#starla-nell

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes Additional Tags: Misunderstandings, Held Down, briefly, Light BDSM, Praise, Punishment, Painplay, Nipple Play, Biting, Restraints, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, 69 (Sex Position), Voice Kink, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Lube, Condoms, Sassy Bastards, bratty sub, Assholes in lust, The Porn Is the Plot, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019, Enemies to Lovers, Friendship in there somewhere Series: Part 1 of Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 Summary:

“See, I kind of want to find out how many times I can tell you ‘no’ before you try to hit me,” Sam says, letting his smile get wide and teasing. [No major change since first posted, just split into chapters.]

“It’s cold. You should take my hoodie.”

Fenris looks over to the taller man walking beside him. They’ve slowed a bit, and Hawke is starting to shrug out of his dark red hoodie.

“That isn’t necessary,” Fenris replies. He’s soon betrayed by the shiver that rolls over him. It’s autumn, and the Kirkwall nights are already growing much cooler.

“It’s okay,” Hawke laughs, and holds out the hoodie. “I don’t mind. I mean. Look at me.”

“I see you,” Fenris replies. Hawke is waggling his eyebrows at him now. Hawke probably has almost a foot and a hundred pounds on Fenris. He’s bigger, and both of them are well aware of it. Fenris lets his eyes slide down to the other man’s now-exposed arms. Thick, hairy, and…is he flexing? Fenris rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Fenris says, and takes the offered hoodie. “Thank you, Hawke,”

“Anything for you,” Hawke laughs. He’s playing it off like a joke, but Fenris thinks there’s a little something in Hawke’s voice that might just be serious. Fenris feels his cheeks heat up.

Hawke is still watching him as Fenris pulls it over his head. He starts to laugh again when Fenris finally gets it on. Their difference in size is clearly highlighted by how huge the hoodie is on him; Fenris is drowning in it.

Fenris doesn’t care though. It’s warm, soft, and smells like Hawke. He burrows into it, and is a little worried by how much he enjoys breathing it in.

“It’s a good look,” Hawke says. His cheeks are pink now, and he’s giving Fenris a funny look.

Fenris looks down at the expanse of red fabric he’s wearing. At the stylized dog that’s over his own chest now, the words ‘Ferelden Mabaris’ framing it. It’s some sports team he knows Hawke is a fan of. Fenris wrinkles his nose. “Ridiculous,” he says fondly, and Hawke chuckles again.

But when Fenris breathes in again, Hawke is all he smells.

Kit Brosca x Zevran

Now - Somewhere in Denerim's slums

“You like to keep things exciting, bella.” Zevran huffed under his breath, loud enough for Kit to hear him.

The noise outside their temporary hideout kept brewing, old wooden doors groaning under the pressure of hits.

It was good to see that Fereldens used quality material to build their apartment doors. Even in such poor area of the city. Or, the doors were there first, before the area became popular with poverty-stricken tenants.

Either way, the wood didn't explode in splinters after first few blows. Small mercies.

Zevran glanced at the door frame, where pieces of plaster were falling in chunks. He felt sweat run down his back and dared to look away from the doors and see, if Kit had any luck with the padlock.

Who in their right mind used padlock in dusty storage room, with nothing, but cobwebs, bare walls and no windows? Someone who had something to hide, perhaps?

Precious seconds ticked by, and Kit was still busy with working on opening the rusty lock of the only other possible exit. It was most likely used for trash dump, because the opening was too small for anything other. And why the fuck was it closed anyway?

She felt hot in there, and not in the fun way. The skin on her temple itched and she irritably batted away at it, mumbling curses through clenched teeth. Her usually pale cheeks now were visibly rosy, thanks to the nerves.

Next bang on the doors was powerful enough, that the frame seemed to vibrate. Voices outside were getting louder as well.

“Should I prepare for a gruesome death by being torn to pieces by angry mob or-”

“I'm trying, shut up.” Kit barked at Zevran's barb.

“You're really not helping Zev.” She gritted out, then swore loudly.

The last pick lock had broken.

For a moment, she let the anger wash her and she threw away the pieces. They bounced on the floor with faint metal cling, swallowed by the ruckus outside.

She will have to buy new set and have some talk with the merchant, who sold her this one.

If they would come out from this unscratched. She pulled out her pistol and took few steps back.

And the one who busted them will pay as well, because Kit refused to believe it was her mistake which lead to this situation.

Someone ratted them out.

It shouldn't be so surprising, really, both her and Zevran had their number of people, who would want them gone.

She gripped the handle of her weapon harder, taking careful aim on the lock. There was risk of rebound in such confined space.

“Back off Zev, this could hurt.”

Zevran was on the ready, with weapons out, glancing back and forth between Kit and the doors.

The noise grew in volume, when the doors groaned under the blows of...

Zevran's eyes widened. Was that an axe? Where did that come from, exactly?

The building didn't look like it had its hazard rights right. Not a fire extinguisher in sight, but an axe, well.

“I really don't want to hurry you, my dear, but we probably overstayed our welcome here.” he said with a slight strain in his voice, when the first splinters of the doors fell away, wood breaking apart.

In the same time, Zevran heard the cheer from the outside and the shot going off. At Kit's excited shout, