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marvellous1917 · 1 year ago

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Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #mob!bucky #bucky barnes #mob!bucky fic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #tattoo artist!reader

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astr0exe · 7 months ago

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Hollup, wait I js had an idea

Bull hybrid!tm reader with Farmer!Graves, it makes total sense! Because Graves is from the south and he definetly owns his own little farm. Reader is spoiled asf, during breeding season he knocks Graves over almost all the time and Graves is just wondering why his boy is acting like this. Until he feels reader grinding against his jeans and then he's like 'oh shit, thats why' :3

OKAY SO THIS HAS BEEN IN MY ASKS FOR SO SO LONG IM SO SORRY ML 🫶🏻🩶 !! THIS IDEA IS SO YUMMY THOUGH:(( but yeah m rlly sorry lovie hope you like this <33 n M SO SORRY IF THIS IS BAD😭 also sorry i changed this to male reader by accident 😕🫶🏻🫶🏻

// CW : MALE!Reader , bull!reader , breeding , rough housing (??) , no aftercare ig

Farmer!Graves with Bull!reader who is large, like huge and built like a brick wall. Your horns that are sharp and thick, everyone knows you if they visit Graves farm. But that’s because he spoils you, you’re just too cute:( , He can’t help but just adore you some times, especially because you are used as a stud on the farm.

Breeding season rolls around, your cock is painfully hard between your legs. Its bulbous head red and dripping pre-cum excessively. Your huffs of air are loud, as Graves comes into your pen. You basically barrel into him, knocking him into the wall of the barn as you groan lowly in his ear. Your grip harsh on his hips with your face hidden into his neck. Your cock rubbing against the fabric of your shorts and his pants, the feeling is euphoric and overwhelming as you whine and huff, needing relief.

Graves is completely taken aback, his eyes wide and confused before slowly realising what time of year it is. Breeding season. He can feel your cock rubbing against his belt. Straining against the thin material of your pants, needing to stuff his arse full. Graves hands move down, pulling down the material keeping your dick confined before ultimately letting it spring out, hitting your abdomen. His hands are on you in an instant, trying to relieve the pain for you. Your precum coating your large cock.

Your groans are loud as you move rapidly, pinning Philip to the ground with your body as you rut your hips aggressively against Graves arse. Your hot puffs are air against his neck makes him shiver and whine almost silently. His hand grips your cock and helps guide your rutting into his hole. Your cock hammers straight into his needy hole. The sudden tightness makes your hips stutter. A whimper leaves your lips as your horns nudge Graves cheek. Your thrusts are fast and rough, giving away your need as you whine and huff loudly, growling. Your large hoofs (idk terms?) gripping Philips hips harshly.

His moans are loud and bounce off of the walls of the barn, the roughness of your cock dragging along his walls makes his cock twitch, his embarrassment from being about to cum overshadowed by the immense pleasure you are giving to him. His shout as he cums is high pitched, the pleasure blinding him as his cock spurts with ropes and ropes of cum.. His hole tightens on your cock making you howl in pure pleasure, your own orgasm being brought on because of Graves’.

#cod x male reader #graves x male reader #graves x y/n #philip graves x you #philip graves x reader #graves x you #graves x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod x reader #cod smut #cod fanfic #graves smut #philip graves smut #cas speaks

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 days ago

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This pricey 2005 Castle House in Ranger, GA has been taken off the market. 4bds, 4ba, 9,069 sq ft, $2,571,500.

The grand entrance with a double staircase.

There's just something castle-wannabe about these modern castle builds. They gave it 3-pointed arch doorways and wide moldings, but there's something about the smooth walls. They seem like they should be stone.

The doorway opens to a dining room. Interesting ceiling.

I can't say that I like the kitchen. It has 2 islands, but there's something about the design that's "off." I think that it could've been so much nicer.

Up here, they have another living room and kitchen.

The primary bedroom is very large and has an interesting shape. What a dinky, pedestrian fireplace surround. It's not even a built-in.

It has more than one room, so it's a large suite. There's a door to a terrace, and it has 2 big sinks that are unfortunately, on carpet.

Huge shower is like a separate room. I don't know what the high door on the left is for.

And, it also leads into this room. Very unusual.

Even this secondary bedroom is a gigantic suite.

Outdoors, they have a large pergola, patio, and pool.

The outdoor kitchen is in this weird little area.

Huge pre-fab barn on the property.

There's a lot of land- 106 acres. This bridge needs some repair.

It also has a lake on the property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/436-Liberty-Church-Rd-NE-Ranger-GA-30734/111795061_zpid/?

#castle houses #unusual homes #houses #house tours #home tour #homes that didn't sell

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mukbangg · 11 months ago

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Helping stressed out Billy the kid.

Billy the Kid Spoilers‼

18+

(Eh kinda died halfway...but I need more billy the kid sloppy porn)

Tunstall's shot dead and everyones gathering at the ranch, looking to Billy to lead them.

With so many eyes on him, so many responsibilities and to add on, the upcoming war with Murphy and him having to face Jesse? Billy is stressed through the roof.

But hes Billy the Kid, cowboy outlaw and one hell of a gunslinger, hes been on his own all this time he can do this cant he?

Now you, being one of the people Tunstall had hired, a cowgirl if you will, well you're acquainted with Billy alright. More than acquainted if him pounding you harshly into the bed a few weeks ago means anything. Not an exclusive relationship, yall never talked about defining whatever the hell is going on but you're familiar enough with his quirks to see that his clenched jaw and that heavy close-lipped sigh means hes got himself wound up tight.

And you know just the way to help him out.

"What're you doing, I can't-"

A click of your tongue had him huffing and letting you tug him into the barn, out of sight.

The moment whatever tense meeting was done in the house, people filling away to busy with their business, you took the chance and stole Billy away, dragging him out like he owes you money.

"I haven't got the time doll, what d'you want?"

Ever the sweetheart, Billy could never get too harsh with you, his unofficial girl. His voice strains, and his eyes can hardly focus on you but theres a softness to his question.

You roll your eyes, backing him up against the flimsy wall and kicked his legs open impatiently.

Whatever protest he had died on his tongue the moment you sank down onto your knees, one brow raised as a challenge for him to push you away.

He doesnt.

Billy swallows as you yank his belt loose, unzipping his trousers just enough to see his half-hard bulge in his boxers.

"Doll- we cant- not here-"

But all it took was for you to place an open mouth kiss on his bulge, mouthing at his cock through his boxers with that hard glint in your eyes staring right at him, and his jaw was falling slack eyes fluttering in a heavy lidded gaze ,that glazed out look in his eyes.

You take your time playing with him, getting him all hard and needy till his precum leaks through the fabric of his boxers mixing with your saliva.

His palm cups the back of your head, pressing you down with a shaky groan that almost, hips bucking into your face for more.

You chuckle, before finally taking his cock out and he hisses at the contact, voice tapering into a throaty groan that was a little too loud for you.

"You can stay quiet, cant you billy?"

And despite your doe eyes and pouty lips, all innocent and soft staring up at him like hes the most precious thing in the world, the edge in your voice made him swallow hard, whispering out a raspy "y-yes".

"Good,"

And then you smile all sweet like honey, kissing his painfully swollen tip slick with pre, and he squeezes his eyes shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he prays to mother mary he doesnt cum the moment you fuck your mouth on his cock.

His eyes practically rolls back when you swallow him down your snug throat, teeth clenched as he struggles to gulp down his heavy groans and whimpers.

Your head bobs expertly, cheeks hollowed out as you suck him sloppy.

"Fffuuuuuccckkk..."

If you moan one more time around his cock hes gonna burst.

You pull back, tongue swirling on his tip, one hand holding down his bucking hips while the other thumbs at his balls.

"C'mon Billy...."

You drawl, smiling as you drag your glistening lips up the underside of his cock.

You know he isnt going to last.

"I want your cum..."

And he moans brokenly, head lolling back as he presses your head down to his base, cock twitching once, twice, and hes squirting cum down your throat.

He jolts, hunching over you as you try to swallow the copious amount of thick built-up cum, so much it leaks out the corners of your mouth.

Billy's heaving, face flushed and he groans as you pull off, slumping down against the wall so hes level with you, eyes fuzzy and loopy, watching you swallow his cum.

You lean forward to peck his lips, earning a lopsided smile from him when he tastes himself on your lips. He whispers a "thank you", pulling you against him to bury his face into your neck.

"Lemme return the favour later doll,"

And you grin, knowing full well you both wont be sleeping tonight.

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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Epinephrine

Summary: Bucky races to win as you watch with anticipation.

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Nerves, K-I-S-S-I-NG, swearing, POV switch, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: My third Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 3) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Dialed In AU, but can be read as a standalone. Apologies for any inaccuracies, but I'm human and still had fun writing this.❤️ Thank you @targaryenvampireslayer for the POV switch suggestion! Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Epinephrine. Both a hormone and a neurotransmitter, the chemical messenger transmits nerve signals to prepare your body for fight or flight. Most call it adrenaline. Some liken it to pre-race jitters.

Bucky considered it his own personal fuel.

Just breathe.

It amazed him how so many wrote off motocross as just another sport without considering the physical and mental training they put into it or how dangerous it was. Position, weight distribution, and correct form on the bike were all things to consider when practicing and racing. Not to mention no two tracks are alike, the conditions constantly changing. You had to take the hills, jumps, turns, and distance for your own safety and those around you.

He mentally wished Steve and the others a safe race, even Rumlow. Prick or not, he didn’t want the guy to get hurt. He sure as hell didn't want to lose to him either.

"For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t hit him. Because he would have won and guys like him don’t deserve to win."

No, he doesn't.

His heart raced a little faster, his right palm starting to sweat as the nerves and excitement clashed in his chest. The knot in his stomach settled as he waited for the race to start, his focus on the path in front of him. The rough terrain ahead called to him, urging him to unleash whatever anger, fear, joy, and anything he had built up inside. He would go all out, leaving no regrets in his path.

All leading to you after he crossed the finish line.

"Good luck."

Gave me all the luck I need, Spitfire.

With your voice in his mind, it quieted any doubt that lingered. He knew his strengths and even his limits when it came to the sport. Getting back on the bike after his accident already proved that he was a winner. He didn't need to prove himself to anyone else.

But he hoped you would see his worth.

And as the gate dropped, he smiled behind his helmet.

You grabbed Natasha's arm as the riders took off, keeping an eye out for Bucky. She didn't pull away or make a comment when you dug your nails in. You appreciated her a bit more because of that. You also didn't understand why you were nervous when you weren't the one on the track.

I've seen plenty of races, but I didn't have anything at stake before.

"Sorry," you muttered as you let the redhead go.

"It's okay. He's got this," she assured you.

You nodded, doing your best to give her a smile. A mile and a half long course and likely a twenty to thirty minute race and extra lap, you knew it was standard. But watching the dirt fly as you focused on Bucky's helmet, your heart felt like it was in your throat. You didn't just want him to win, you wanted him safe.

Just breathe. He knows what he's doing.

"If he gets hurt, I'm kicking his ass," you said, sucking in a breath as another rider got close to his back wheel.

"And nurse him back to health," Natasha teased.

"Yeah. With a uniform and all," you teased, actually kind of into the idea.

Down girl.

You got uncharacteristically quiet after that, your stomach dropping when Maddox gained on Bucky. He was still in a good position, his friend, Steve, up there with him. It was almost like witnessing a roller coaster ride, the ups and downs, the twists and drops. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you could only imagine how the guys out there felt actually experiencing it.

Exhilarating.

As the riders got close to the final lap, you jumped up. You somehow stayed on your feet when your head spun, but you weren't going to miss this. Bucky and Maddox were almost neck-in-neck, but Maddox probably thought he had it in the bag. That kind of cockiness didn't always pay off.

You sure as hell didn’t want it to pay off today.

"Come on, Hothead," you whispered.

While Maddox turned his head to look at Bucky, the latter kept his head facing forward and elbows up. As if he didn't care that his competition was there. He raced smarter, not harder, as you watched with bated breath. He kept his lead toward the finish line as you couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky Barnes won the race.

He won. He fucking won.

"Fuck yes!" you shouted, uncaring of your language as Bucky took first, his left fist pumping in the air. The way everyone else cheered, they probably didn't notice. But you finally felt like you could take a proper breath, the mental ride coming to a stop. "For the record, I'm just happy he made it across the finish line. This has nothing to do with the date."

I can actually smell my own bullshit.

"Wow. You managed to say that with a straight face. Impressive," Natasha said, nodding toward the course as the race wrapped up. "Come on. Let's go congratulate him. And by we I mean you."

"He raced a good race. It was very exciting," you said evenly, but you eagerly pulled her along to get out of the stands and through the crowd.

You weren’t sure if you were actually allowed to go up to greet him, but people moved to let you through. Was it your strut or Natasha’s subtle stare that made everyone jump out of the way? As you got closer to Bucky and the other riders, you felt like your heart was going to race out of your chest when you stopped at the edge of the course. Especially when took off his helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face as he shook his hair out.

Fuck me in the dirt, please.

“Go,” Natasha encouraged after some of the guys congratulated Bucky, except for Maddox who stood feet away with a glare on his face.

Sore loser doesn’t look good on him, but he’s not why I’m here.

Holding your head high, you locked eyes with Bucky when he looked your way. Seemingly forgetting the others around him, he walked toward you to meet you halfway when you stepped in the dirt. The two of you stood there for a long moment before he smirked. A slight one, but still a smirk.

“Looks like I won,” he said, his voice rough.

“You did. Congratulations,” you said, stepping back to hold out your hand. “And it looks like you get to go out with me, so double congratulations,” you simpered, previous annoyance that he bet a date with you completely forgotten.

“Are we shaking on it?” he chuckled, his gloved hand reaching for yours. A spark of electricity moved up your arm once he took it and you refused to deny your attraction at that moment.

“You could say that,” you smirked, yanking him close. “But I prefer to seal it with a kiss.”

You took a moment to appreciate how soft and warm his lips felt when you initiated the kiss this time. You allowed his tongue to slip inside and explore when you parted your lips, feeling the beat of his heart as he pressed his chest against your body. It wasn’t hard or urgent, but excitement and passion consumed you. It didn’t matter if he got your clothes dirty. Or that a few of the riders whistled and cheered at the display.

He smiled against your lips when you had to take a breath. “I thought you said you weren’t a prize.”

“And I thought you said your ass was all mine after you win,” you reminded him, almost wishing you reached around to squeeze it. Even dirty and sweaty, he still looked and smelled amazing. It was a phenomenon.

“I did and I meant it,” he said, sneaking in another kiss before he had to pull away. “You sticking around?”

“I’ll be with Nat. Go do what you have to,” you said, turning away to back to your friend. She had a smile on her face. You had one on yours, too.

“I still have to get your number, so don’t go anywhere!” Bucky called after you.

“Who said I was giving you my number?” you asked over your shoulder. “I never agreed to that.”

“How am I supposed to take you on a date without it?” he asked.

“You seem like a smart guy. You’ll figure it out, Hothead,” you teased, egging him on just a little.

“Want me to get on my knees, Spitfire?”

Yes and split me open with that talented tongue of yours.

“She’ll give you her number,” Natasha said, waving Bucky on as you laughed. You may have checked his ass out again because he did say it was yours. And he no doubt checked yours out as you walked away. “You are giving him your number before we leave.”

“I will,” you promised, giving her a small smile. “I’m glad you introduced me to him,” you added gently, looking forward to getting to know him more.

“And I’m glad you put a smile back on his face.”

Hearing that felt like a victory.

I guess we’re both winners today, Hothead.

Yay! He won! Was there ever any doubt? More to come. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year ago

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An Offer · part 08

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,6k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), a/n: this chapter smells like a soap opera, but i couldn't help myself. i was in a silly goofy mood, please don’t hate me<3

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: But you and Bucky didn't follow the other guests. You didn't know the detailed layout of the rooms in that house, and the only secluded place you knew was the toilet. You dragged Bucky there almost by force, and apparently expecting an escalation of whatever was on your mind, he allowed you to do so.

“I'm sure you'll look beautiful, sweetheart,” Winnifred cooed. “I can't wait for the final result!” she added on her way to leave the room.

You spent the past few hours in Rebecca's bedroom, because that's where – aside from a large mirror, which rather every bedroom in the Barnes house was equipped with – was a vanity table; a really convenient solution when it came to doing your makeup and hair.

The upcoming ceremony didn't quite meet the criteria of typical weddings; there were only a few days to organize everything since the pre-agreement was signed. In all the chaos, there was no room to think about the choice of wedding dress or hall; you didn't have time to choose the flowers, the design of the invitations (there weren't even any invitations), the cake or the music. And you didn't particularly regret not having the opportunity to do so. It wasn't a real wedding – it didn't take place because two people who loved each other decided to get married. And since it didn't matter much, you didn't feel the need to care about any of the details.

It was different for Winnifred. She was aware of the same things as you, but that didn't stop her from beaming with excitement. You found this extremely charming; largely because of your own mother. As you left the house this morning she said, This boy will be the death of you.

Rebecca entered the bedroom, which surprised you a little. She had every right to be in a room that belonged to her, but since you had arrived at the Barnes mansion a few hours ago, Rebecca had been avoiding you.

You hesitantly put down your mascara, regretting that you had only just finished doing your eyes. Otherwise, you would have had an excuse not to confront Rebecca in any way.

“My mom is right. You will be a lovely bride,” she said, giving you a weak smile.

“Thank you.” You returned the friendly gesture, but were able to guess that it looked rather inept.

“Listen…” Rebecca sighed. “I'm sorry for the way I acted at dinner that night. I feel really horrible.”

“That's okay. You just had a bad day, I get it,” you replied. You didn't dare confess that you knew Rebecca's reasons for behaving the way she did. You feared that she would be furious to learn that her own sister had told you about this side of her life.

Rebecca seemed unsatisfied with your words. “I'm really sorry for what I said. Especially since I can see that you are not some random girl at all.”

Only after a moment did you realize that her gaze had landed on your engagement ring. Immediately, you felt a hot wave of sickening shame.

“I'm sorry, I'm not the one who should be wearing it,” you claimed, asserting what you had told Bucky earlier.

“Jamie wouldn't have given it to you if he thought it would end up in the wrong hands.” Rebecca smiled a little more confidently. “He obviously knows what he's doing.”

Yes, you've heard that before.

“Do you need help with your hair?” she proposed. “I swear I'm not going to destroy it in revenge.”

You laughed quietly. “Yes, please.” Accepting this offer had little to do with politeness or wanting to make Rebecca feel better. Indeed, you needed help.

Rebecca stood behind you, reached for a brush and began to comb your hair. She did this with extreme gentleness. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit,” you answered after a short thought, looking at your reflection. “But considering I'm marrying someone I've only known for a few weeks... That's normal, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t be. I am not trying to sell you my brother,” she remarked, raising her eyebrows. “But he will take care of you. You should just be careful what you wish for.”

You didn't show in any way that Rebecca's words intrigued you. You guessed that they had to do with Robbie's disappearance, but you chose not to ask. Rebecca was reaching out to you, being even a sweetheart, like the big sister you needed on that day. Destroying it would be a real stupid thing to do, and you weren't going to sabotage the atmosphere around your own wedding.

She did your hair, and although you weren't sure what you actually wanted, Rebecca managed to achieve a satisfying result. When it was time to shed your robe, Connie's absence began to bother you. You needed someone to point out your lace lingerie and crack a few dirty jokes about your wedding night. You weren't counting on Rebecca. Even if she had a slightly different character, the very thought of talking about it with the groom's sister was uncomfortable enough.

You fixed your gaze on the white dress spread out on the bed. Since this wedding wasn't exactly a traditional wedding, you hadn't quite understood why you couldn't have chosen a dress in any other color. And surprisingly, the person who explained to you some of the issues around this subject was Michael. Now you knew that when marrying someone like Bucky Barnes, the right symbolism had to be taken care of – purity and innocence. You had to give the impression of being untouched, waiting for your husband, apart from whom no other man existed. You had to be innocent; to do him no harm, to agree with his opinion, to submit to him. You didn't believe that anyone from the two Families – who were the only guests at this wedding, witnesses to the joining of the two clans for good – cared whether you were a good, silent virgin with no opinion of your own or not. But it was all about appearances. Though, perhaps, the elders of this community actually cared about such details?

After Rebecca had also helped you with your dress, you finally stood in front of a large mirror and looked closely at your reflection. You couldn't make up your mind how you felt about it all; before the wedding, for which you hadn't decided on the slightest thing, in the dress you and Winnifred had bought at the last minute. Staring at yourself like that, you realized that nothing really mattered much to you. You just wanted to get it over with.

Winnifred returned to the bedroom; you first saw her only in the mirror, and when you turned around, you noticed a bouquet in her hands. “I knew you would look beautiful,” she said with delight, her gaze expressing a tenderness you couldn't recall seeing in your own mother. She shook her head as if she had just remembered something. “I have something for you.” She handed you the bouquet of pink carnations and white freesias, tied with a silk ribbon in a pale shade of pink matching the color of the carnations. Somewhat caught off guard, you accepted the flowers. “Jamie just brought it.”

You took a shaky breath. “Oh…”

The ceremony, from start to finish, was to be held on Timothy's property. You didn't understand this aspect either, and Michael didn't clarify it to you, but given the significance of the white dress, you were able to draw your own conclusions – there was no greater, more important sanctity than the Barnes Family, therefore instead of any temple, there was the home of the head of the Family.

When you arrived, nothing had been clear since leaving the car. You weren't even sure if you were actually there – your body definitely, but everything else?

You and Michael stood in front of the entrance to the ballroom.

You weren't wrong about the temple analogy, and were made aware of it now as you saw more or less its interior; filled with chairs and guests sitting on them, it resembled a sanctuary of some kind – even the table at the far end of the room was an altar of sorts. Nevertheless, there was no traditional walking down the aisle; Michael led you down a corridor formed between two sides of the rows of chairs, but only because you needed his help – your veil made it difficult to see and the lengthy material of your dress to move freely.

Walking forward with the not-so-slow step you usually observed in brides, you kept your eyes on the ground. Paralyzed by some sudden fear, jitters, you were unable to focus it on anything else. All this nervousness was making you more and more distant from the reality of the situation.

Completely relying on Michael, you stopped when he stopped. Only then did you dare to lift your gaze, but the degree of transparency of the veil didn't allow you to see much. All you knew was that you stood right next to Bucky; that he had Steve and someone else at his side; that there was a man in front of you, acting not only as a priest but also as an official. At least that's what you thought, as you tried to logically interpret each element.

Normally, it should be Michael, in some way replacing your father, who should lift your veil in order to present you to your future husband, your new protector, provider. However, that right belonged exclusively to Bucky. Because Michael wasn't giving you away, he wasn't handing you over to good hands; it was Bucky who took you, if that was his will, accepted you, included you in the Family. From that moment on, your whole life depended on your husband.

But he didn't uncover your veil right away. It was as if you were to remain his sweet secret for as long as possible, protected from the gaze of others. Soon, though, he lifted the material and placed it behind your head, and he did so with such delicacy and concentration that you still didn't believe it was real.

Finally, you could look at his face, and although you could see the obvious tiredness and nervousness on it, he was still the most beautiful man you had ever met. And he was going to be yours for the rest of your life, until death do you part.

If there were actually vow words spoken – any words at all – you didn't hear them. Still numb with fear and anxiety, you stared at Bucky. He was scared too, you had no doubt about that, but instead of getting even worse, you felt... safe.

You approached the table on which the agreement rested. The priest handed the pen first to Bucky. But when Bucky leaned over the document, his hand holding the pen hung in the air. You only saw the side of his face, so couldn't tell much from it. Your forehead furrowed slightly; was he hesitating? Panicking? Had he suddenly changed his mind and was about to run away, leaving you at the altar?

Finally, however, he signed, bringing you back to breathing.

He moved the piece of paper towards you and handed the pen, without even glancing at you. You, too, leaned over the table, once again sweeping your gaze over the agreement, in effect realizing that something was wrong. It had expanded by at least one condition and some bold print.

The WIFE is obliged to provide the HUSBAND with an heir within a period of twenty-one months, i.e. the WIFE and the HUSBAND are obliged to conceive a child within twelve months from the date of the wedding.

Breach of any of the conditions will result in immediate termination of the agreement and a material penalty agreed by the parties.

So far you have felt so weak that you had the impression that you were about to faint. Now, you felt anger boiling up inside you; a sense of betrayal, of being a victim of trickery, pierced your heart painfully. You tightened your fingers on the pen with such force that it almost broke under their pressure. Despite everything, you signed the agreement, with the tip of the pen almost tearing through the paper.

There had been a lot of inconveniences in your path lately, but you couldn't recall any of them putting you in such a horrible mood. And when Bucky’s eyes met yours, you knew he saw that awful disappointment. Just as he should – he should be aware that he had hurt you. Did you expect to see guilt in response? Probably. But instead, there was anger, irritation, and somehow you knew it wasn't directed at you.

You also felt it when exchanging rings; Bucky squeezed your wrist a little too hard as he slid the wedding band onto your finger. He turned his jitters and anxiety into resentment; a phenomenon that intrigued you enough to make you forget your own for a moment.

The priest grabbed a previously prepared dagger; it had been resting on the table since the beginning, waiting for basically the most important part of the ceremony. “The act of joining two bloods.” The man took your hand carefully, turned it over and gently moved the dagger blade across your palm, leaving a bloody, not very deep line. You winced slightly, muffling a whine of discomfort. “So that two Families become one,” he added, proceeding to do the same with Bucky's hand, and he accepted it without the slightest movement; as if the blade had not even tickled him.

Thinking little of it, you reached for Bucky's wrist to draw his hand closer, then covered the inside of it with yours. As if by reflex, his fingers closed and embraced your hand gently. Maybe you were angry, but your body followed its own rules, and as Bucky made this small gesture, you felt warmth coming from where your hands touched; it spread to your chest, to the pit of your stomach.

The ceremony came to an end in as grave a mood as the whole of it. Timothy invited the guests to the garden, where a tent had been set up earlier – Winnifred's idea, as she had refused to let the feast take place in Timothy's cave. She insisted on this dose of romance, and it wasn't until after the ceremony that you realized she was right. The tent in the garden, in the middle of spring, was truly uplifting.

But you and Bucky didn't follow the other guests. You didn't know the detailed layout of the rooms in that house, and the only secluded place you knew was the toilet. You dragged Bucky there almost by force, and apparently expecting an escalation of whatever was on your mind, he allowed you to do so.

“What was that?” you asked before he managed to close the door behind you. Anger surged inside you again, and the best way to get rid of it that popped into your head was to hit Bucky with whatever you had in hand – in this case, your bouquet. “Promise me you’ll be my partner,” you quoted his words from a few days ago, and the flowers collided with his arm again. “My ally.” And again. “My wife.” And again.

“Y/N…” he sighed, patiently taking your harmless punches.

“You tricked me into continuing your bloodline!” Paying no attention to his calm tone, you didn't stop to hit him with the bouquet, which, by the way, wasn't as destroyed as it should have been.

“Y/N!” he hollered, suddenly grabbing your forearm, therefore stopping you from striking again. “Let’s talk about this. Like reasonable people.”

“So I am a person?” Your eyebrows rose. “Not a breeding stock?”

“I didn’t know!”

“How could you not know! You worked on this agreement together!”

And you were yelling at each other again, this time locked in that small space being the bathroom in Timothy's huge house. This only increased your frustration, because neither of you could escape. Besides, you couldn't escape not only physically; you were now stuck with each other.

“I didn't know. Okay?” he said much more calmly, although you felt that a gentle push would be enough to shatter all that calm again. “Timothy changed the deal behind my back. I should’ve known that he would pull something like this, he was too compliant…” He shook his head, looking away.

You thought it would be easier if you also stopped looking at him. So you concentrated on the bouquet; you pulled out the flowers that were only appropriate for throwing away. “You expected that he could pull something like this,” you began in a hushed voice, tentatively lifting your gaze to him. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”

He also looked at you, unable to hide that your words had affected him. At that moment, you regretted that they had left your lips, but on the other hand, maybe he should have heard them? After all, you were the one who was the most violated in the situation, and although you yourself once mentioned that a baby-free deal was rather impossible to achieve, you felt cheated.

“Don’t say that.” Bucky's voice sounded as quiet and weak as yours, his eyes expressing a begging; asking you not to give up on him like that, not to throw him into one bag with his uncle. “I’ll talk to him,” he added quickly. “I’ll talk to him now.” He seemed distracted, heartbroken, waiting for your approval.

On that day, he was definitely not himself. And it hit you, what you had promised him – not to make this any harder than it has to be.

“Bucky-” you spoke tenderly, touching his arm, which only a few minutes ago you had been punching. “Do it after the party, okay? I don't want to ruin it for you. The penny has dropped anyway, so…” You shrugged.

You were still angry, betrayed, disappointed. But in all this, you forgot to see that Bucky was trying; that he was carrying a little too much weight on his shoulders. It appeared that he had been tricked, too, and you were probably the only person who could – should – show him some support.

Bucky smiled sadly, his lips pressed together. You didn't know him long enough, but just as before you were able to sense that he wasn't angry at you, now you got the strong impression that there were processes going on in his head that could lead to dangerous consequences.

You joined the rest of the guests in a tent at the back of the house. They didn't notice your absence, or took it as perfectly natural – slipping away to satisfy some burning need; that maybe you couldn't wait any longer to fulfill your marital duty. You would have preferred it to be exactly that instead of new problems.

Although you didn't doubt Bucky's intentions anymore and believed that he didn't know about his uncle's ruse, there was this lingering sense of unease accompanying you all the time. Maybe it had something to do with the stress of the last few days, which had reached its zenith just today? Or would you have been able to relax at home, away from all those people?

During a seemingly endless conversation with Winnifred and Rebecca, you noticed that you had lost sight of Bucky. The last time you saw him talking to the man who had introduced himself to you earlier as Sam Wilson, but you couldn't pinpoint when exactly that was – fifteen minutes ago, but it might as well have been over an hour.

You decided to try not to panic. He was talking to someone again, this time out of your view, or holed up for a cigarette.

Somewhere outside the fence sounded the loud roar of an engine, followed by the screech of tires. A few guests stopped their ongoing conversations and listened for a moment, while the rest were not particularly concerned about the noise. You were not part of either group; anxiety suddenly grew to enormous sizes, turning your stomach inside out.

Someone touched your shoulder, and you immediately knew it wasn't him; Bucky would do it differently. You looked over and saw Michael – white as a sheet. “Can we talk?”

You excused yourself, and Michael, keeping the appearance of being completely in control, led you into the house. You didn't ask what had happened – you sensed that something bad hung in the air.

Michael brought you to Timothy's office. He, on the other hand, looked furious; he was sitting behind his desk, and there was a burning smell in the room.

“Your agreement.” He pointed to the desktop; to the charred scraps of paper resting on it and the ring – the same one you slid onto Bucky’s finger a couple hours earlier.

At first your stomach dropped. He destroyed the agreement and left. And without Bucky, without the agreement, you were ruined.

Despite the fact that you were terrified, you were not going to break down in front of Timothy. He had humiliated you enough. “Which one?” Having tilted your head to the side, you lifted your eyebrows. “There were two versions, right? Were you inspired by Rumlows with the second one?”

Your biting tone did not go unnoticed by Timothy. “You are acting very boldly for someone who will soon be left with nothing.”

Painfully aware that Timothy was right, you glanced at your secured future – burnt, useless. Not only that was burnt and useless; you and Bucky had burned all the bridges together; Bucky had first beaten Brock Rumlow, then humiliated John Walker and finally vanished into thin air himself.

But why exactly did he do it? He didn’t listen to you and talked with Timothy anyway; there had to be something his uncle had to have done; something that pushed his limits, tipped his balance. Or maybe his sweet words meant nothing and he decided to show you that marriage really wasn’t for him?

“Looks like you're back on the market.” Timothy stated. “I'm really ashamed of what my nephew did to you, darling.”

Unable to listen to Timothy any longer, or even look at him, you turned to Michael. “Can we go home?”

“Certainly,” he answered in such a gentle, almost fatherly tone that you have never heard from him before.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz

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theconstantsidekick · 1 year ago

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The Suit And Tony Stark Are One

Pairings: Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Legal Drama with a hint of Angst.

Summary: Tony is summoned to appear in front of the Senate for a hearing regarding his suit. Lucky for him his sister is also his lawyer.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Death, Some absolutely made-up law bullshit.

a/n: read The Avengers after this. It'll be pretty fun I think.

sidenote: I just missed Tony a lot, ok?

“Mr. Stark, could we pick up now where we left off?” Senator Stern calls out behind him, sitting along with a panel of other dumbass officials who seem older than the furniture they’ve surrounded themselves with. Tony’s attention, however, remains on Pepper. Can you really blame him? “Mr Stark. Please.”

When Pepper shushes him away, he turns around. “Yes, dear?” The people witnessing the shitshow let out a collective giggle.

“Can I have your attention?” Stern asks.

“Absolutely.”

“Do you or do you not possess a specialized weapon?”

“I do not.” He’s being honest.

“You do not?” Stern bites back.

“I do not,” He repeats.

“Care to explain that?” Stern questions.

“Mr. Stark’s answer to that question will be contingent upon your definition of a weapon,” Y/n chimes in. And man, isn’t it great having a sister who’s a lawyer? Tony thinks he won the lucky draw with it all because his sister is a little shit just like him who doesn’t really believe in half-assing anything… Or maybe he’s like her…? Whatever, that’s beside the point. The point is that she might have gotten the degree on a whim, but she definitely is the best lawyer money can buy and Tony doesn’t even have to pay for it!

“The Iron Man weapon.” Stern replies foolishly.

The Iron Man weapon? He thinks. Would’ve been less insulted if he called it a fucking robot.

“My device does not fit that description,” Tony answers.

“Well… How would you describe it?” Stern throws back.

“I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator.”

“As?” Stern prompts.

“It’s—It’s a high-tech prosthesis.” The crowd chuckles again. “That is—that—That’s actually the most apt description I can make of it.”

“It’s a weapon. It’s a weapon, Mr. Stark,” Stern surmises, pissed off and clearly annoyed. Is it bad that Tony’s having fun with that?

“If you are to classify the suit made by Mr. Stark—which I would like to remind you is something that you just did out of your own volition—but if you insist upon calling it a weapon, made by him in his spare time, which he bared all the expenses for, then this council meeting would become considerably redundant, as not only is that his private property, but it’s also legal for him to own as it is his part of his second amendment right to bare arms — your extremely vocal support of which won you your current seat, Senator. Isn’t that correct?”

Stern lets out a laugh, and Tony does too. Because that is a fucking hilarious defense.

“You can’t be serious. You can’t compare a whole suit of armor with missiles attached to it with a gun he can just carry around,” Stern argues. “It’s a weapon—a weapon capable of a lot of damage, examples of which we have already seen.

Y/n keeps leaning on her seat, casual as ever, completely unperturbed. “We never called it a weapon, Senator. You did. All we are stating are the facts; the suit is private property, invented, designed, and built by Mr. Stark exclusively, with his own money and his own resources. Why would the government have any claim on it whatsoever?”

Stern scoffs. “Let’s start with the fact that the second amendment does not apply to automatic weapons.”

Y/n just shrugs. “As per the constitution, ‘automatic weapons’ encompasses machine guns. No part of the suit can be classified as an ‘automatic weapon’ under those stipulations. On the other hand, a rocket launcher? Sure. But Mr. Stark has the necessary permits to own such weapons dur to his previous career as a weapons developer.”

“The suit does not fall under the second amendment,” Stern’s losing his shit right now. Tony wishes he had popcorn. “It just can’t. It is armed with at least hundred missiles. You cannot legitimately argue that it’s the same as owning a shotgun.”

“Senator—” Y/n sits up, and he knows it’s time to pull out his phone and get ready to click pictures of Stern’s face ‘cause she’s about to rip him apart. “—Here’s where you’re going wrong… The suit isn’t technically a joint unit. It is assembled by Mr. Stark as per his requirement. The different parts of the suit that you were so eager to classify as a weapon are all separate entities for which Mr. Stark has the required certification to own. The suit, lovingly referred to as the Iron Man suit is the intellectual and physical property of Stark Industries therefore it belongs solely to Stark Industries the corollary being that Mr. Stark and I own the suit. And if the government wants to use it for its own purposes, they are welcome to try making their own, or,” she shrugs again with a smirk, “ask real nice with a cherry on top.” Then she fucking winks.

Stern looks fucking red. His jaw clenches, he wants to curse at Y/n. Actually, Tony thinks he might want to throw the mic at her. But instead, he recomposes himself. “That, Ms. Stark, is absolutely absurd.”

“Is it?” Y/n challenges.

Tony feels like he should intervene, or Stern might actually throw the mic at her. He feels bad for the poor guy. I mean, come on. After that, he needs a softer touch. “Please, if your priority was actually the well-being of the American citizen—”

“My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America,” Stern argues.

Yeah, fuck this.

Tony’s conciliatory tone is gone. He leans in closer to the mic in front of him, “Well, you can forget it. I am Iron Man. The suit and I are one. To turn over the Iron Man suit would be to turn over myself which is tantamount to indentured servitude or prostitution, depending on what state you’re in.” The crowd laughs. “You can’t have it.”

“Look, I’m no expert—”

Tony cuts him off “In prostitution? Of course not. You’re a senator. Come on!” The crowd chuckles and he basks in it, holding up a peace sign. But when he looks back at Pepper, well, let’s just say she’s not impressed at all. He mouths “No?” and she just shakes her head in disapproval. He looks over at Y/n then. Mouths again, “No?” Smiling, she mouths back, “Yes.”

They smile at each other.

“I’m no expert in weapons. We have somebody here who is an expert on weapons,” Stern continues while fidgeting with his tie. “I’d now like to call Justin Hammer,” that makes Tony look up, “our current primary weapons contractor.”

This day just took a turn for the shit.

Justin Hammer walks in, with his shitty little face in his shitty little suit, wearing his shitty little glasses, and takes a seat.

Tony leans towards the mic again, “Let the record reflect that I observed Mr. Hammer entering the chamber, and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance.”

Hammer just lets out a small chuckle, taking a sip of water. “Absolutely. I’m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony. You’re the wonder boy.” Asshat, Tony thinks to himself. Hammer makes him nervous. In like a concerned-for-the-wel-lbeing-of-people kinda way, he looks over at Y/n. She just shakes her head, indicating Tony has nothing to worry about. “Senator, if I may,” Hammer continues as he walks over to the podium in front of them. “I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad. Howard Stark. Really a father to us all, and to the military-industrial age. Let’s just be clear, he was no flower child. He was a lion. We all know why we’re here. In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it’s a shield. He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I’d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain’t Canada.”

“If he is so afraid, Mr. Stark and I would like to urge Mr. Hammer to move to Canada or if he’d like, Stark Industries has a great home security system we could install, free of charge as a gift to provide comfort,” Y/n deadpans. Her face is so damn calm it almost comes off as sincere.

Hammer looks very justifiably unsettled. “You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr. Stark will not always be able to foresee. Thank you.” He walks back to his seat. “God bless Iron Man. God bless America.”

“That is well said, Mr. Hammer,” Stern says with a small smile. “The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber.”

“Rhodey? What?” Tony looks back towards the doors, he notices, however, Y/n doesn’t move an inch.

As Rhodey walks in, Tony gets up and meets him halfway to greet him. They shake hands.

“Hey, buddy. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Tony comments.

Rhodey looks at him, “Look, it’s me, I’m here. Deal with it. Let’s move on.”

“I just…” Tony tries but Rhodey cuts him off.

“Drop it.”

Tony throws his hands up, “All right, I’ll drop it.”

Both of them walk over to the seats. He sits back on his own seat meanwhile Rhodey takes a seat right next to Y/n.

“Hey Y/n,” Rhodey greets her with a smile.

She smiles too. “Hey, Rhodes.”

“You knew about this?” Tony asks her, as Stern asks Rhodey to read off some report.

“You pay me to know this kinda shit,” she replies.

“You’re billing me for this?” Somehow despite all the twists and turns, this is the most surprising thing to happen to him today.

She makes a face that’s something close to pure disdain. “You bet your iron ass, I am.”

“I have before me a complete report on the Iron Man weapon, complied by Colonel Rhodes. And, Colonel, for the record, can you please read page 57, paragraph four?” Stern instructs.

“You’re requesting that I read specific selections from my report, Senator?” Rhodey’s tone makes his disagreement absolutely clear.

