.

"And ? I didn't fight evil like you, it's only kids stuff."

He took a chair from across the room to bring it in front of you.

"Everyone have their inner demons. You can fight evil a thousand time, it won't change what you felt at this time and it won't help to bottle it up until it explode."

You ruffled your hair a little in the towel before putting it on the empty table next to you. It wasn't the cleanest place but it would do.

"All Smithy, that's the nicest thing someone said to me for a long time."

He laughed a little then almost laid back in the chair.

"Like 'You are one beautiful cuckoo with a nice hay hair'? Or more of 'you're a Malon my size I can protect'?"

You blushed heavily at this sentence. This is how he felt or these are only encouraging words ?

"I didn't know you were the romantic type little one."

He smirked then crossed his arms in front of him.

"And you didn't tell me it bothers you too. Should I deduce something ?"

You laughed back. He was a cunning one.

"Well, mister Link, you got me there, and by the time, I guess you weren't able to sleep too."

Now he looks annoyed, his usual annoyed.

"Nope, I was sleeping fine until your door slammed shut because you forgot to close the window and made some air."

Oh. That's the reason.

"Oh sorry then. How can I repay your lack of sleep ?"

He started to grin. And it was always a weird idea when he had this face.

"Well, now that you kept your room in the cold condition I won't let you get sick by leaving you to your room, what about sleeping in mine ? And if you get those bad dreams, I can be here to chase them down!"

You loved the idea, and even though your clothes were still humid, you jumped against him.

"Oh my knight in shining armor! I would be honored! Except if it... Embarrass you in front of the others..."

To your surprise, he hugged you and placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Who cares, they probably put a bet on who would got you first, but they doesn't understand the love, its like forging a blade it requir-"

You cut him off.

"OK now you'll put me to sleep just by talking about blacksmithing, keep it for the bed. Let's go and we'll see who took bets tomorrow."

You jumped off of him and laugh a little as the transfer of humidity on his tunic, he held your hand, and you kept your nightgown under your arm like you would go to a sleepover.

"Make yourself at home princess, I won't look trust me."

You waited to be sure he wasn't looking to remove some of your clothes. Checking him if he wasn't looking sometimes.

"Okay all done ! I can hide under the blanket while you put your pyjs on!"

He laughed again, silently to not wake up the others.

"Do as you like princess, its nothing you didn't see."

He kept his light pant and only the white shirt on as a sleeping gear. You asked yourself if he was feeling comfortable in it.

"Remember princess, if you feel like you have any problem, wake me up it won't be a problem."

You liked being called princess. And the warmth of his body against yours. Enough to make you forget that one time, someone wanted you dead.

Morning arose , and the lively chat was already spreading in the common bathroom upstairs. You were still sleeping against Four that held you softly, caressing your hair.

"Wake up sleepyhead, we'll miss breakfast."

You yawned a little and nudged against him.

"Please five more minutes."

He removed you from his embrace and stood up, buttoning back his shirt and putting on his tunic.

"Okay them, I get to eat your portion then."

You grumbled and left the bed too. Your hair was a mess.

"Let's see who got what and I'll ask a percentage of it."

He laughed again, seeing you as a grumpy bear before fixing a little your hair.

"That's my girl, we'll share then"

And the percentage was good, Hyrule lost to Sky, Wild to Warriors and Legend even gave some rupees to Four himself.

He gambled on this night. And you weren't even mad.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #lu four x reader #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse x reader

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babyjakes · 2 years

Text

friend making. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | stuffies for all

summary | the world’s grumpiest supersoldier makes his first trip to build-a-bear.

pairing | boyfriend!bucky barnes x reader

warnings | big grumpy & sunshine vibes and we love to see it, it’s been a while since i was in a build a bear so i don’t remember exactly how the process goes, this poor build a bear employee just trying to work for minimum wage having to put up with all these shenanigans

word count | 526

Doing her best not grimace at Bucky’s unfriendly stare, the peppy blonde teen adorned in her signature blue apron does her best to smile at you and your grouch of a boyfriend from across the bear making station as she holds your shared freshly-stuffed pink frog, telling you almost sheepishly, “Okay, and now that your new friends is all filled with fluff, it’s time for the heart ceremony!”

“The what?” Bucky asks, his perplexion at the whole process only growing with each new step you’re guided through. You don’t blame him; you know he comes from a much different time. When the two of you first arrived at the brightly-themed store, he could barely form words for the first several minutes as he took in his surroundings. “High heels? For teddy bears?” he had asked dumbfoundedly as you had passed the clothing section of the workshop. “Steve was right, the future is crazy.”

“The heart ceremony!” the young girl tries to share a smile as she holds up a small stuffed heart, explaining, “this is your new friend’s heart; we put it in him to make sure he’s full of lots of love to give you!”

“I see,” Bucky says slowly, a look of doubt crossing his face as he accepts the little red item from the girl to hold in his hand.

“Alrighty, let’s just-” Opening up his back stitch slightly, the worker allows Bucky to tuck the heart in amongst the stuffing, giving the froggy a good pat on the back before tying him up securely with his long white threads. “Perfect! And now it’s time for your new friend’s very first hug!”

“Oh great,” Bucky tries not to sound overly exasperated. “I think this part’s your turn, dove,” he chuckles as he allows you to take the stuffed animal from the girl.

“Okay, and now we’re just gonna give our friend a nice big hug to make sure he knows he’s so special and loved!” Smiling widely and giggling a bit as Bucky’s gaze catches yours, you hug the frog, earning a more enthusiastic grin from the girl across the counter. “Very good!” she cheers, looking between the two of you, “Now how about a name for his birth certificate?”

“His birth certificate? I don’t even know if I have one of those,” Bucky admits, watching in awe as the employee pulls up the form on her computer screen. “What’re you thinking, sweetheart? We both know I’m no good at names.”

“How about Princess Pinky Rainbow Sparkles!” you beam proudly, giggling even more as Bucky struggles to suppress his groan.

“What a wonderful name!” the worker chimes in, typing it up in the computer. “Now it’s just time to go pick out some clothes for your new friend, if you’ll follow me this way!”

Leaning in to whisper in your ear as the three of you make your way across the store, Bucky asks a bit timidly, “Hey doll, you think we could pick out the army outfit?” Heart melting a bit at his adorableness, you nod encouragingly. “Thanks,” he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Stevie’s gonna think it’s super cool.”

#stuffies for all #friend making #eun's writing #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot

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laundrybiscuits · 10 months

Text

15 questions

thanks @greenlikethesea for tagging me! I just got back from Dykes On Mics, the London queer karaoke event of my heart, so I'm a little buzzed and as usual I'm not gonna tag anyone because I'm a bad person. just abjectly morally bankrupt, violating the tumblr social code with abandon.

are you named after anyone?

my parents are pretty religious, so my english name is from the old testament, but culturally my people don't really do the named-after-specific-individuals thing.

2. when was the last time you cried?

hmm I don't remember? I don't really cry that often, which is probably not the MOST healthy but oh well. I gotta be me! i.e. a deeply repressed individual.

3. do you have kids?

nope! I like kids and have a fair bit of experience taking care of them, I've just never felt that particular urge to become a parent myself.

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

my sense of humor's pretty dry by default, but I think having a lot of friends from different cultural contexts has trained me out of using sarcasm too much. It's just one of those things that doesn't always translate super well.

5. what sports do you play/have you played?

unsurprisingly I'm not really a team sports person. in the past I've done a couple different forms of martial arts, fencing, a tiny bit of archery, ballroom dancing…I think that's it? an old friend of mine is running a stage combat workshop in the fall and I'm kinda thinking about getting into that.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

this is gonna sound weird but stick with me: their character design. I just tend to notice stuff that seems like people making a deliberate choice about how they present themselves to the world, whether they seem to be going for a fully coordinated look or just have some pins on a bag. and sometimes you can really tell that people were like, okay, this is what I'm working with physically so I'm gonna fully lean into it. I appreciate that!

7. what’s your eye colour?

super dark brown. close enough to black that sometimes I think I look like a cartoon character.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings FOR SURE. some of my favourite books and audiodramas are horror, but when it comes to movies, I'm gonna need to be gently cradled in the tender narrative assurance of a happy ending.

9. any special talents?

hah, I literally just had an argument with some friends about whether I have special talents. technically I do music? I mean, ten years of classical piano lessons, five years of classical flute lessons, a hell of a lot of fucking around on guitar, some bass*, some choir, and the bit in purify our misfit ways where eddie gets pulled into percussion because he can read music is literally a thing from my life. that kind of makes me sound like a much better musician than I am, though; I promise I'm not actually that good, and that's not me being modest. I'm genuinely a bit mediocre, and pretty happy about where I'm at.

also, I live & work & volunteer in some pretty heavily tourist-y areas, so I'm actually pretty good at cutting through large crowds of vaguely confused people. that's a special talent that I will gladly own.

10. where were you born?

a swing state in the midwest USA. there were cornfields. I used to can my own tomatoes. my childhood friends regularly had white-tailed deer strung up in their barns.

11. what are your hobbies?

oooof so, so many. I play a lot of indie video games? music, obviously. I go to a lot of live theatre, like an average of 2 shows per week. I'm a regular at my local board game cafe. I've done a fair bit of arts & crafts. I am not currently running any TTRPGs but that's normally a fair chunk of my time. when I lived in the US I would do a lot of weekend hiking trips to national parks. I dunno, I do a lot of stuff.

eta: forgot it probably also counts that I volunteer as a public-facing science educator! I've been doing that for more than a decade with various institutions, usually a couple days per month.

12. do you have pets?

technically yes, functionally no. my mother kidnapped my cat almost ten years ago when I moved to new zealand, and refuses to give her back because it would be "too traumatic for the cat to move" but continues to refer to her as my cat. like, "your cat now eats at the dinner table with us." (the cat did not make that decision. my mother made that decision.)

I thought about getting a corn snake about four or five years ago, because I was working with them at a nature center at the time and I think they're pretty great. they also seem relatively easy to care for, and I had access to the local herp society, so I was pretty confident about my snake-keeping abilities. but then I moved to england, so.

13. how tall are you?

5'2" last I checked. yes I'm short af. yes concerts are hell.

14. favourite subject at school?

weirdly, I was pretty good at math and I liked it a lot. but when I got to undergrad, I discovered that STEM has like a whole separate GPA scale/norm, and I wanted to go to grad school for social science so I had to make a choice. in retrospect I probably could've handled a couple Bs or Cs, but it really didn't feel like that at the time.

15. dream job?

I don't believe in dream jobs, as a general rule. I've worked creative jobs, I've worked cause-based jobs, and I just don't think there's such a thing as a perfect gig. we're all just surviving capitalism, man.

*so my best friend in undergrad was dating a bassist in an indie band, and the bassist gave her old bass to him when she got a better one, and then they broke up. and that's how I got a bass to fuck around with.

#tag game

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between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place · 2 years

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em, congrats on a year and 200k! what a milestone! for the celebration, how about shrunkyclunks + "be careful what you wish for". congrats again, sending you all the celebration cheer! <3

Hiii!! Tysm for the prompt and the cheer! My brain immediately started spinning on this one. And then it spun for quite a while. And then we ended up here. (I'm just gonna link this one on AO3, because, well ...)

They Say You Shouldn’t Meet Your Heroes, 4k, M

(Ps. I was debating with myself about the rating it's really more of a T+)

Summary:

Tempting fate or not—Bucky found it a tad overdramatic of the universe to respond by sending an army of aliens to invade New York.

Turns out, the universe was one dramatic bitch.

Bucky Barnes is having a bad day—as is most of New York—and it doesn’t exactly improve when some yahoo in patriotic spandex crashes into his workshop. But then the yahoo returns, and he’s both very familiar and nothing like Bucky expected.

#em's fic-a-versary #stucky #stucky fic #shrunkyclunks #stevebucky #modern bucky barnes #captain america steve rogers #writing things #alpine the cat #because how could I not #meet ugly

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homomenhommes · 6 months

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STORY: Ups And Downs 16

Character

(Note: This chapter does not contain a lot of explicit sex, but the information here is necessary to follow the development of the characters and the plot. Plus, there is a lot of humor and there will be more artwork at the end.)

“There you are,” Woody observed nonchalantly. I had clenched my eyes shut when Zac and Davey practically sucked me into a parallel universe, but I panicked when I heard the door of the limo open and saw Woody leaning over, almost touching me, as my dick blasted gobs of goop all over Zac and Davey’s faces and forced Woody to flinch lest he be caught in the onslaught of my cum barrage as well. Oh fuck! I just got this incredible job two hours ago, and now I’m gonna be fired before the ink on the paperwork dries.

“Kim has been looking for you two,” indicating Rafael and me as if nothing had just happened. “Your lunch is getting cold. I would invite you two (Davey and Zac) to join them, but it seems that you’ve already eaten.” Rafael, Davey, and Zac laughed at the joke with cum all over their faces and dripping out of their mouths, but I was still too panic-stricken to do anything but squirm in my seat—with my shorts down around my knees and my dick still at attention and still oozing joy juice.

And as Woody walked away, leaving the door wide open, Davey and Zac gave us both kisses as we pulled up our shorts and fled to the patio, where Kim was setting up our lunch.

“I knew you’d be starving, wanting more than a sandwich,” said Kim, “so I grilled you some steaks with baked potatoes and a medley of sauteed zucchini and squash. And if that’s not enough, I’ve got cookies baking in the oven.”

I was indeed starving, so I scarfed down the hearty meal, and when Kim brought us four hot chocolate-chip cookies, Rafael took a pass, so I devoured his two as well as mine. “I have to eat fast,” I confessed, “since this may be my last meal. I think I’m a dead man.”

“Because you had sex in the limo?” questioned Rafael. “Pfft. It’s not as big a deal as you might think. If Woody doesn’t say any more about it before breakfast tomorrow, you’re safe.”

“I hope so, but I’m not going to take any more chances today. Let’s get back to my training ASAP.” And so we did.

Rafael took me back to the garage and showed me how to operate all the new-fangled computerized gadgets in all the vehicles. When I asked about maintenance on the vehicles, Rafael explained that we were not expected to be mechanics. We just had to keep the vehicles clean, keep track of the maintenance required under the warranties, and schedule the service appointments.

Next on the agenda, Rafael showed me how to operate and maintain the pool and spa. I had a pretty good idea from having worked in the hardware store, but our family had never owned a pool ourselves, so I paid close attention to Rafael’s instructions. He then took me to the pool house and showed me where the supplies were kept.

The pool house was attached to a shed/workshop that housed all the lawn and garden tools as well as ladders, work benches, power tools, and other hardware, all of which I was very familiar with. “You may never have to use most of these tools,” said Rafael, “but some guys like to come in here and build stuff for their dorm rooms or whatever.”

Or to get their rocks off.

The next stop on our tour was the boat house down by the lake. There was no motor boat, but there was a paddle boat, a canoe, a kayak, a row boat, and related gear. “There’s not much to do here,” said Rafael. “All the guys are pretty good about putting things back where they belong when they’re finished, but we do make a point of following up on the guests when they use the boats just to be on the safe side.”

There was nothing to do at the barn or the guest houses, so we skipped those. “You just have to look after the gardens,” said my guide. “And just as with everything else, you can tap any of the guys around the pool to help out when needed.”

The tour and training session took us right up to 5:00 o’clock, and since we had an hour free before dinner, I decided to relax by the pool, but before I did, I went up to my room to retrieve a sketch pad I had brought with me. I had always enjoyed drawing but never really got to do as much of it as I had wished, so I thought now would be a good time to hone my skills.

Sitting at a table under the loggia on the patio, I began sketching portraits of some of the guys around the pool. “That’s very good,” stressed the voice over my shoulder. I recognized the voice immediately and snapped to attention as Mr. Block put his hand on my shoulder.

“Relax, Joe. No need for formalities. We’re all family around here.” As I settled back into my seat, Mr. Block lifted up the sketch pad I had placed on the table. “Do you mind?” he asked. What the fuck was I gonna say? “Hell no, asshole. Keep your goddam hands off my artwork?” Of course not.

Remaining standing, with Woody now at his side, Mr. Block flipped through several pages of the sketch book and nodded his approval. I don’t know if he appreciated the artistic talent or if he was just getting off on the fact that most of the sketches were nudes and some were undeniably homoerotic, but I accepted his endorsement gratefully.

“Woody did mention last night that you had an affection for the arts, and I can see that he was right.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Turning to Woody, Mr. Block said, “What do you think, Woody? Greenwich?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ll take care of it.”

I had no friggin’ idea what the hell they were talking about, but before I could ask, they walked on.

Rafael, who had been standing nearby, joined me at the table, but before I could ask him if he knew what they were talking about, Woody suddenly reappeared.

“You,” he asserted, pointing a finger as he addressed me, “and you,” he repeated, pointing this time at Rafael. “My office. Two minutes.”

“Oh shit!” I whispered to Rafael as soon as Woody was out of earshot. “He’s gonna can me for that little stunt in the limo.” Rafael said nothing. He just tried to console me a bit by rubbing his hand over my back. It felt good, but I knew it was pointless. The die had been cast.

“Not there,” said Rafael, as I started to knock on Mr. Block’s office door. Instead, he led me to another door at the other end of that wall. I had never noticed it before because it blended in so perfectly with the wood-paneled walls in the library.

“Come in,” said Woody in that deep sexy voice of his when Rafael knocked on that door. Getting chewed out or not, I could listen to that resonant voice all day and all night. I just hoped I wouldn’t pop a boner while he raked me over the coals. I thought he was fucking hot, but I also felt intimidated by him. Part of that was because of the fact that he was my boss and my fate rested in his hands; part of it was the simple fact that he had a commanding presence wherever he was or whatever he was doing.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating the two high-back leather chairs in front of his desk, nearly identical to the ones in Mr. Block’s office.

“I’m so sorry, Woody…Mr. Woodward. I won’t—”

“Have you killed someone without my knowing it?”

“Huh? No, I just—”

“Have you burnt down one of the guest houses?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then shut up and listen. If you’re trying to apologize for that little incident in the limo, forget it.”

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, he explained. “Look, Joe. You have suddenly found yourself thrust into a strange new world, and you don’t know quite what to make of it yet. You may feel like a kid in a sexual candy shop. That’s natural.

“Every boy dreams of screwing his prom date in the back of a limousine. Or having sex on an airplane.” With that comment, Rafael mustered all the strength he could to avoid laughing, and I turned beet red. “You’re blushing,” Woody continued. “That’s cute.” And that little observation fractured Rafael’s restraints. He burst out laughing so hard, I thought I was going to have to give him CPR. As for Woody, he simply broached that tiny demi-smirk of his, and I thought I saw a microscopic gleam in his eye as he paused and then continued.

“Over the next few weeks, you’ll probably play out your cowboy fantasies in the loft of the barn, your pirate fantasies in the row boat, or your Tarzan fantasies by swinging from the chandeliers. Don’t try that one,” he quickly added. “It didn’t work for me, and I’m sure as hell it won’t work for you.”

Oh, my god! Was that a confession?

“Go ahead,” Woody continued. “Get it all out of your system. Eventually, you will settle down. Hopefully that will be sooner rather than later. Now, may we get down to business?” Once again, it was more of a command than a question.

“In a couple of weeks, Mr. Block is going to an art show in Connecticut—Greenwich to be more precise—and he would like you to go with him, Joe.”

Holy shit! Me?

He thinks you have some artistic talent, and I agree, and he wants to encourage that. As you have no doubt observed, Mr. Block is quite a collector of homoerotic art.

“Yes, and it’s all beautiful,” I said.

“Indeed. So, meet me here in my office tomorrow morning at 9:00, and we will start planning our trip.”

“Our trip?”

“Of course, I’ll be going with you. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you to keep you from swinging from the hotel chandeliers.” That comment was made all the more funny because he said it with his characteristic deadpan face, and Rafael again nearly fell out of his chair laughing. And I must admit, I thought it was pretty funny too.

“As for you, Rafael, you may be wondering why I brought you into this conversation.” As Rafael nodded his concurrence, Woody continued, “Mr. Block is inviting you to join us on this trip as well.”

“Really? But I’ll be leaving for Spain in just a few weeks.”

“Precisely,” acknowledged Woody. “Mr. Block wants to reward you for all of your exemplary service these past few years with this little vacation. You will fly to New York with us, but while we are at the art show in Greenwich, you can remain in New York City—all expenses paid, of course—and see the sights or do whatever horny young men do in such places when left without proper supervision. Once you leave here, you will not be returning to San Diego. Mr. Block has a little something he wants you to do for him on the East Coast, which I will explain in due time, and then you will be off to Spain, where you will become the worst nightmare of Catalonian mothers instead of the mothers of California’s defenseless young men.”

And to that comment, Rafael rubbed his hands together, batted his long eyelashes, and grinned like the proverbial cat that was about to eat the hapless canary.

Before either Woody or I could rein in Rafael’s hysteria, Mr. Block knocked on Woody’s office door. “Pardon the interruption,” he said. “Could I see you for a minute, Woody?”