“Yes, sir,” Stern insists.

“It was my understanding that I was going to be testifying in a much more comprehensive and detailed manner,” Rhodey argues, in the most polite-Rhodey-esque manner possible.

“I understand,” Stern states with disinterest. “A lot of things have changed today. So if you could just read—”

“You do understand that reading a single paragraph out of context does not reflect the summary of my final—” Rhodey’s protests are cut off.

“Just read it, Colonel. I do. Thank you,” Stern says dismissively.

Rhodey looks over at Y/n then, as if asking for permission in a way. When she nods, reluctant he begins, “Very well. ‘As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.’ I did, however,” Stern tries to interrupt him, but Rhodey doesn’t budge, “go on to summarise that the benefits of Iron Man far outweigh three liabilities and that it would be in our interest—”

Stern talks over him without any shame whatsoever. “That’s enough Colonel.”

Rhodey continues regardless. “—to fold Mr. Starkinto the existing chain of command, Senator—”

“That’s enough,” Stern shuts it down.

Tony decides to be a nuisance because, well, he hasn’t done that in a while “I’m not a joiner, but I’ll consider Secretary of Defence, if you ask nice.” The crowd laughs. “We can amend the hours a little bit.”

“I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report,” Stern says, pointing

“I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time,” Rhodey argues.

“With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And if you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful.”

Maybe Stern was one of those kids whose parents gave him actual coal on Christmas when he was a little asshole throughout the year, Tony thinks to himself. And that coal is what seems to be stuck up his ass, because what else could make the bastard so fucking insufferable?

“Let’s have the images,” Rhodey says, pointing over to the TV in the corner of the courtroom. As the images begin to show up, he narrates, “Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr. Stark’s suit. This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational.”

While Rhodey gives his statement, Y/n looks over at him. “Do the thing,” she says.

“The thing?” Tony asks, playing dumb.

She rolls her eyes. “Just do it. I send the files over to Jarvis, they’re uploaded and ready to go. Can you just do it?”

He smiles, pulling out his phone, he looks over all the footage once, and yep. There they are. Remember how he said he won the lucky draw having his sister as his sister? Her previous work experience comes in real handy when you need top-secret information that the government isn’t exactly interested in sharing.

Holding his phone up to align with the screens, Tony begins, “Hold on a second buddy. Let me see something here.” He connects his system to them as the code begins to infiltrate the system. “Boy, I’m good. I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency. Now, let’s see what’s really going on.”

“What is he doing?” Stern is panicking.

“If you will direct your attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea,” Tony narrates as a video of a suit plays on the screen. It falls over, crashing and burning in their efforts to replicate his suit. The clip ends with blood splattering over the screen which is absolutely a sign of a well-functioning suit of armor for sure.

The crowd behind them loses their collective shits.

“Can you turn that off? Take it off!” Stern calls out to no one in particular. However, Hammer springs into action, trying to turn it all off. Tony suspects it has something to do with what he knows might show up next.

“Iran,” Tony notes as video footage of a suit flying plays. It does well enough, for all of five seconds before that too crashes. And judging by the fire, probably also burns.

Hammer continues his futile tries to turn the screens off.

“No grave threat here,” Tony says, smiling. And then, for the big one. “Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game?” This is so much fun because while Hammer tries in utter panic to turn the screen off it is playing a video of Justin Hammer, himself, standing next to a suit, commanding it to make movements that it barely follows, before fucking up altogether and twisting a complete 180 degrees.

Tony, Y/n, and Rhodey exchange a look where all can’t help but smile at the incompetence, while the crowd behind them gasps in shock and fear.

“Justin, you’re on TV. Focus up,” Y/n remarks with a cunning grin.

Just as not-TV Justin finds the plug and unplugs the screen, Tony says, “Wow. Yeah, I’d say most countries, five? Ten years away? Hammer Industries—twenty.”

“I would like to suggest the council consider hiring a new primary weapons contractor because, well, that—” she points at the screen”—and also because while Mr. Hammer might be right in his claim that Mr. Stark might not be able to predict every single threat, he can at least build a fully functional suit of armor—much unlike your expert witness, Senator.” Y/n smiles with a challenge in her eyes as she speaks.

This reminds Tony of when he was a kid and Y/n would trip the kids who’d try to take away his toys. Was she abusing her powers a bit? Yes. Did they deserve it? Yes.

Hammer rushes back to the mic to state, “I’d like to point out that that test pilot survived.”

“I think we’re done is the point that he’s making.” Stern is standing up from his seat and he seems so lost, it makes Tony feel a little bad for the poor guy. But then again, fuck him. “I don’t think there’s any reason—”

“The point is, you’re welcome, I guess,” Tony states.”

“For what?” Stern asks, dumbfounded.

“Because I’m your nuclear deterrent,” Tony says easily. “It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure. You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor.” He stands up and turns around to face the crowd. “I’ve successfully privatized world peace.” He throws out two peace signs for good measure while everyone stands up and begins to applaud him.

“What more do you want? For now!” Tony shouts out over the cheers. “I tried to play ball with these ass-clowns,” he comments, turning to point at the council who look wrecked.

“Fuck you, Mr. Stark. Fuck you, buddy,” Stern spits out with utter hatred. “We’re adjourned. We’re adjourned for today.”

“Okay,” Tony says casually, putting on his sunglasses.

“You’ve been a delight,” Stern says, every word drenched in venom. Meanwhile, Tony gives him a thumbs-up, sends a couple of flying kisses his way, and walks out of the room surrounded by the cheering crowd.

It’s later that he’s seated in the car that he realizes, he left Y/n behind.

“Jarvis, call Y/n.”

“Calling Ms. Stark,” Jarvis replies.

The call connects.

“Hey, where’d you go?” He asks, hands on the wheel. He’s waiting now, stationary as ever.

“I didn’t go anywhere, you decided you’re the savior of the American people, and walked out to let said people laud all over, so in turn, I decided to hitch a ride with Rhodey,” she answers, sounding… frustrated?

He begins driving. “Are you mad at me? I thought that went pretty well.”

“It did go well. Up until the point you decided you’ve developed a god complex at the end and announced yourself as the nuclear deterrent.” Yeah, she’s definitely frustrated.

“But, come on! I am all of those things,” he argues, with a very slight mocking tone.

But apparently, she doesn’t agree because he’s met with a sigh from the other end.

“Look, Tony, you told me you needed to do this to help people, to make your life worthwhile—that’s why I wanted to help you out.” She pauses. “I saw something really fucking great in you. It’s always been there, but I—I see it come up to the surface when you’re wearing that suit, which is why I was ready to fight the government to let you keep it. But if you’re gonna be the same arrogant asshole about it then I, myself will salvage your suit for parts and sell it off on eBay.” Now she sounds downright pissed off.

“Y/n, come on—” she cuts him off.

“There are people out there, you know?” Her voice is hushed, it puts him on edge.

“What people?” He asks.

“When I was looking into countries trying to develop similar tech to the Iron Man suit, I found people out there who could replicate it, they just haven’t gotten around to it,” she tells him in quiet whispers.

“Yeah?” He’s freaking out a little now… only a little. “Like who?”

“About half a dozen of them… But most prominently, Howard used to work with this guy, Anton Vanko. He got deported to Russia in ‘67 after he was accused of espionage, he died a couple months ago.”

“So a dead guy then?”

“He had a son,” Y/n bites back. “I’m trying to figure out if he has the designs, but know this, Tony, he does have the skills to pull it off.”

He’s freaking out a lot now, so much so that the car feels almost claustrophobic to him now. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” He says instead.

There is silence on the other side for a while and then, “I’m right behind you, Tony. Always. But you gotta be better.”

The call disconnects.

Read the next part here Find the series masterlist here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here.

tag list : @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @roxannejblack @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @rockybutmakeitlame @romanoffswoman @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987

hit me up if you wanna be added to the tag list.

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stuckysbike · 2 years ago

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All Or Nothing

A/n: All mistakes are my own. Written on my phone.

Pre-Stucky x Reader, pre-Bucky x reader, Stucky, Steve x reader

AU: Bucky wants his boyfriend back, but his boyfriend is your husband now. And the father of your child.

Warnings: angst, eventual smut, 18 plus only please, fluff, implied cheating (but not really) mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, presumed unrequited love, polyamory, MMF, bisexual Stucky.

I hope that’s everything!

Part One

You wanted for nothing.

There was a tall Brooklyn Brownstone, a Manhattan Penthouse, a sprawling Hampton Mansion. Further afield was the Aspen Ski Lodge, the Montana Ranch. Overseas was the Mediterranean Villa, the Irish Cottage and the Romanian Castle.

Yes, he owned a castle.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the only male heir to three very successful brothers who built themselves an empire. He and his three sisters had been given the keys to the kingdom when his father, the youngest of the three and the last surviving brother, died.

The first thing Bucky did after securing his position was to track down the only person he wanted to share his life with. Trouble was, that man Bucky was in love with was your husband.

You met Steve Rogers five years ago. He ended up in a bar fight defending a woman getting unwanted attention from a group of guys. Feeling lucky you joined in, cracking a bottle over the head of one of the pricks. You had been together ever since.

Steve talked about Bucky to you, he kept no secrets and you knew he had ran to save his life. When you discovered you were pregnant Steve proposed.

“I love you so much honey,” Steve had promised as you hesitated. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Three days later, you were wed.

You wanted for nothing.

There were private planes, helicopters, luxury SUV’s, sports cars, motorcycles, a yacht and other various pleasure boats.

Steve loved anything with an engine that gathered speed, and Bucky was happy to indulge Steve’s whims. Money was no object, and you soon found that Bucky had been loyally taking care of Steve’s ill mother whilst he was on the run, getting her the best healthcare.

Bucky adored your precious Belle, the apple of Steve’s eye. She looked just like her father and had that stubborn streak of bravery just like he had too. You had never seen love at first sight until you saw Bucky meet Belle. Her face lit up and his eyes gentled and an instant bond was formed that terrified you.

Your wedding band meant nothing. Bucky belonged to this family, slotted in perfectly by charming your husband and delighting your daughter.

You had hung back, nodding in greeting and watching your family slip away.

So here you stood, in a designer dress and heels wearing jewellery worth more than you had ever earned watching Steve and Bucky waltz around the vast ballroom with Belle between them, her squealing with delight.