“Excuse me, fellas. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Whew!” I exclaimed the minute that Woody stepped out. “I thought for sure I was gonna get canned.”

“I told you not to worry,” said Rafael, slowly regaining his composure. “It all really boils down to character,” he added.

“Character? Whaddya mean? All the rampant sex around here, and you say it’s all about character?”

“Sex has nothing to do with character,” explained Rafael. “It’s really about how you treat people. You can demonstrate character with people whether you’re having sex with them or not. Likewise, you can demonstrate lack of character if you mistreat them. It’s not about sex. It’s about dignity and respect.”

“Wow! When did you become King Solomon?” I teased, but at the same time, I knew that what he had said made a lot of sense.

“Sorry about that, guys,” said Woody, re-entering the room and once again taking his seat behind the hand-carved executive desk.

“As I was saying,” he continued, “meet me here at 9:00 in the morning, Joe, and we’ll start planning our trip. I told you I could use your help with some administrative tasks. This will be your first chance to demonstrate those skills.

“While we’re doing that, Rafael, I need you to make sure the Navigator is ready. We’ll be going out right after our meeting.”

“That’s it for now. Go get ready for dinner.”

Rafael left the office ahead of me, but I paused, mulling over what he had just told me about character.

“Is there something else?” Woody asked me.

As I turned to face him again, I asked somewhat sheepishly, but very sincerely, “Would it be appropriate if I invited Davey and Zac to join us for dinner?|”

For a moment, Woody gazed at me as if he were trying to figure out if I was the same homeless vagabond he had rescued from a seedy motel room in Atlanta or if perhaps my body had been inhabited by some alien from another planet. But then there appeared that ever-so-slight smile at the edge of his lips and that miniscule gleam in his eyes. “Sure,” he finally said. “That will be just fine.”

As I turned again to leave, Woody caught me. “But make sure they are dressed appropriately for dinner. We wouldn’t want them to make a bad impression on Mr. Block.”

To be continued

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flameof · 1 year

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Welp, back on the bitching bandwagon for Engage, I guess. I'm officially not gonna play Maddening difficulty for a while.

And I say this after reaching Ch23 (the Lava Chapter), and really feeling like I chose so many wrong units.

The enemies are just too damn bulky to be considered fair. 40-60 HP? On units with mid 30 to 40 def or res? AND enough speed to avoid being doubled by most of your army? It's just not fun, man. This is also on top of being constantly RNG screwed into missing 95% hits that have 100% crit chance (thank you, Panette).

AND DON'T GET ME F*CKING STARTED ON THE BULLSHIT THAT IS CITRINNE AND CHLOE! Seriously, I hear so much about how they're 'good units', but while Citrinne may have phenomenal magic, and Chloe speed, they blow MASSIVE CHUNKS in every other stat. What good is that speed if you can barely even damage the enemy Chloe?! What goods that magic damage if you can't hit the broad side of a barn and die when so much as a stiff breeze blows. your way, Citrinne?!

Hah. Okay, rage over. I'm just gonna workshop strats in my hard mode save, and try again once the final wave of DLC hits. It honestly took getting Chrom and Veronica to get past ch21.

#fire emblem engage #just ranting #just raging #I do still like the game #but damn if it's not infuriating at times #LOOKING AT YOU ZEPHIA YOU SKANK!

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 3 years

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everything i wanted // bucky barnes

Summary: Bucky asks you to pick Rebecca from school, as you spend the day with her, you can’t help to think that this is what you want, for the rest of your life.

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader (Single Parent AU)

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @coffee-books-music for proofreading this!

You can consider this as a part two of begin again.

And tagging @buckys-estrella because you asked me to!

divider by @firefly-graphics

wanna be added to my permanent taglist? here

main masterlist

You were in front of the Brooklyn Elementary School waiting for Rebecca, your boyfriend’s daughter. Bucky had called you and told you that something came up at the workshop and he couldn’t pick Becca from school, so he asked you if you could do it. You didn’t mind, you and Bucky had been dating for a while now, since the day you saw him at the diner waiting for a date that never showed up and you decided to be his date instead everything had been perfect.

You met Rebecca a couple of months later. At first, you were nervous, thoughts of her not liking you plagued your mind but Bucky always reassured you that she was going to love you. And he was right. The little girl was delighted with you.

The three of you did a lot of things together, you went to the zoo, to the movies… Bucky couldn’t help himself think that this is how things should have been with Dot. He knew he was a good father and Rebecca loved him a lot but he also knew his little girl needed a mother figure, that’s why he kept going on those dates. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have met you, someone that not only loved him but loved his daughter too.

The bell sounded, announcing the end of the classes for the day. They pushed the front doors of the building open, and you observed kids running out, excited that school was finally over. Your eyes caught the little brunette, she was peacefully walking with a blonde kid beside her.

“Becca!” you tried to catch her attention when you saw she was looking around looking for her father. When her eyes landed on you, a big smile grew on her face.

“Who’s that, Bec?” asked the boy who was still beside her.

“That’s my mom,” Rebecca replied, and with that she ran towards you without bidding goodbye to her friend. You picked her up in your arms, her little arms wrapped around your neck.

You asked, “Had fun at school?” She furiously nodded as she rambled on about what she had done, “…and Miss Larson asked a super hard question and I was the only one who knew the answer.”

“That’s my girl,” you high-fived with her as she laughed.

“Why did you come today?” she asked, tilting her face.

“Your dad is busy at work, so he’s gonna come home late.”

“So you’re gonna stay with me then?” she asked, hope and excitement clear in her voice.

You just nodded and she let a victorious sound escape her mouth. You laughed putting her on the ground and grabbed her tiny hand in yours. “Ready to go home?”

It was late at night when Bucky came home, when he noticed you weren’t in the living room he made his way upstairs to see the adorable image of you and Becca sitting on her bed, his daughter between your legs while you brushed her hair.

Neither of you had noticed his presence yet, he smiled at the view in front of him, how comfortable you were with each other, it was so natural. The thought of coming home every day to this filled his heart with warmth.

Knock Knock

“Daddy!” Rebecca screamed when she saw her father on the doorstep of her room, but she didn’t run and jump into his arms like she would normally do.

“What? No hug today?” Bucky pouted, which made his little girl giggle.

Rebecca pinched her nose with her fingers “You stink, daddy!”

Bucky gasped with fake offense and averted his gaze to you for support, only to receive a “Don’t look at me, Becca is right.”

Your boyfriend raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ll take a shower, but you, young lady, are going to sleep now,” he said, pointing his index finger towards his daughter.

“But Y/N is brushing my hair!” she whined.

“She can brush your hair another day. You’ve got to wake up early for school tomorrow,”

Rebecca looked up at you, “Can you read to me?”

“Honey, I bet Y/N is tir-” But you didn’t let your boyfriend finish his sentence. “I don’t mind.”

“Yaaay,” the little girl screamed happily. She got up from the bed and ran to get a book.

Your boyfriend gave you a “Are you sure?” look.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, “You go shower.” Bucky nodded and left the room as Rebecca crawled back to bed and handed you a book.

She got under the covers, and you lied beside her, opening the book and started reading. “The little prince. Oh, I love this one.”

Once Rebecca finally fell asleep, you gave her a soft kiss on her forehead and made your way downstairs. Your boyfriend had finished his shower just a few minutes ago, his hair still damp.

“She’s asleep?” he inquired, his arms wrapped around your figure. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of sandalwood and bergamot. You hummed in response. “Thank you for today.” At this you pulled away from him, looking at his soft features.

“It’s not a problem. You know I love spending time with her.”

“I know. And I love you for that,” he caressed your face and pulled you in again. Joining his lips with yours, your hands reached the back of his neck and you tangled your fingers into his wet hair, earning a low moan from him. You smiled into the kiss, giving him a last peck before pulling apart.

You both sat on the couch, your head resting on Bucky’s shoulder and one of your hands on his round belly, drawing patterns with your fingers. He had one arm safely around you. As you were telling him your day with Becca, he noticed that in the tone of your voice, there was something bothering you in the back of your mind.

“Hey,” he gently grabbed your chin with his free hand and made you look at him. “What’s wrong?”

You licked your lips, a habit you had developed years ago and something you always did when you were nervous. You could feel Bucky’s eyes piercing into yours. A worried expression etched on his features. “Did Becca say something to you?”

You shook your head. Swallowing hard, you tried to find the right words, not wanting your boyfriend to misinterpret what you wanted to convey. “It’s just… today, when I went to pick Becca from school, there was this kid with her and when he asked her who I was, she said that...she said that I was her mom,” You weren’t bothered or mad about the little girl referring to you as her mother but to say it didn’t shock you when you heard the words leave her mouth. Especially because it was the first time she did it.

You loved Rebecca the minute you met her; she was an adorable kid, and you of course you had thought about spending time with Bucky and her for the rest of your life, but you didn’t know if that wasn’t something she wanted, if it was something Bucky wanted. So when you heard the little girl refer to you as her mom, something fluttered inside you.

“Did she?” You could see the slight surprise on his face, but still a large smile grew on Bucky’s face and you felt like you could sigh in relief. He didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Quite the opposite, actually. “How do you feel about it?”

“I- I really liked it,” you shyly admitted, a matching smile growing on your face.

“Yeah?” he asked again. He just needed to be sure, the smile never leaving his face.

“Yeah,” you laughed happily. Bucky caressed your cheek with his thumb, and shifted your position on the sofa a little, to have better access to your lips. It was soft and sweet, nothing in the world existed but you two, you could feel fireworks exploding inside of you. Kissing Bucky always felt special and magical, but this kiss had something different, something you couldn’t explain with words.

“Every time I’m with you, there’s no other place I’d rather be. You are my world, my everything, and I’d love to do nothing more than make you happy. Becca loves you, and she could never have a better mom than you. I love you, Y/N, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So I’m asking...will you marry me?”

#chubby!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (xii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, too many TV show references, obnoxious flirting, and riverdale lol

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: hello this is a chaos chapter. special shoutout to an anon who suggested a WandaVision themed episode, @obsessivelycapricious for the ideas, @spiderrpcrker loml for some of crackhead content here and @ugherik for take 2 of the spin on the “a platypus!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “perry the platypus!???” thing. i am exhausted

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

“Mr. Barnes,” you announce when he opens the door to let himself in.

He raises his hand in a small wave, strolling across the floor to where you were standing.

“You are-” You check the watch on your wrist, “-ten minutes late.”

“Tragic,” he replies dryly.

“Imagine if I didn’t wait for you and started my plan anyway. Total world annihilation.” You’re standing on the platform, lugging a heavy table on wheels and an old timey TV with you.

“The world hasn’t ended yet, I’d say it’s fine.” He makes his way to the base of the stairs, waiting for you to reach the top before he helps.

“How was therapy?” you question, one hand on the TV to support it.

“Like always.” He shrugs, lifting the whole set up and placing it on the ground. “She told me I need to chill out.”

“I’d say she’s right.”

“Yeah, well-” He uses his metal arm to help you pull the table along. “I think she has her hands full with the other nine hundred problems I have.”

Once you guide it to the centre of the room, he lets go of it and takes a step back.

“Boom.”

“This TV is older than | am.” He knocks the top of it, a hollow metal sound resounding through.

“That's impossible,” you drawl obnoxiously. “You're, like, a billion years old.”

“I’m a gazillion, so watch your mouth,” he warns in mock seriousness. “What are you doing with this?”

“One second.” You hold up a finger, sorting out your priorities. “Your hair's getting long again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That's what happens when it grows over time.”

“You look like a prince.” His hair fell to his ear by now and you figured the haircut did him well because the volume in his tresses was lively.

Bucky pulls at it slightly, eying a lock. “That a bad thing?”

“No.” He looked nice. “I like it.”

“Okay.” He pushes back a smile, nodding slightly.

Really nice.

“I think I will hit on you obnoxiously today.”

He exhales, pressing his lips together in a straight line. “When do you not?”

“Anyway,” you begin again, keeping a hand on the TV. “I saw your reaction to Netflix’s best movie last time-”

His face falls. “We’re not watching the sequel.”

“Hush.” You raise a finger in warning. “There’s no point in watching The Kissing Booth 2-”

“We finally agree on something,” he deadpans. “Who woulda thought?”

“-when you can live it.” You raise the remote in triumph. “Behold, the Television Transporter... inator.”

“That’s the name?” He looks unimpressed, rightfully so. You had given him names like The Air Morphomatic Inator before. This was nothing.

“I’m workshopping it,” you urge him to move on. “I built it in a hurry for us.”

“Is this thing even safe?” He taps at the glass.

“We’re gonna find out,” you mumble before raising your voice again. “You ever looked at a Hallmark movie and think, ‘gosh, I wish I was in that small, vaguely terrifying town!’”

“No.”

“When you’re watching a sci-fi movie and think, “jeez, I wish I was the one getting probed by that alien!”

“No.”

“When you’re watching erotica and-”

“No,” he interrupts before you complete your obscene thought.

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” You clap your hands together in excitement. “Because you can do all of that.”

“Why are you advertising this to me?” His feeling of suspiciousness rises with every second. “What is this, a pitch meeting?”

“I thought I’d make it fun.” You pouted. “Monologuing is so two weeks ago.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Also, I didn’t exactly get to test this out so...” you trail off. “And it technically only runs TV shows for now. If you want, we can do this next week after I do a few test runs with my clones.”

He had a mission next weekend, followed a fundraiser event and even though he would definitely rather spend it here, he doesn’t really have the time.

“What if something goes wrong?” he asks, just in case.

“I swear I’ll pull the plug,” you promise. “No pun intended.”

That’s enough for him.

“Guess ‘m gonna have to destroy it before it’s fully functional.” He’s still feeling the adrenaline spike from the compliment you gave him earlier. Might as well make use of it.

You grin at his spontaneity. “Anyway, here’s the evil part-”

“Oh, joy.”

“You’re mouthy today, Barnes.” You take a pause. “I like it. Keeping things spicy.”

“Just doing my part.” He shakes his head, owing it the unusual sense of confidence compared to what he had when he initially walked in “Go on, the evil part is?”

“They get thrown into any show across all networks or streaming platforms.” The smile on your face is nothing short of sinister. “If they’re especially bad, they’re going straight to Riverdale.”

“You can control it?”

“Well,” you pause, “no, not yet. But I’ll get there.”

Bucky just continues anyway. “And who are you planning to send?”

“For a start, it’d be that asshole Jeff from work.” Ah yes, he remembers Jeff. Baking soda volcano guy. “He’s gonna know the epic highs and lows of high school football.”

He brushes it off as a reference he doesn’t get yet.

“After that, anyone who’s inconvenienced me ever.” You spread your arms out. “And then the whole tri-state area.”

There’s a loud booming sound throughout the lair, similar to a dun dun dun in every superhero movie ever.

Bucky waits for it to subside before continuing, “How long did it take you to do that?”

“An embarrassing amount of time,” you admit, dropping your hands to your side again. “But it’s cool, right?”

“Sure.”

“You know it is.”

“Move on.”

“Right, so taking over the tri-state area, blah blah, end of the world as we know it-”

“What if I pull the plug?” He points to the cable connecting it to the socket.

“You wouldn’t.”

He stares at you. “You know I would.”

“Yeah, you would,” you huff. “Which is why it’s just for show. It doesn’t actually do anything.”

“What if I punch a hole through it?”

“Why is that your first resort?” you whine. “There’s only one way to stop it and it’s the remote I made.”

“That remote?” He looks at the one in your hand and you nod.

“We get two minutes per channel, so that’s fun,” you explain, walking towards the TV. “You can pick your character but since you don’t know most of them, it’s gonna be even better. Kinda wanna see you as Luke from Gilmore Girls.”

“Great,” he drags the word sarcastically. “And what about you?”

“I’m always the main character, baby, everywhere I go.” You give him a mischievous grin, raising the remote over your head. “See you there.”

He watched you in amusement as you press the ‘on’ button before falling straight into the TV set.

The world goes dark.

When you open your eyes again, you’re in front of a wooden door, an entrance to the large grey building.

The remote’s not in your hand. There’s a slight moment of panic before you feel the strain of a sling bag on your shoulder. You rummage haphazardly through the contents, finally letting out a breath of relief when you find the remote under a bunch of pens and other knick-knacks.

You push the doors open, and take a step into the establishment, almost immediately greeted by the sight of Bucky standing at the bar. Behind the bar, actually.

There’s a towel thrown over his shoulder, a blue flannel adorning his body and a half-empty bottle of tequila in his hand.

The doorbell tinging alerts him to your presence.

“Y/N.”

“James,” you reciprocate, making your way over to the barstools. “You’re bartending.”

He motions at his state. “Apparently I am.”

Where had you seen this particular bar before? With its u-shaped counter and solid wooden furniture, a TV mounted at the apex of the alcohol shelf. The old jukebox in the corner is a hint, a bit of nostalgia but it’s ultimately the curved booths that are the key.

“New Girl.” You twist your body around. “We’re in New Girl. And so that makes you...”

“A fucking bartender,” he repeats. “What am I doing here?”

Nick goddamn Miller.

A grin curves upwards on your face. “I’d like an Old Fashioned.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, placing the bottle of tequila far away from your immediate reach.

“The most complicated drink you have, then, barkeep,” you declare, settling in and making yourself more comfortable on the stool.

Bucky dips below the counter before rising again. He drops a water bottle in front of you. “No.”

“C’mon,” you urge. “I’m a teacher, I’m basically your Jessica Day.”

“I don’t know who that is.” Bore. That wasn’t going to keep you from having fun. “What’s happening? Why am I wearing this... thing?”

He picks at the faded flannel that had a few holes near its hem. Definitely a Nick Miller shirt.

“You’re in character, Bucko.” You watch as he pulls the towel away from his shoulder and drops it on the floor. “I can totally see why you picked this guy.”

“I didn’t pick him-”

“Constantly irritated, the personality of an old man, in love with a teacher.” You sigh dreamily. “One and the same.”

“I didn’t sign up for Comic Con today,” he interrupts, looking for the slab to lift so he could make his way over to you.

“How do you know what Comic Con is?” You follow his movements, one leg on the floor in case you had to make a run for it.

He doesn’t reply, focusing on lifting the counter so he can get it done with. The countertop doesn’t budge. He tries to jump over it but something that feels like a forcefield repulses him backwards, preventing him from doing so.

“Why can’t I get out of here?”

“Plot demands that you stay there.” You take a sip innocently, pulling your seat a few feet away from the counter. “Nick Miller never crosses the bar. It’s a whole thing.”

He turns around, exposing his back to you as he tries to scout for another way.

“What else can’t I do here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, taking a look around for any sort of clue. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“How am I supposed to fix this then?” He rolls his eyes. He had a few ways but they were semi-violent and for international criminals, not you.

“Get me drunk and maybe I’ll let you steal the remote.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “We can even play spin the bottle.”

Bucky stares at you long and hard before reaching over and grabbing his previously discarded bottle of tequila.

“I was kidding.” You snort. “You gotta try harder than getting me drunk. Although, I’m still up for the spin the bottle.”

“You're serious about the hitting on me thing.” He looks at you in slight disdain.

“I would never joke about that,” you swear, turning the cap on your water bottle before jumping off. “Anyway, see you soon.”

“Where you going?” His eyebrows pull low.

You look down at your watch before glancing up at him again.

“Channel’s changing.” You stick your finger up and he follows where you’re pointing.

The bar starts fading into a field of static, bringing the familiar white noise from your past along with it before everything goes black.

You look around, finding nothing but yourself in the vast expanse of the void. Existential.

Nice.

The brief seconds you get to yourself, you think about how you didn’t get a choice in which character you got to play but you wondered if he did. If he was choosing on purpose to play someone reluctantly in love with you- well, the feeling you had in your stomach was one that you were going to equate to butterflies.

When the world suddenly snaps back into colour, you’re not upright.

You’re sitting in the driver’s seat with your hands on the steering wheel, foot on the pedal.

There’s a Creedence Clearwater Revival song playing softly on the radio of the sleek, black muscle car you’re driving.

“What the-” You look down at your clothes, running your hand over your jacket, patting yourself down. “A lumberjack? Why am I playing a lumberjack?”

There were so many layers, at least three from what you could make out. A t-shirt, an overshirt and a jacket on top of that. No wonder the AC was on full blast, it was absolutely scorching.

“Keep your eyes on the fuckin’ road!” A voice yells from behind you, yanking the steering wheel away from the series of blaring honks and bright lights that almost blind you. A truck passes by, its driver sticking his head out the window to curse at you.

“Mr. Barnes, what are you doing back there?” You ignore the possible life and death situation that might have occurred a few seconds ago since it was irrelevant by now. “Am I your chauffeur?”

“Fuck if I know.” You look at him through the rearview mirror.

Besides the scowl on his face, his hair was parted down the side, he wore a white button-up, a tie and a black blazer but the most damning piece of evidence:

A beige trench coat.

Your mind races to put it together before the fucking car and the woodcutter attire suddenly make sense.

“Oh, my God.” It’s a little concerning how hard you laugh. “Shit, are you supposed to be Castiel?”

“Who?” He glared at you from the rearview mirror.