You wanted for nothing except the days before Bucky Barnes turned your life on its head.

Part 2

#stucky x y/n #stucky x you #stucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #mob!stucky x reader

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storage-sheds-for-sale · 7 months ago

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Beyond the Barn: 5 Creative Ways to Transform Your Property's Pre-Built Barns

Barns aren’t just for storing hay and housing livestock anymore. Modern pre-built barns offer versatile spaces that can be repurposed in creative ways to enhance your property’s functionality and aesthetics. Whether you’re a homesteader, hobbyist, or simply looking to maximize your space, here are five innovative ways to utilize pre-built barns in Colorado on your property.

Art Studio or Workshop: Transform your barn into a haven for creativity. With ample space and natural light, a barn can serve as the perfect setting for painting, sculpting, woodworking, or any other artistic endeavor. Customize the interior with shelves, workbenches, and storage solutions to suit your specific needs.

Home Gym or Yoga Studio: Say goodbye to costly gym memberships and crowded fitness centers by converting your barn into a personalized workout space. Install rubber flooring, mirrors, and exercise equipment to create a functional gym or designate the area for yoga and meditation practice, offering a serene retreat for both physical and mental wellness.

Entertainment Venue: Host memorable gatherings and events by turning your barn into a unique entertainment venue. From rustic weddings and family reunions to intimate concerts and dinner parties, the charm and character of a barn provide a captivating backdrop for any celebration. Decorate with string lights, drapes, and rustic furnishings to set the mood.

Home Office or Co-working Space: Embrace remote work or start your own business by converting a barn into a functional office space. Enjoy the tranquility of nature while increasing productivity in a dedicated work environment. Set up desks, ergonomic chairs, and high-speed internet to create a conducive workspace for innovation and collaboration.

Airbnb or Guest Accommodation: Generate supplemental income by transforming your barn into a cozy Airbnb or guest accommodation. With the rise of rural tourism and the allure of rustic charm, a well-appointed barn conversion can attract travelers seeking a unique and memorable stay. Furnish with comfortable beds, kitchenette facilities, and thoughtful amenities to ensure a memorable experience for guests.

In conclusion, pre-built barns offer endless possibilities for creative utilization beyond traditional agricultural purposes. Whether you’re seeking to expand your living space, pursue a passion, or generate income, harness the potential of your barn to enhance both your property and lifestyle. With a dash of imagination and ingenuity, you can unlock the full potential of this timeless structure.

#Pre-Built Barns

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niki-smith · 6 months ago

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Announcing my NEXT GRAPHIC NOVEL!

SEA LEGS is a MG graphic novel memoir and a collaboration with one of my oldest pals, Jules Bakes. We met when we were tiny tweens, roleplaying magical creatures on an equally tiny online forum (so cool), and I soon found out the reason her internet connection wasn’t as reliable as my sturdy dial-up: she lived on a boat. That her dad built by hand.

Living on a sailboat is REALLY COOL… the wide, open Caribbean Sea… your adorable boat cat… you don’t have to go to school…! And it’s also lonely as heck.

Jules is an amazingly hilarious writer, which makes the hard scenes in SEA LEGS hit all that much harder. We’ve been developing this book together for the last ???4??? (oh god) years and it’s finally, finally about to be here. Thank you so much to our incredible editor Maya Marlette, our designer Carina Taylor, and our agent Charlie Olsen!

I hope you love it. I love it. I love it despite having to draw SO MANY BOATS…… and, well, you’ll see.

SEA LEGS comes out FEBRUARY 5! (!!!!) from Scholastic/Graphix⛵

Pre-order links here!

Add on Goodreads !

#graphic novel #kidlit #comics #boatkids #kidsonboats #Sea Legs #the cat is named Sassafras #i drew so many dang boats for this book #so many boats

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not-available-for-comment · 1 year ago

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Y’all I am So Excited about this. The Serpent Mound and the other Hopewell mounds are one of the few genuinely cool things about Ohio

Excerpts:

"In the past we might sometimes say 'Hopewell culture' or 'Hopewell people,' but what we really understand 'Hopewell' to be now is not a new peoples," explains Bill Kennedy, site manager and site archeologist at Fort Ancient Earthworks and Nature Preserve. "It's a new religious movement of people. It's happening all throughout eastern North America. It reaches a fluorescence, though, in southern Ohio that it doesn't reach anywhere else."

…Chief Ben Barnes of the Shawnee Tribe, who was involved in the earthworks nomination, also sees its inscription on the UNESCO World Heritage List as a step toward combating racist and ignorant stereotypes about his people and his ancestors.

"They're great civil engineers. They're artists, they're astronomers, mathematicians, and for my people, that's not the way that Shawnee people, or any Indigenous peoples in this country, are typically portrayed in media," he says.

In addition, the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks address gaps in the World Heritage List identified by the World Heritage Committee. Specifically, a lack of sites representing pre-contact Indigenous American sacred architecture and sites that represent early understandings of science, culture and astronomy.

…Today no federally recognized tribes remain in Ohio. They were all forcibly removed in the 17 and 1800s. Yet it was their ancestors who created these massive feats of design and engineering.

Glenna Wallace is chief of the Eastern Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma and has been active in the World Heritage process. She says inscription on the World Heritage List is part of her mission to teach people about the earthworks that her ancestors built.

She says their inclusion would not be an ending, but another beginning.

"Our people may have been forced away from that place, and they may have disappeared, but what they built, what they constructed, what their values were, that's still there and that should be protected," she states.

"That's the reason for World Heritage."

In becoming a UNESCO World Heritage site, Wallace says she hopes the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks will finally attain the reverence and respect they deserve.

See the linked article for more details!

#indigenous culture #native american art #Native American archaeology #Indian mounds #Native American mounds #hopewell #unesco #Shawnee

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

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Would you spend $3.295M on a VERY rustic estate? It was built in 1810 and originally redone for singer Johnny Cash in Hendersonville, TN. Sycamore Homestead is currently the home compound of master builder Braxton Dixon. Main house, 2 guest homes, barn, tea room and smoke house reconstructed from pre-civil war log structures were relocated to this property. 6bds, 5ba.

It has sort of a broody type of appeal.

Open concept main floor includes the kitchen.

Look at the size of the dining table attached to the island.

Kitchen's okay, but not terribly impressive. The slate floors were mined from the site.

Another, less formal sitting room.

Stairs to the bedrooms.

Beautiful etched glass on the door to the primary bedroom.

Display loft above the bed.

Looks like the bath has folding doors to close off the window when you're using the toilet.

This room has nice shelving plus a loft. Like the fireplace and closet doors.

This room also has a nice fireplace and a built-in corner cabinet.

The sky is blue, so I don't think it's the weather, but the place looks dreary.

Guesthouse on the property.

This is a nice place. I'd rent it out.

I like this one better, it's more interesting.

It's smaller, but unique.

The largest one is very cool.

It has some cool features like a grindstone in the wall.

Beautiful ancient fireplace.

Lovely details.

The bath looks medieval.

Covered bridge leading up to the property.

The property measures 5.84 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/42394403_zpid/

#rustic estate #compounds #celebrity homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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burberrycanary · 4 months ago

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For the fic commentary game...I want to ask about so many lines, but ok. I've narrowed it down to three from Lost Vocabularies..., so you can pick—I'd be so interested to get your author's commentary on any (or all) of them! 💛

He will never forget nine months of stock prices from 1950.

(this is the one I'm probably least likely to get an answer to, which is fine, but I'm so very curious about what Steve did during those months in the past, and a girl's gotta try! 😜)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

(Basically, I just like to make myself sad about Bucky Barnes, so hey: talk to me about the dog tags!)

“Why were you always signed up for something? You already took more vocational classes than about anybody.”

[…]

“Trying to impress my dad,” Bucky admits on a slow breath out. “But not in the way he wanted. ‘One of the laborin’ Barnes with a proper education,’ he liked to say. ‘Bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.’ He wanted me to live out that better American life he was chasing. Be respectable.” Bucky gives a faint dry laugh. “Sorry Pops.”

(I know this is more than one sentence...but I'm just endlessly fascinated by Bucky's (and Steve's) pre-war life and especially Bucky's relationship with his parents and how he feels about them now, after everything. So, if you'd be willing to elaborate on that snippet up there (I'm particularly intrigued by But not in the way he wanted), I'd be ecstatic!

(📦&🧼&◼&⬜-🔪)

Crying into our beers over Bucky Barnes should be the name of our band. 😭🍻😭

The dog tags were such a distinctive element in TFATWS that I knew I wanted to use them in this post-Endgame fix-it series that ended up sprawling out to a bigger scope than I originally intended. But the first question from canon to consider is: whose dog tags are they, anyway?

In the surgery flashback from CATWS, we see that Bucky is no longer wearing his dog tags, which means they were taken away by Hydra. And this makes sense since Hydra was starting the process of completely stripping away Bucky’s identity. What Hydra does with Bucky’s dog tags depends on what kind of organization Hydra is, culturally and administratively. While you could write any number of stories here, especially since Bucky, as a specific known recovered asset, isn’t what the Japanese scientists in Unit 731 called “maruta” (“wooden logs”) or what the CIA-run black sites in West Germany under Project Bluebird called “expendables,” you could argue that Zola might keep Bucky’s dog tags for any number of reasons: spite, gloating, pride, or a perverse attachment to his greatest success. But the most rational course of action would be to destroy anything that could identify Bucky as a well-known American soldier—because this era of American history shows you could get away with not just murder but crimes against humanity as long as you played by certain bureaucratic rules. And this is the organization that Peggy Carter built, canonically, and the era that Steve returns to in Endgame—"the dark and bloody heart of the twentieth century [that] beat and maimed all the unsteadiness out of Bucky’s hands long ago."

I’d argue these aren’t the dog tags that we see Steve wearing when he wakes up in the fake recovery room, which would have been replaced as part of the attempted deception, but instead the ones that he was wearing when he went into the ice, which would’ve been returned once the jig was up:

Hanging around Bucky’s neck on a bright beaded chain are tarnished dog tags with the raised text turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

I’ll admit I did look up the composition of WWII dog tags and scanned through some research papers on the corrosion levels in metal equipment used in the Arctic before deciding that I could just take a little literary license here and have Steve’s old dog tags be thematically “tarnished,” which in the text is explicitly tied to the theme of things being transformed over time, but the word also carries the connotation of something that’s sullied. For the dog tags, both meanings hold.