“Fuck, that means I’m Dean.” You glance down at your outfit again. “Is Supernatural still going on?”

“Eyes on the road,” he barks again from his seat. Supernatural? He’d definitely heard of the show, even seen a few out of context Reels on Instagram.

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes. “Because this show is known for permanently killing off characters. You die and come back, like, every five minutes.” Ah, so just like his friends in real life.

“Give me the remote” He leans forward in the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. “I’m already sick of this.”

A screech of the tires follows your jerking of the steering wheel to the right, throwing him to the backseat as the car lurched to the other lane.

“I’m in control here, Bucko,” you chortle, giving him a once over to make sure he was fine. “Plus the remote’s not in my pocket, I can’t feel it.

You couldn’t feel it when you ran your hands down your jacket. The lack of command you had over where the remote landed was definitely a glitch you hadn’t considered, but made a mental note of.

“Then where is it?” He checks to see if it’s maybe in his pocket. No such luck. “Your inator is a mess.”

“You’re my angel boyfriend, you’re supposed to be nice to me.” You watch his movements to see what he was up to. “Did you pick your character on purpose?”

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes, checking the backseat and under the cushion to see if it was anywhere there.

“Yet.” You grin at him. “And judging by the show, you won’t ever be but we can make it happen in real life.”

“No,” he denies simply, leaning forward to open the glove compartment when he realised it wasn’t at the back. “And I didn’t pick my character.”

“At all?”

He grunts in affirmation, hand jutting out to keep his balance as he checked under your seat.

“That’s weird, I made sure it was programmed to let you do that.” Your tongue pushed against your cheek in contemplation. “Huh.”

Guess there were more glitches than you thought.

You swerve the car again and he’s worried that the passenger’s side headrest might just snap under the grip of his metal arm.

“Even then, you know, I don’t think it’s fate that we’re playing two people in love for the second time,” you sing as if you didn’t pull the car onto a different lane and back within a second. “We’re meant to be.”

“Stop doing that,” he hisses, straightening himself again from where he was pressed against the door.

“Doing what?”

“Driving like a maniac,” he fires, grabbing hold of both the headrests this time.

“Oh, so you’re fine with the flirting?” Your lips curve upwards into a smile.

“Couldn’t stop that even if I tried, now could I?” he mumbles sardonically, eyeing the road ahead for any possible reason for you to swerve into the other lane. There’s a car in the distance, a guarantee that you won’t repeat your behaviour. Hopefully.

“I would if you wanted me to.” You catch his gaze in the mirror. “You just have to say the word.”

He looks at your reflection, realising that you were dead serious about it too, no hint of a joke on your face.

“Move,” he commands instead, climbing into the front seat, ungracefully shoving your head in the process.

He supposes that was answer enough.

There’s no denying the little smile that makes its way onto your face which you drop immediately in favour of indignation when he clumsily lands beside you.

“There’s no point in getting the remote, Bucky,” you protest, pushing him away with one hand. “We could rather be making history on this show by dating. I already know you’re in love with me so this should be easy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, the tips of his ears turning pink as he reached over to the glove compartment. You waste no opportunity, clearly.

“We have like 3 seconds left.” You scoff, looking for a second at your watch. “Where are we going next on the list of shows that never end? The Walking Dead? Grey’s Anatomy?”

Just as he opens the compartment the trees outside melt into grey, the white noise making a return as the car disappears from under you.

You wonder if he’s in his little void too when your world goes dark.

You blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight beating down on you with the mid-noon heat.

You’re on what looks like a large farmland. Dirt caked your limbs and you had the rattiest clothes on, ones that clearly hadn’t seen the washing machine in a while.

“Ugh.” Sweat dripped from your forehead to your chin and you wiped it off with your forearm.

“Let’s keep it moving people.” You wouldn’t mistake his voice for anyone else, no matter how far away he was from you.

Bucky had a bomber jacket on, a rifle pressed to his side and mud streaked across his face as he hustles a group of people down a path leading to a mansion.

And though he’s hurrying and seems like he’s in a state of worry, judging by the constant glances he gives over his shoulder, what really catches your attention is the stupid fucking sheriff’s hat he has on his head.

“Sarge!” you call out, waving your hands over your head to catch his attention. You’re a considerable distance down the road away from him, somehow isolated from the rest of the group.

You can see him mouth a ‘what the’ before stalking towards you.

The dumb thing on his head looks even more ridiculous up close.

“Now I know you wouldn’t choose to wear that.” You stifle a laugh, hands on your hips as you gave him a once over. “But from the neck down, you look really hot.”

He looks at you blankly. “The Walkers are coming.”

“What wa- oh, is that where we are?” you squint, doing a survey of your surroundings. “The fuckin’ Walking Dead?”

“Keep your volume down and get inside,” he hisses, pointing to the house down the path.

“I was kidding about the shows that didn’t end.” You pay no attention to him, instead, a little scoff escaping you in disbelief. “I didn’t think we’d actually show up here, what the fuck?”

“They’re coming.”

“Would you relax, none of this is going to matter in a minute. Aren’t there supposed to be zombies?” You shield your eyes from the sun as you stand on your toes to try and see beyond the horizon. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be playing but let’s makeout anyway.”

He doesn’t curse or groan at your stupid attempt to hit on him.

Instead, he freezes for a second, eyes trailing over your shoulder.

“What?” You follow his line of sight, craning your body to do so.

Your ears picked up the sound of several leaves cracking under heavy feet, low groans and strangled cries nearing in the distance.

“Oh, there they are. Hello.” You watched the herd of dead people stumble their way towards you with a vengeance. “This is so stupid. They walk, like, one mile an hour. We’ll be gone by then-”

The next thing you hear is a gun cocking before a bullet whizzes past your head and lodges itself into the head of the Walker nearest to you.

“Bucky, holy shit, don’t do that.” You press your hand to your chest to calm down the racing heartbeat. “Give me a warning at least.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He frowns, loading more bullets into the gun.

“What do you mean who’s Bucky?” Your eyebrows knit together. “What kinda dialogue is that?”

“I don’t know who you are but you need to leave,” he demands, raising the stupid rifle again. “Get back to the house.”

“Why, so you can trap me and steal the remote? Ha no, nice try.” You narrow your eyes. “This is changing in thirty seconds.”

“What remote?” He cocks the gun again.

He fires another shot behind you and you yelp, jumping slightly. “Motherfucker, stop doing that! Is this supposed to be revenge for the dumb car thing?”

“What’s changing?” He catches your gaze, a serious question posed on his lips.

“The channel.” You mentioned around. “You know, we shift to another one in twenty seconds. You’re supposed to find the remote?”

Speaking of which, you had no idea where it was. You didn’t consider outfits without a pocket to be a possibility but apparently, the television world did, and the remote was probably sprawled somewhere on the grass.

Or maybe it was under Bucky’s ridiculous hat.

You snickered at the thought.

“What are you talking about?” The confusion on his face is evident as he lowers the gun.

You frown. “What do you mean, what am I talking about?”

He doesn’t answer instead shouting a quick “Run!” before firing a shot behind you.

The static returns again, the white noise drowning out the cries of the undead for two seconds before it stops again.

The world changes to black but the frown on your face remains.

Was he fucking with you or was this genuinely a glitch in the system?

You’re indoors this time. The room is messy, filled to the brim with a bunch of knick knacks all around you. The ventilation is poor, none of the stained glass windows an inlet for fresh air.

There’s a can of God knows what in your hand and a Bible in front of you on the table where you’re seated.

“What’s with all the alcohol?” you scoff, lifting the can to inspect it. “I told you, it’s not gonna work.”

He clears his throat and you look to your left.

Oh fuck.

He was dressed in a black clergy shirt with a clerical colour, his prince hair slightly messy, and the same can as yours in his hand. You don’t even need to think to be able to recognise who he’s supposed to be.

Jesus.

“You’re the hot- I mean cool- priest,” you mumble, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “From Fleabag.”

“A cool priest?” He laughs and holy shit, you’ve never seen anything more attractive on a person before. “No, I’m a big reader with no friends.”

He knew the dialogue? You didn’t know he watched the show.

“Uh huh.” You think you say that. You may be staring too hard at the smile on his face to actually formulate words.

“Are you a cool person?” Bucky asks instead, raising the can to his lips to take a swig.

Was this his plan? To fluster you enough to surrender?

“The coolest.” That was definitely not the dialogue from the show but who cares at this point.

Hell, his plan may just be working.

“Oh, the coolest?” The expression on his face is so easy, so content that you wonder why you don’t see it more often. He looks amused and gosh, real pretty when he smiled like that. “What makes you the coolest person?”

He should not look that good. He should not look that good.

“Um-” you shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

“Are you okay?” There’s a crease that appears between his eyebrows in concern.

You cannot crush on a priest. Fuck that, you cannot crush on Bucky as a priest.

“Uh huh.” You nod, looking for the can in front of you to give you a reason not to stare at his stupid face. “You’re really playing into this character, aren’t you? I almost believe you could be a priest.”

“I’m glad it’s believable.” He gives a slightly confused laugh, “considering, you know, it’s my job.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “You’re totally not trying to seduce me into giving you the remote. Well, it didn’t work in Walking Dead, and it’s not going to work now, no matter how hot you look.”

He raises an eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. “Thank you?”

There was a minute left. Exactly how long had you been staring at him?

“Actually, I’m not sure where it is.” You shuffle around in your seat to look for it, somewhat of a distraction. “Did you see it fall anywhere when we showed up here?”

“Where what is?”

“The remote.” You check under your chair, but it isn’t there.

When you come back up, the intensity with which he’s looking at you causes your stomach to flutter. Fuckin’ hell.

“I have to be honest, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He leans forward again, leaning his weight on his elbows.

“That’s real subtle, Buck.” You snort, a sort of uneasiness spreading within you. “You're a good actor.”

He doesn’t respond but the smile on his face does falter a bit.

A second of silence passes by when neither of you say anything.

Fifteen seconds to go, a voice in your head reminds you.

He doesn’t make any effort to say anything, only waiting for your next move.

Stop staring at him.

“I need to ask you something and I need you to be serious.” You clear your throat, lips pressing together.

“Go ahead.” He nods, listening intently.

“Are you fucking around or is something actually wrong?”

There’s a beat of silence between you both.

Bucky tilts his head in confusion. “I'm afraid I don’t get your reference?”

Something was definitely up.

Five seconds.

“Where’s the fucking remote?” you discard any other objective you had, focusing on finding your exit out of that show. Maybe the glitch would work itself out if you turned the whole system on and off.

“Why are you so interested in searching for this remote?” He tries to get off his chair to come your aid even though he has no idea what was going on, but something tugs him back down, forcing him to sit there. Fucking plot convenience.

“This is no fun if you’re not actively getting annoyed,” you whine. “And it’s sad because you look really cute when you’re happy.”

“Thank you?” he asks again but you don’t look at him when the void returns, sighing instead as you rest your hand on your knees.

This time, the second you open your eyes you’re on the prowl for the dumb gadget.

He’s in front of you with possibly the worst combination of clothes that day. His denim sherpa jacket, grey-black flannel and maroon t-shirt just didn’t sit right on him.

Your eyes trail upwards, finding all his hair, but a side swoop in the front, pushed under a beanie. You scoff. He looked like an amalgamation of every grown man Netflix tries to pass off as a teenager.

“Who on earth put you in that fugly beanie?” You look around. “Actually, I don’t care. Help me find the remote.”

You pulled up chairs and boxes off the floor, nose twitching in disdain at the state of the dingy room you were in. The utter lack of proper lighting made it more difficult for you.

“In case you haven’t noticed-” he starts from above.

You freeze, countless memes and edits flooding into your head as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Oh, my God.” Your eyes widen, knowing immediately what you were about to listen to.

“I’m weird. I’m a weirdo-” he says, completely seriously, a little faster than how he usually talked.

“No. Nope. Nuh uh.” You scramble for the remote, find it a few feet away from you under a recliner.

“I don’t fit in. And I don’t want to fit in-” He lifts his hands to his mouth, thinking about what he wanted to say.

“This is literally the worst case scenario, fuck.” You hold your finger up to him. “Bucky, shut up or you’re gonna have trauma for the rest of your life.”

“Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on?” People actually got paid to write this shit.

“And he said it,” you mumble, pressing any fucking button that would take you away from Riverdale and hopefully give you time to figure out what was going on.

“That’s weird-” this overgrown variant of Jughead continued, much to your despair.

“Shut up.” You click the button to jump to the next channel, sighing in relief when the static noise drowns out the last part of his monologue.

The void is welcoming this time.

This world is very distinctly different, a huge contrast from the earlier alternatives.

“You have got to be shitting me.” Your jaw drops. “A fuckin’ cartoon?”

Wherever you were, it shared too many similar elements with your lab to not be someone’s evil headquarters. And it was all animated, things that you weren’t going to use that episode duller and blended into the background.

At least the ventilation was good. It was an open balcony building, possibly on the highest floor, broad daylight.

You flip your hand over and over again, the 2D rendering not giving you anything other than two sides. At least it confirmed that you weren’t just seeing things.

You look down at yourself. There was a lab coat over your black turtleneck and green pants fitted on your waist. Where had you seen this outfit before?

Someone crashes through a window that logically shouldn’t have even been there, doing a tuck and roll before sticking their superhero landing.

“Who the fuck-”

Even he was in 2D. His face was covered by the shadow of his fedora, giving you no way of looking at his expression.

“A secret agent?” you ask in confusion, words spilling out of your mouth against your will.

Shit, were you losing control too?

He rolls his eyes before ripping off the left sleeve of his shirt, his metal arm on full display.

“Bucky Barnes the secret agent?!” Your mouth moves on instinct before you slap a hand over it. Of course it was Bucky, who else would it fucking be?

You halt for a second.

Okay, why did he look hot as a cartoon character?

His black camo pants and full sleeve t-shirt hugged him nicely, exaggerated dimensions of his body showcased under the cloth. Generally, everything about him was the same as usual except the brown fedora perched on his head.

“Fuck no, are we supposed to be in Phineas and Ferb?”

He stares at you silently, analysing your body language in anticipation of your next move.

“Are you the fucking platypus?” Your jaw drops open in disbelief. “You’re, like, Agent B?”

He opens his mouth to say something but you hold up a finger. You’re not sure you could emotionally handle him chattering his teeth like the actual creature.

“That makes me the German scientist guy.” You look around the lab that was decorated in shades of purple. “This relationship doesn’t even make sense. How are we related to this?”

You peer at him, only to find him unmoving.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” You straighten your spine from the hunchback assigned to you. “Help me find the remote so we can go home.”

His brows were pulled into a scowl, body rigid.

“Wow, fine. I see why you got assigned him now,” you mumble, surveying the several countertops around you. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

It finally catches your eye, a couple of meters away, in brighter and sharper colours than anything else. You loved the cartoon world for this nifty little detail.

You stalk towards it, bending over to grab it off the floor.

Something harsh knocks it out of your grip. You look up to see Bucky right in front of you, hand blocking yours.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” You roll your eyes. “So now the plot lets you fight me?”

He only lowers his head in challenge.

“This is completely unnecessary.” You bend over to try again.

His forearm shoots out to block yours, your other hand grabbing onto his to pull it away from you. You could fight him, you had enough training to do so, but you had no idea how long this could go on for.

“You’re not going to let me win.” And there were thirty seconds to go.

He shakes his head.

“And if I don’t, we’re both going to keep going at this forever,” you voice to yourself, thinking over all the options.

You look at him one more time in his little costume and stupid tiny hat before deciding.

You do a sweep with your leg, kicking the remote towards him.

“Fine. Pick it up.” You gesture.

Bucky doesn’t move, suspicion turning his eyes to slits.

“I’m not kidding, pick it up. I’m not gonna fight you,” you insist. “I promise.”

That seems to be enough for him, even in this world, as he crouches down slowly to pick it up, never once breaking eye contact with you.

“Go back to your little agency and tell them you won.” You shoo him, German accent suddenly slipping into your sentence. “Go on then.”

He takes a single step back to judge your reaction. When you don’t make a move to stop him he turns around to leave, only occasionally glancing at you over his shoulder.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Zero,” you whisper as soon as the static returns, the loud white noise immediately accompanying it.

He looks up in bewilderment and you take advantage of his momentary confusion, launching yourself onto his back, leaving him staggering.

“Hello.” You whisper into his ear, leaving him no time to whip around and look at you.

His hands automatically move to pull you off him but you slam the off switch on the remote still in his grip. You jump off his back, not before pulling the gadget out of his hand.

The world swirls and twists like a damn washing machine, forcefully throwing you in and out of new characters and scenes rapidly.

“Identity theft is not a joke!” You watch from the reception.

The both of you are on an orange couch in a coffee shop, a plate of food on his lap.

“I am the devil!” you yell at Bucky who shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief.

You’re staring at a series of alphabets on the wall painted rustically in black, Christmas lights strung across them.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” What was with the knight’s helmet on his head?

A diner table with him serving you coffee, hair tucked away in a backwards baseball cap.

“Fine, make me your villain,” he leans back, eyes dark.

You’re in a high tech control room with orange accents, staring at several screens.

“Cool, cool, cool. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt.”

Hundreds of outfits and dialogues from shows whiz past you within a second until you’re suddenly sucked out of the TV set and into the real world.

You blink swiftly to get rid of the stupid dots floating around your eyes but act in a hurry, throwing the remote on the ground and crushing it under your foot.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, sarge.” You take a few steps back, breathing heavily.

“What just happened?” Bucky squints at you.

“Well-” You’re just glad he’s back to himself. ”-I think you kicked my ass.”

“I destroyed the remote.” He rubs at his eyes, gaze flitting down to where the pieces lay on the ground in front of him. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“Good, it’ll save me the embarrassment,” you cover up, straightening out the clothes you were wearing from that morning. “If it helps, you looked damn good while doing it.”

He only hums and you finally feel yourself calm down. “We done for the day?”

“Think so.” You needed a drink. Or maybe a teen magazine quiz to determine whether you only found Bucky hot or you found Bucky hot.

“See you next week then.”

“Unless you wanna stay here and play spin the bottle,” you propose casually, shoving the TV off the table to the ground. Never again.

Bucky snorts before turning on his heel to leave. You exhale slightly.

“We’re not at that episode,” he calls out without turning around, “yet.”

Your jaw drops. “Are you flirting with me?”

He only shuts the door behind him as he walks out.

here’s a list of shows referenced!

all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards fuel for this crackhead fic so if you’d like to support my writing <333

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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theconstantsidekick · 3 years

Text

Power Broker (1) | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Past!Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader

Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst.

Summary: Bucky breaks out Zemo. Sam suggests they need help handling him, seeing as he can push Bucky’s buttons unlike anyone else. So they go to the only person who can handle both Bucky and Zemo, the only Stark left in the Superhero business… well kind of. Only problem is, she seems reluctant.

Warnings: None I can think of.

a/n: Alright, so I said, I’d do this if I got a 100 notes... and I did. So here this is. Essentially these are snippets of scenes that introduce y/n into the story as a character without making drastic changes. The plot points remain mostly same as they take place in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, except that y/n is also a main character with them, if that makes sense. The rest of the MCU events stay the same as well. No drastic retcons. The previous upload was the second part to gauge reception. Here on out, I’ll be posting in order, dw. Thanks for you support. And oh, I guess the tag list is open?

Power Broker (2) | Series Masterlist

“What are you talking about? You wanna break Zemo outta jail? Where the hell are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?” Sam shouts as both men make their way into the room with torches in their hands. Sam has no idea where they are, and the calmness that Bucky is exuding is kinda pissing him off.

“We have no leads, no moves, nothing. Sam,” Bucky shouts back.

“What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars,” Sam’s trying his best to reason with the geezer but he’s failing.

“And we also have eight Super Soldiers that are loose,” Bucky counters.

“Zemo's gonna mess with our minds,” He reasons, “Especially yours. No offense.”

Bucky walks over to a lever and pulls it, lighting up the abandoned workshop. Cars and equipment scattered around. “Offense” He chides, turning off his flashlight. Sam copies the motion as Bucky steps towards him, saying, “Super Soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code.” The old man walks away.

“I've been on the wrong side of that code, Buck and so have you.” Sam urges. “He blew up the UN, he killed King T'Chaka and framed you for it. Did you forget that? You think the Wakandans forgot about it? It's a rhetorical question. They didn't.” And Sam is terrified of the idea of having to deal with Wakandans as enemies.

Bucky finally stands in front of him, shifting his weight from one foot to another once, and then stilling.

“I know why this matters to you, but it's pushing you off the deep end.” Sam’s voice is calmer now, softer. He really does empathize. He does. But he’d rather do it any other way.

“Sam, we don't know how they're gettin' the serum. We don't even know how many of them there are.” Bucky counters, arms wide open. Sam has to look away and take a few steps forward because Grumpy is grinding his last nerve. But then Bucky says, “Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

Sam’s brain stills for a second.

He cocks his head back, “What did you do?” he asks.

“I didn't do anything.” Bucky replies with painful innocence and Sam knows he is painfully fucked. “The weakest point in any system isn't the software, the hardware, it's the meatware. The human element.” Bucky points to his head. “Now, in this lockup, it's nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond.”