My backstory headcanon is that Sam, who was the executor of Steve’s will and his chosen next of kin, invited Bucky to go through Steve’s surprisingly few personal effects for anything he wanted to keep before Sam donated the rest to museums. All Bucky took was the last, unfinished, mostly empty, little notebook and Steve’s old dog tags, which he restrung on a new chain. That’s it. That’s what Bucky is left with as a stranger in this strange land of the present.

In the first glimpse Steve gets near the end of Still Left with the River, he interprets Bucky wearing his old dog tags as indicating that Bucky never stopped caring about him, which is true—Bucky kept on caring a whole hell of a lot. This is Steve’s “it taught me to hope” moment in the text that helps push him toward being honest with Bucky about how he feels after several decades of alternating between pining and grieving, pining and grieving. How many times has the worst already happened between them?

There is always an end to the line where the same big black pit is waiting. And eventually Bucky won’t crawl back out.

But the dog tags are deliberately ambiguous as a symbol, since they equally represent the grief that we see Bucky struggle with in TFATWS. They are Bucky’s chosen gesture of mourning when Steve buries himself in the past. It’s telling that even after Steve returns, Bucky doesn’t take the dog tags off or offer to give them back to Steve again. Whatever they mean, they’re Bucky’s now. And Bucky on some level continues to mourn a faith between them—ineffable and up to that point mutually committed to despite the worst the world could do—that Steve broke when he decided to go back to the past and which returning doesn’t unbreak. Because that’s the problem: “Time only moves in one direction.”

(“There’s a creepy stone somewhere that says otherwise.”

“Exactly.”)

Significantly, over and over, these fraught identification tags are described as occupying the space between Steve and Bucky:

Tipping Steve’s chin up with his thumb, Bucky kisses the blazes out of him while the old dog tags swing a little on their glinting new chain in the space between them.

How Steve left is still very much between them throughout this whole series.

The scene where the dog tags are revealed as Steve’s is significant:

...Steve’s old dog tags swinging in the space between their bodies; then the warm tender weight of Bucky’s forehead, pressed just off-center against his chest, overlapping with the light touch of metal and the pooling chain; [...] Bucky pressed close, and his face hidden.

The contrary actions of Bucky pressing close but still hiding is how Bucky has chosen to deal with the complicated emotional situation Steve has put him in—the combination of intimacy and distance that shades through most of this series. Bucky is trying to both protect himself and give Steve a good-faith chance to do better. Bucky’s strength and generosity win out in the end, because that’s who Bucky is at heart: the bigger person in a way that has nothing to do with being tall or strong or healthy. But part of the problem of any post-Endgame fix-it is that no one fight or confession or “being shoved in a closet together” shortcut could solve these emotional sticking points.

Steve really did that. Whatever his reasons or motivations, which this series digs into a lot in the subtext, in the moment Steve meant it. And there’s no way to undo the choices that have been made, not without recourse to an ethically flawed concept that’s the opposite of living: because trying to undo past losses is exactly what Endgame gets wrong by attempting.

Fuck Endgame: the only way out is through. And by “through” I don’t mean Steve passively playing white-picket-fence house with Peggy through the ugly back half of the 20th century and then getting some sort of science-fiction second chance for a life with Bucky, once all that’s over. That’s doubling down on the flawed ethics of Endgame.

Life is a process of making choices, over and over. And living with the consequences. How you live with them is another ethical choice you get to make, over and over. That’s the constant and inescapable ethical action inherent in being alive.

This series is deliberately full of minor characters with losses just as profound as Steve’s: loved ones gone, former ways of life lost, all the small gathered-together pieces that we each painstakingly build into a life vanishing, whether bit by bit or calamitously all at once:

Her face lights up. “Thanks, I make them myself. I’m thinking of going to fashion school, maybe. Textile design. I’ve already died—fuck being scared, right?”

Between war, the Blip and the Return, she has lost every member of what was once a huge family. And life just keeps going on.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Fuck being scared.”

Or:

“Been walking since Greenwood Cemetery. I can’t get to where any of my people are buried so you know what I’ve decided?”

Steve gives a hum, meaning what’s that?

“I’ve decided to collectivize. Every grave on earth with the first name George is my boy’s. I’ve claimed every Elizabeth—in all forms—and Rachael, Robert and Joseph. Never cared for my husband’s people so I don’t bother with them. But I’ve got some favorites down in Greenwood picked out for my boy. ”

“I’m sorry for your losses,” Steve says, quiet, and thinking briefly of his own most recent dead. He doesn’t add, I know what it’s like to let grief triumph over reality. “So you visit.”

“Every day that I can. Lots of graveyards in this city. But Greenwood is nice. All the flowers and so forth.”

This is a story about grief.

Steve is trusted with great power to help set right wrongs the Avengers did during Endgame, setting all these other timelines on roads to destruction to save their own. And in the face of the temptation of that great fantastical power: the possibility of easy facile answers to unsolvably hard problems about change and loss so many people equally have to confront and hurt over and struggle with—all the time, right now, forever, constantly—Steve Rogers falters:

Preemptive—that idea is never going to seem right to him. But isn’t that what he’d tried to do when he’d stayed in the past? Get the preemptive good life by side-stepping the possibility of more loss? Because, for him at least, one way or another everything that mattered would have already happened.

And still the same old story at the bottom of whatever idealized notions got papered over top: trading other people’s lives for your own security.

He’ll never know whether, if his plan had worked, he would have stayed in the past for good.

And now he’s got to live with that.

If the dog tags in this story stand for anything, it’s living with the consequences.

You can make mistakes. We all do, individually and collectively. But there’s no undoing the past—not even in the MCU’s confused theory of the multiverse. All you can try is to do better: to make right what’s been put wrong as much as you can; or find things that are good and help them be better for more people.

There are deliberately four apologies offered in Lost Vocabularies: two from Bucky and two from Steve. But this is the climactic and closing apology that echoes the same language used to introduce the dog tags into the narrative:

Pushing Bucky back, he touches the tarnished dog tags where the raised text has turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, meaning a whole lot.

Bucky’s response, “We got here,” deliberately sidesteps the question of forgiveness and is designed to be read in two ways. The first reading challenges the relative significance of the past—we reached here however that happened—while the second rejects the past more completely: all we actually ever have is right now.

The thing is, Steve has been angry his whole life and he’s trying so hard to be a little more grateful for a change.

He’s been doing better and he’ll keep on trying.

But there’s still just so much to be angry about everywhere he looks, from the past all the way through to this moment, burning up in front of him right now: this crawling-forward world that should be better, and isn’t, and won’t be unless people step forward to shoulder the hard slow work with no one to punch and no climactic battle you win or you lose.

This sort of work requires the splendid terrible patience of the tide eating away at a face of rock: mighty and irresistible, but wearisomely slow.

You gotta do the work. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

#thanks for the ask!#stucky meta #meta #river!verse #the existential loneliness of steven g rogers #bucky barnes needs a hug

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voylitscope · 2 years ago

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Stucky Recs: Timeline Jumping, Time Loops, and Alternate Selves

My birthday is this Sunday, so I thought I'd celebrate by sharing some fic recs. I'd like to do a series of these highly themed rec lists, and my birthday week seemed like an ideal week to get started.

So: twelve fics I love that play with time. (I realized I was making this that three of these fics are, at least partially, also Shrinkyclinks fics. Because, you know, time travel. Bonus?)

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Timeline jumping

🌙 After You're Gone | SD_Ryan | Explicit | 7,229 words

A timeline jumping fic that is also both a post-TWS recovery fic and a shrinkyclinks fic. Do you want to read about a fiery pre-war Steve popping up at Avengers tower to the surprise of everyone, including a sad-eyed post-TWS Bucky? Of course you do.

Quote:

He pulls Steve close, palm pressed to the base of knobby spine, rolling them until Steve is on top. He likes the slight weight of him, the easy way Steve spreads his legs around his hips, hands cradling his face while they kiss. He’s got the theory down but doesn’t remember specifics, and he wants Steve to run this show.

The man doesn’t disappoint.

Steve kisses like he’s leading an orchestra, all confident grace and subtle notes of whimsey, playing Barnes in a way that suits them both. Barnes even learns to follow along. It comes back to him in surprising flashes, the way Steve keens when Barnes sucks on his bottom lip, the soft groan drawn out with a scratch of stubble against Steve’s cheek. Muscle memory. History built anew.

🌙Cheat Days | Chicklette | Mature | 2,033 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

A quick read that might make you cry. Perfect for times you're already having feelings about Steve being lonely waking up in a new century.

Summary:

Other times it’s something else - something more cruel – a joke that he knows Bucky would find hilarious, a movie that Bucky would have loved, a book. Sometimes Steve is just so goddamned lonely that he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. Then he has what he calls a cheat day. A day when he closes up his apartment and uses the coin, and sighs into Bucky’s embrace.

This fic is so romantic that I don't really know how to handle it. Featuring a Bucky who is doing pretty okay, a Bucky who even makes it back to Brooklyn after the war, but also a Bucky who is achingly lonely — except during those brief moments in time, every five years, when Steve pops into his life.

Quote:

Steve says nothing. He lifts both dog tags to his mouth, presses a kiss or a blessing to them, and tucks them back against Bucky’s chest.

Steve leans forward to kiss him again and this time, he hasn’t even pulled away before Bucky is left aching for more.

Between one breath and the other, Steve leaves him. Bucky doesn’t see him go, but he feels him disappear. When he opens his eyes, it’s just him on his cot, with the lamp flickering in the empty quiet of his tent. Bucky takes in a hard, painful breath, and then, with devastation, presses his palms into his eyes until, eventually, he stops feeling Steve’s hands carefully worshipping his tired body.

🌙the time that's slipping | its_tortle @its-tortle | Teen | 4,585 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Listen, I just really think we all, as a fandom, need to read about Steve going back in time to talk to his mom about everything that's happened to him. I know I needed this fic in my life. Steve and Sarah's relationship in this fic is gorgeous and perfect, and their conversation feels so important.

Quote:

“Steven,” she says quickly. “No. Listen to me.”