“So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?” Sam interrupts.

“Who knows? There could be many reasons…” Bucky responds, feigning more ignorance. Sam’s sixth sense, which he likes to call his Barnes Bullshit Detector, is sounding alarms already. Bucky continues, “But the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, wouldn't be hard to slip down a hallway or two.” Oh yeah, the sirens are blaring, they’re fucking ringing in Sam’s here so loud he can barely hear the man in front of him as adds, “And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated... someone could use the chaos to their advantage.”

Bucky is being far too casual about this whole thing for Sam’s liking, so he says as much, “I don't like how casual you're bein' about this. This is unnatural.” He’s wearing a snide smile, he hopes conveys his disagreement.. “Are you— And where are we, man?” His smile is all gone. He’s fucking pissed. And then there’s a sound of a car door opening outside.

And from the shadow walks out, none other than, Baron Helmut Zemo, wearing a fucking gaurd uniform? Sam’s gonna kill the old man, super soldier or not.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa.” Sam shouts out, walking over to Zemo.

Bucky cuts in his way, trying to hold him back. He says, “No, listen.”

Sam doesn’t want to fucking listen, “What are you doin' here?” He exclaims pointing at Zemo.

“I didn't wanna tell you 'cause I knew you wouldn't let this happen,” Bucky reasons as if he were talking about buying a damn puppy instead of breaking out a criminal mastermind form high security prison, while being on probation by the government.

“What did you do?” Sam asks exasperated.

“We need him, Sam,” Bucky replies.

“You're going back to prison!” Sam states pointing towards Zemo.

“If I may—” Zemo begins to speak, taking off his hat.

“No!” Both men scream at Zemo in unison, cutting him off.

“Apologies.” Zemo says simply.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your neck out for me. I'm asking you to do it again,” Bucky’s voice is soft, almost pleading. The tinge of desperation in it makes Sam’s skin crawl, because he wants to help the guy. He really does. But Zemo is one of his least favourite people in the world. And that’s saying something when you’ve just fought an alien who took out half the universe with a snap of his finger.

“I really think I'm invaluable—” Zemo tries.

“Shut up,” Sam throws back with finality.

“Okay,” Zemo responds.

Sam takes a breath, a moment. And fuck if the old man isn’t right. He really thought the recklessness would end in Steve’s absence. Oh to be so naive, he thinks. So he relents. “If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission,” Sam tells Zemo, leaving no room for argument.

“Fair,” Is Zemo’s only response.

“And,” Sam adds, looking back at Bucky, “We call in help.”

“Help?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Yeah, you know, the leash.” Sam’s wearing a smirk. If Bucky’s gonna make him hang out with Zemo, Sam’s gonna enjoy every second of it.

“No,” Bucky refuses, backing away.

Ah, there it is, the enjoyment. “Oh come on! We need a freaking leash and you know it” Sam knows Bucky cannot really refuse him, but he adds regardless, “Someone needs to keep you in check, and him,” he points to Zemo. “And especially both of you together. Who’d be better at that than her?”

“Come on, Sam. You’re here, aren’t you?” Bucky sounds desperate. He’s pacing around, moving his weight from one foot to another. Sam knows he shouldn’t enjoy it as much as he does.

“Yeah, but I can’t kick your ass nearly as well as she can.” Sam retorts, smiling.

“She hates me,” Bucky says, finally looking at Sam.

“No, she doesn’t,” Sam replies easily.

“I killed her best friend… I—I—The things I’ve done...” He breaks himself off, head falling down. “She hates me.” He declares with finality.

“Hey, look.” Sam urges gently and he does look up. Then Sam adds, “She doesn’t hate you, man. She never has. Trust me.”

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks helplessly.

Sam’s face breaks into a smile, “You’d already be dead if she did.”

Read part 2 here. Find series masterlist here.

tag list: @thisisparadisemylove @justab-eautifulmess @intothesoul

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years

Text

Lie To Me - Chapter 6

Pairing: dark!Professor!Bucky x reader

Chapter 6 Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: After getting a spot in Professor Barnes’s coveted writing workshop, you start to form a close relationship with your handsome new teacher. But Bucky Barnes is not who he appears to be, and once he has you where he wants you, he’s not going to let you go.

Warnings (for complete work): noncon/rape, dubcon, sexual assault, daddy kink (not ddlg), voyeurism (hidden camera), blackmail, manipulation, age gap (reader is 21, Bucky is late 30s), student/teacher dynamic, physical violence, reader has history of physical and sexual abuse by a family member, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of campus rape, body image issues (reader has scars), ableism, smut/explicit sex (oral, vaginal, anal), unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), choking, biting, breeding.

A/N: Written for the @writing-in-the-dark-bingo challenge (bingo card at end of chapter). This one got away from me but there’s just something about creepy manipulative Professor Bucky that really does it for me. I apologize in advance for how messy this gets. Also, please heed warnings. This is a dark!fic and you are responsible for your own media consumption. 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Six

You wake up to the smell of bacon and you smile because you know that Bucky is downstairs, probably in his stupid apron, cooking you breakfast. Your entire body is sore in the best possible way and when you get up to go to the bathroom you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Your hips and lower back are covered in fingerprint-shaped bruises and your lips (both sets) are puffy and swollen. You look absolutely debauched, and you can’t get enough of it. You get in the shower and stand under the hot water for a minute, letting it soak into your aching muscles, and then you remember.

Oh my fucking God, I called him Daddy.

Part of you is absolutely horrified because, for a multitude of reasons, that is very much not your thing, but the other part—the part that is so desperate for Bucky it would let him do literally anything he wanted—is intrigued. He certainly didn’t mind. The opposite, in fact. It made him cum so hard he almost passed out on top of you. So, what’s the big deal, really? It’s just a little kink. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

By the time you’re toweled off, Bucky is waiting for you in the bedroom with a breakfast tray of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee—black no sugar, just the way you like it.

“I thought maybe breakfast in bed,” he says, “but it looks like you’re walking just fine today.”

“I’m sore as hell, not gonna lie.”

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “Sorry about that. I got a little carried away.”

“Yeah, uhh, same.” You look up at him for some sort of recognition in his eyes that yes he knows you called him Daddy and no he’s not super freaked out by it.

“I liked it,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate, and you suppose that will have to do.

“We can eat downstairs like normal people. Just let me get dressed.”

He puts on a pouty face and says “Do you have to?” and you laugh.

“Yes, sadly, I have class at 11.”

He gives you the big blue puppy dog eyes and begs you to stay and you almost decide to skip, but you can’t because you’ve already missed this class once this semester and the professor is a real bitch about absences. He finally relents and leaves to let you get ready.

Breakfast with Bucky feels nice. It’s cozy and oddly familiar. You don’t even have to talk, really. There’s no pressure to fill the silences with pointless chatter and noise. You’re just comfortable with him. You’ve never felt like this around a guy before. It scares you a little, because you’re playing a very dangerous game with this man, but not enough to want to stop.

Bucky kisses you goodbye and it’s a cruel one—deep and hungry and full of promise that oh baby if you stay I will make it worth your while but you pull away. He tries pawing at you some more but you smack his hands away, giggling.

“Stop! I have to go.”

“Ok, ok, sorry. Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I suppose not,” you admit, digging your car keys out of your bag.

“When do I get to see you again?” he asks.

“Uh, we have class tomorrow, Professor Barnes. Or did you forget?”

“You know what? I actually did. It’s official. You fucked my brains out.”

You laugh and say, “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, ok. Just don’t wear those fucking boots.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face as you walk down the street to your car. Your head is empty of all thoughts but Bucky Barnes—that is, until you run right into Peter, out for a morning jog. Your body instantly tenses up and you panic because you have absolutely no excuse as to why you’re off campus at 10:30am on a weekday with wet hair and an overnight bag. Not that it’s any of his business. Plenty of people who aren’t your professor live here.

“Hey, Peter!” you call out to him, trying to act like this is all perfectly normal and reasonable and not sketchy at all.

“Wow,” he says, and he looks fucking pissed. “You really have no shame, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, wondering how the fuck his brain jumped to the right conclusion so quickly.

“Nothing. Just happy to see you’re really earning your spot in class.”

“What the fuck?”

“Just leave me alone, will you? You’re disgusting.”

Peter puts his earbuds back in and starts running down the street before you can get in another word. You stand for a moment, watching him go, and you contemplate going back to Bucky’s but you don’t have time. A text will have to do for now. You start your car and let it warm up for a second while you type.

Ran into Peter outside your place. I think he knows. Wtf do I do?

You get a text back from him as you’re pulling into the lot behind the Castle.

Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of it.

You don’t know what the hell he means by “take care of it,” but you don’t really have time to care. You’re already late for class and you don’t know exactly why, but you trust Bucky to fix it.

OK but don’t do anything crazy.

I’ll do anything for you babygirl.

You shouldn’t smile but you do, because you know he really means it, and as terrifying as that should be, you can’t help but feel for the first time in your life that there’s someone protecting you, someone who cares about what happens to you, someone who would risk it all to keep you safe. Your thumbs fly across your keyboard before you can stop them.

I know you will Daddy.

📚

Dean Hill opens the door to her office and smiles. “Professor Barnes, so sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s no problem, really,” he says, and seats himself in the chair in front of her desk.

“So what can I do for you today, James?”

“I overheard something very disturbing regarding one of my students and I feel like it wouldn’t be right to ignore it.”

“And what student is this?” Dean Hill asks.

“Peter Parker. He’s one of my workshop students this semester.”

“And what did Mr. Parker do exactly?”

“Well,” he begins, “I was walking to my car the other night and overheard Peter talking with a group of what I can only assume, from the hats and sweats and what have you, are his fraternity brothers. They were making some particularly… let’s say misogynistic comments about another student, and I didn’t like what I heard so I sat in my car and listened for a while and, well, apparently there was some sort of… incident at the fraternity house several years ago, involving a female student.”

Dean Hill knows where this is going, and Bucky knows that she knows, but they both play dumb.

“What kind of incident are we talking about?”

“A girl was raped, Maria. Someone named Zara. I don’t know her last name, but there can’t be too many Zaras running around campus.”

“I see.” She clasps her hands together on her desk and looks at him with a serious expression. “Well, that is a very troubling accusation.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, but since I heard it with my own goddamn ears, I don’t know that it’s as much an accusation as an actual fact. I know the school has to deal with these things in a certain way, but I can’t in good conscience allow this to go unpunished.”

“So you’re saying you heard Peter Parker admit to assaulting this girl.”

“No,” he says. “Not Parker himself, but he was there. He admitted it. They were laughing about it for Christ’s sake, Maria.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Look, James, between you and me, this isn’t the first I’m hearing about this.”

“I figured as much.”

“The student did come forward and we did do an investigation but there wasn’t enough evidence to implicate anyone. But if you’re saying that Parker and his fraternity brothers all have information about this incident, that’s a different story.”

“I only know one of the other boys he was talking to—Ned Leeds—but he seemed uncomfortable, like maybe he didn’t know the whole story. What I can tell you is that Peter Parker is not only aware of this incident but was there when it happened. He wasn’t sorry, either. Not even a little bit.”

“Jesus,” she says, massaging her temples. “This is gonna get messy.”

“How so?”

“The Parker kid has connections. You know Stark Industries?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Tony Stark is basically Parker’s surrogate father. He’s not going to let this happen quietly.”

“Well you’d better figure something out, Maria, because I’m not going to let it go quietly either. I can’t have my name associated with an institution that allows this sort of thing to happen.”

“I understand that, James, and I’ll handle it. Please just give me a chance to make this right.”

“See that you do, and quickly. I won’t have that punk stepping one foot in my classroom ever again.”

Bucky gathers his things to leave and smiles to himself on the way out the door.

Goodbye, Peter Parker.

Bucky has a pep in his step as he walks across campus to his office. Not everything he’d said was a lie, not that he would feel bad if it had been. Even though the name of Zara’s rapist had been redacted in the official school documents due to lack of sufficient evidence, the files from the private investigator had his name all over them. Brock Rumlow wasn’t hard to track down—he’s a freshman at Harvard Law now, because of course he is—and with a little bit of encouragement from Barton (free of charge, because that sonofabitch owed him for that shit he pulled with you) he’d been willing to give up the names of the fraternity brothers who were there that night. Rumlow also provided Barton with the icing on the cake: a recording of the incident he’d kept as a keepsake. It would seem that Bucky isn’t the only one who likes making home movies. Sharon will easily be able to get the file onto Parker’s computer, and just like that—poof, no more Peter Parker.

Dean Hill didn’t need to know that Peter didn’t shoot that video. She also didn’t need to know that he was absolutely horrified by what he’d seen, that he and his buddy Ned had tried to stop it, and that their brothers almost kicked them out of the frat for it. No, that information is best kept buried. All Hill needed was a little push. Once she starts dragging the boys in for questioning, Ned will give her everything she needs, because Ned Leeds needs money to pay for grad school, and all he has to do is tell a little white lie to get it.

He’ll tell Dean Hill that Peter was there, egging Rumlow on and recording the whole thing. Rumlow is untouchable now because he’s graduated (and the school would never voluntarily kickstart a criminal investigation) and Ned will get a slap on the wrist because he gave up the goods on Pakrer (because that’s how these things work). It’s fascinating how fast brotherhood goes out the window with a little cash incentive. Bucky of all people knows that everything and everyone has a price.

📚

Zara isn’t home when you get back from class; she doesn’t come home at all that night. You text her to make sure she’s ok but you don’t receive an answer until the next morning.

Sorry hon I meant to leave a note. I’m home with my parents for a few days. I’ll fill you in ASAP just really busy rn.

You jump into panic mode immediately, thinking someone must have died or been seriously injured or some other form of tragedy.

Everyone ok?

The two minutes in between your text and her response feel like a lifetime.

Yeah everything’s fine. Talk soon xoxo

Kay xoxo

You heed the unspoken code of “xoxo,” which means conversation over, fuck off now (lovingly). Even though Zara claims to be fine, something about this feels off to you. You can’t think of a reason why she would fly home for a few days out of the blue if everything was fine. Still, you trust her not to lie to you, that she would tell you if something is seriously wrong, so you let it go and wait to hear from her again.

Part of you is happy that you don’t have to go through the third degree about your night with Bucky. It’s not like Zara doesn’t pretty much know you fucked him at this point, but she’s going to want details and… well… you’d really rather keep it to yourself. In the past you’d had zero problems spilling every gory detail to Zara about your hookups—not that there were that many to speak of—and Zara did the same with you. The two of you shared everything, and you’d never had a problem with it. Until now. Until Bucky.

It’s not because of the whole student-teacher thing, either; you know Zara would never do anything to hurt you and that she’d go to her grave with your secrets. You can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about Bucky that makes you want to keep everything about your relationship to yourself, but that’s exactly what you want to do. Maybe it’s because it feels safe just the two of you, and adding anyone to the equation feels like a security breach. Or maybe you just don’t want to tell her you called him Daddy in bed.

Because Zara knows all your secrets; she’s the only one who knows. During those dark days freshman year, after Rumlow, you had bared your entire fucked-up soul to her in an attempt to make her feel better. There was nothing you could do to fix her, of course, but you thought that maybe you could show her that she wasn’t alone. That the things that she was feeling were perfectly ok. That maybe someday she would get justice, too—whatever form it took.

Zara has never once judged you for the things you’ve done. She understands the why of you and she doesn’t care what you had to do to get to where you are. And you’re in a good place now. After an entire lifetime of misery and pain, you are finally fucking happy. You can’t let anything ruin that. You won’t.

📚

When he walks into class, Bucky smiles at Peter’s empty seat. The students are predictably buzzing with whatever rumors are working their way around campus, but they fall silent when he sets his briefcase down. Bucky looks at you, searching you for any sign that you have a fucking clue what’s gone down but you don’t seem to. You must have your suspicions, though, but he’ll deal with that later.

Today, Bucky has an almost Herculean task ahead of him: he has to make sure he engages with you without paying you too much attention. He has to pretend that you’re just another student in just another workshop in just another semester in just another year—but you’re not that, not at all, not anymore. You’re all he fucking thinks about, night and day, and it takes every ounce of concentration he has to get through class as your Professor Barnes when he just wants to be your Bucky.

You make an excuse to stay after class, because of course you do, but Liara actually needs his help on something so you offer to wait while she complains about her most recent feedback. Liara is a very intelligent young woman but she’s far too uptight to be a good writer. She’s the opposite of you in every way—you let yourself bleed onto the page while Liara barely has a pulse. Still, she’s a good student, a nice girl, and very conscientious, so Bucky does his best to give her his full attention even though he knows you’re out in the hall and God-knows-what is waiting for him the second he gets you alone. The not knowing is new, and he has to admit it’s a little exciting.

“Thanks so much, Professor Barnes!” Liara leaves Bucky’s office and apologizes to you for making you wait before she takes off down the hall.

“Have a good night!” you call after her, your sweet voice dripping with fake cheerfulness, but the second you get into his office, you are you again. “What the fuck did you do?” you ask, and he can almost feel the heat coming off of you.

“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about,” he says, but he knows that the slight quirk of his lip betrays him.

“I’m hearing some really fucked-up shit and I need to know how much of it is true and how much of it is… you.”

Bucky is seeing that side of you he’s only had a taste of—that stubborn, bratty, aggressive side. He likes it. He wants to see more of it. He wants to turn it into something else entirely. But he can’t think about that—not yet—because he has a job to do.

“Just sit down,” he says. “Take a breath.”

“I’m serious, Bucky.”

“I know you are, baby.”

“Then why the fuck are you smiling?”

“Because you look so fucking sexy when you’re angry.”

That breaks you a little a bit, but not enough, and he knows he’s not getting out of this without some semblance of an explanation. Good thing he has several at the ready.

“OK,” he begins, leaning against his desk, “I need you to promise me that you won’t be mad.”

“I’m not promising anything.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, “So I assume this is about Parker’s… absence?”

“If by ‘absence’ you mean getting expelled from fucking school then yes, that’s what I mean.” You look concerned, but it’s not about Peter. “Tell me this wasn’t you.”

“I told you I’d do anything for you and I meant it.”

“Fuck,” you say, “what the fuck did you do, Bucky?”

He takes a few steps towards you now, a little aggressive but not too much, and lets his voice get deeper, more forceful. “You wanna know what I did? I told the fucking truth is what I did.”

“What are you talking about? What truth?”

Bucky runs his hand across his beard and sighs deep. It’s showtime.

“He was there, sweetheart. When everything happened with your friend. He was fucking there and he fucking recorded it.”

You look at him with searching eyes. “How did you… how do you…”

“When I read your interview, I knew who your friend was,” he admits. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel weird about it—I knew how important it was to you that it be anonymous—but the truth is, Zara’s whole situation is very much known among the faculty here. Everyone knows everything on this campus—teachers same as students—and, well, hearing it around the watercooler is just different from hearing it from the source, you know? It fucking haunted me, and I know the frat scene around here so I did a little digging, contacted a couple of alums I’ve kept in touch with, and… well… it wasn’t hard to find out what really happened, sweetheart. Anyone who was really looking for the truth could have found it.”

Bucky watches as your body adjusts to this information, hating everything about it, rejecting it as long as you can, untll you reach that limp, malleable, acceptance stage. “So Peter was really there when it… he actually…”

“I’m sorry, baby. But yes. He was. And he did.”

You look up at him with fire in your eyes. “And this all just happens to come out right after I tell you that Peter knows about us, huh? How does that work?”

Bucky sighs. He knows this is the hard part.

“I may have… sat on the information because I knew that a certain incredibly powerful and scary individual whose name rhymes with ‘shark’ was going to be very, very angry about it.”

“And, so, what? All of a sudden you grew some balls the second I told you Peter might know something about us? Fuck you, Bucky. You don’t care about Zara. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about anyone other than yourself and getting your fucking dick wet.”

You get up and grab your bag and head to the door but he grabs your arm and pulls you back. Bucky feels the slap before he even sees it coming.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck. I’m sorry. That was-”

“Do it again,” he says.

“What?”

“Hit me. Slap the shit out of me. I deserve it. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I should have told you.”

“Bucky, stop.”

“Do it. You know you want to.”

He can see in your eyes that you kind of do, but then you recoil from the urge to hurt him. Even as violently angry as you are, you can’t bring yourself to hurt him and he falls a little more in love with you then.

You take a few deep breaths and gather yourself. “I have to go.”

“Don’t leave,” he begs, “not like this. Please.”

“I can’t even fucking look at you right now.” You spit your words at him and you’re out the door and down the hall before Bucky can protest any further.

He doesn’t even need to look out his office window to know you’re lighting a smoke and texting the roommate on the way back to your dorm, but he does anyway. He knows he has to let you go, that you need to feel like you’re in control right now. What he doesn’t know is the extent to which you are in control. Because for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes doesn’t know what will happen next. It doesn’t scare him—not exactly; it intrigues him, though. He smiles as he watches you double-time it across the quad.

“Come back to me, babygirl.”

Chapter Seven >>>

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