His Ma sits up in her bed a little further, ignoring the way he reaches out to steady her. There’s a sudden urgency to her movements, a determined passion pumping energy through her tired bones. Her big blue eyes are alight with the fire Steve knows he himself inherited.

“Mo stór,” she starts. “You have the biggest, bravest, and most beautiful heart anyone could ever dream up. It’s not perfect, none is, but if there’s one thing I know it’s that it’s good. That it loves in its entirety and always stands up for what it believes in. If you followed your heart, Steve, you made all the right calls.”

🌙It remembers you | often_adamanta | Teen | 13,585 words

This one is: Timeline jumping, Post-TWS recovery, Shrinkyclinks, and Pre-war. Yes. All of that. Featuring the very most endearing pre-war Steve handling a traumatized and barely post-TWS Bucky in the sweetest way possible. Also featuring a pre-war Bucky who keeps going, "Steve, what the hell do you mean it's completely fine for this guy, who has my face, to just come into our apartment while we sleep? That's terrifying???" And a post-TWS Bucky who keeps saying things like, "You definitely shouldn't trust me because I am dangerous, but also I think when I was that guy you live with I was in love with you? But also I was never him. But also I brought you this bread? Wow, you're so good at art. I'm terrible and scary. You should tell me to leave. Oh hey, that cat on the fire escape is so pretty." This fic is so very darling.

Quote:

James yanks the earpiece out as quickly as he can with his unsteady hand, gripping it tightly in a fist against his chest. He can’t listen to Steve say good things about him, especially since they aren’t true. He can’t listen to Steve list all the ways he’s failed, the ways he’s not Bucky. He just can’t listen anymore.

When he goes to find food that night, he goes out even farther than usual. For the first time, he takes something with him that might be missed: a single glass tumbler, heavy and cold in his hand.

Steve and Bucky are sleeping in the main room, one of the mattresses pulled onto the floor so that they can curl up together. It makes it harder to move around the small room, but he sets the glass next to the sink in the kitchen and leaves again without waking them.

He puts the earpiece in when he returns to his spot across the street, able to rest easy knowing they’re safe, Steve’s head pillowed on Bucky’s chest as he drooled and kept Steve close with an arm around his waist.

🌙to memory now I can't recall | Etharei | Explicit | 102,600 words

A WW II Bucky and a post-TWS Bucky switch places, and two storylines take place. This fic will break your heart approximately twenty times. This fic, like a lot of fics on this list, follows rules of time travel that actually make sense, so WW II Bucky's actions in the future and post-TWS Bucky's actions in the past directly affect each other. They both know this the whole time, and they each know that they are the other and that they will be switching back. So, in a lot of ways, this fic is about Bucky's relationship with himself — about Bucky reconciling who he is before and after Hydra. It's honestly stunning.

Quote:

Steve's fingers twitch hard against his palm. Steve's face can occasionally manage to remain impassive when he's lying; it's a real pity he has about two dozen other tells.

Bucky stares at him. Steve practically flinches, at the same time as his grip on Bucky's hand tightens to the point of pain. Bucky feels like something is carving a chunk out of his insides.

"I died," he says, quietly. "Oh, Stevie. I died on you, didn't I? In the war?"

🌙wash the blood from your bony fingers | newsbypostcard | Teen | 63,134 words

You know how sometimes it's 2018 and you think a Hydra operative has de-aged your longtime super soldier boyfriend, except, surprise! It's actually that weird comic-science time travel has transported the younger version of your boyfriend out of 1936(and you guys hadn't talked about feelings yet in 1936)? And being the human that he is, the 1936 version of your boyfriend doesn't understand why, as a 5'4, 18-year-old, with asthma and a dozen other health conditions, it's not the best idea for him to immediately charge into battle as an Avenger or to, very literally, climb into your lap? Yeah, Bucky is facing some serious challenges here, okay? And that is just during the first chapter of this fic.

Quote:

"Why would you…" He gestures at himself, coughs out a laugh, and looks at Bucky with the kind of pure vulnerability that always knocks him flat. "Bucky, come on. Why would you…?"

Bucky feels the tension drag out of him, ebbing away into sympathy. "Come on, Rogers," Bucky says, softer than he'd like. "You know better than that. You're -- you're a force of fucking nature." He gives a fragile smile and swallows; clasps his hands together, nerves clustered in his throat. "There's nowhere you could go that I wouldn't follow, just to watch you try to take on the world. Including the future, apparently, god help us both."

🌙The Kinder Thing | Stele3 | Mature | 27,474 words | *Post-2016 Recs*

I don't think I've ever been as surprised by a fic as I was by this one. This fic does have all the things the tags and summary say it will. There very much is, of course, time travel! There absolutely is an age difference going on here — for most of the fic, anyway — because of the time travel! But, at its heart, this fic is about how there is literally nothing that can keep these two apart. It's shockingly beautiful.

Quote:

Bucky peers up at Steve through his eyelashes. “And how much longer have you got?”

Steve has no answer for that, either, and so he pulls Bucky into the bedroom. If this were someone else, he’d be barking at them to get their head on straight, he’s on a fucking mission right now, but all of that fades into the feel of his fingers skimming over Bucky’s chest as he pulls his shirt out of his trousers. It used to frustrate the hell out of him to watch movies where characters make terrible mistakes because of sexual desire; he’s never felt anything that strongly, certainly not enough to ruin his whole damn life, let alone jeopardize the space-time continuum.

When Steve bites down on Bucky’s shoulder, he gasps loudly in his small bedroom, his narrow body arching up against Steve’s, and Steve thinks, Yeah. He gets it, now. He thinks he’s been missing Bucky his whole life without even knowing him.

Time Loops

☀️offer me that deathless death | canistakahari | Explicit | 10,656 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Bucky relives the day he falls from the train over and over. Exactly as painful as sounds (but with a canon-divergent post-TWS ending, so we're okay.) Wartime Steve and Bucky romance that absolutely guts me. I can't overstate how much I love this fic.

Quote:

He reaches for Steve impulsively, cupping his jaw in his hand. “I can’t stand you,” he murmurs.

Steve raises an eyebrow, keeping still in Bucky’s grip. “Is that so?”

He really is unbearable. It’s hard to look at him directly, to see his smooth, earnest features screwed up with gentle concern. Steve’s mouth is soft and vulnerable and Bucky is helpless to give into the urge to press a kiss to his lips. The shape of him has changed in so many ways, but his eyes and mouth, his crooked nose, all remain achingly familiar.

☀️I can't remember how this started (but I can tell you exactly how it ends) | gwyneth_rhys @teatotally | Mature | 12,391 words

A time loop fic that sees Bucky continually reliving the day of the Project Insight launch and remembering/recovering more and more each time he does. Angsty and romantic and so beautifully done.

Quote:

When he opens his eyes, Bucky wants to cry. Maybe he is crying. They’re all staring at him as if he’s suddenly started tap-dancing and singing a song. He wipes at his eyes, and yeah, there are tears there, so of course they’re completely panicked. Codename: Winter Soldier isn’t exactly programmed to cry, so this is a major failure of the conditioning. He kills them as quickly as he can, because it’s just annoying to be stared at like that.

There may not be many good things in this day, but being able to kill some of the people who’ve tormented him for so long over and over and over again is definitely helping him work out some issues, as they say nowadays.

Bucky gets twelve more delirious, wonderful, hot days with Steve, rediscovering everything he loved about loving him. Sometimes it’s slow and tender and sweet, other times they fuck like rabbits in heat, but then it all goes pear-shaped.

Alternate selves

➿Asymmetry | Candlemaker | Teen | 46,423 words | **Post-Engame Recs**

I feel like this is fic on this list I've most often seen rec'd by other people, and I get why. This fic is a delight. Steve and Bucky, along with Sam, Clint, and Tony, find themselves in another timeline — a timeline where Steve and Bucky are married. Alternate timeline Steve and Bucky's relationship is unbelievably sweet, and this way of getting main timeline Steve and Bucky together is such a great balance of angst and fun. I also love this fic for using a trope I normally don't even like and managing to make me enjoy it very, very much.

Quote:

Steve watches them go in muted disbelief, eyes flicking from the back of his own head to their joint hands, metal and flesh fingers intertwined.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Clint coos to Steve and Bucky once their doppelgangers have disappeared down the hall, hands pressed to his cheeks and eyes wide like he is looking at a particularly cute puppy. When Steve can draw his eyes away from his own retreating back (there's no way his shoulders are that huge, right?) to risk a glance at Bucky, he finds his friend resolutely avoiding his gaze, arms wrapped around himself and hair shielding his expression from view.

“Clint-“ Sam warns, levelling the archer with a dangerous look and flicking his gaze pointedly between where Bucky is visibly distressed and Steve just looks lost.

“No, really, the cutest. I didn’t have you pinned as the settling down type, Barnes, but-“

➿Forcing All These Hollow Hearts to Feel Again | paperstorm | Explicit | 12,175 words | **Post-Endgame Recs**

Okay, so, I very much appreciate the way people take the — honestly incomprehensible — concept of timelines/time travel in the MCU as presented in Endgame and use it to write fic involving multiple Steves and/or Bucky in which: a) A large part of the premise is Steve and Bucky are together in all timelines b) There is a threesome/foursome/etc but everyone involved is Steve or Bucky. I'm very fond of this because: a) the 'in every timeline' thing is just ridiculously romantic, and b) I feel like the MCU would hate this particular use of their own time travel rules — and, whatever, but that brings me a little bit of joy.

Anyway, I've read multiple fics that fall under this general premise. For the purposes of this list, I'm rec'ing this very, very soft and lovely hurt/comfort one. This fic does a gorgeous job with Steve's guilt and grief, and also works as an Endgame fix-it of sorts.

Quote:

Steve nods. They walk, hand in hand through the mud, and slowly Steve pulls back the flap on the tent. His former self is on the cot, now, curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face pushed into the meager pillow, his big body tucked into as tight a ball as he can manage. Steve distinctly remembers, after the serum, missing being small in moments of sadness and wishing desperately he could curl up in Bucky’s lap like he used to, safe and protected. He doesn’t remember if that’s what he was thinking about in this exact moment, but given the circumstances, wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Fic Rec Series

#SteveBucky #Stucky fic #stucky fic rec #Fic recs #fic rec series #Me rambling about other people's writing #There are so many talented people who have and do write for this fandom #and I just like to talk to about it

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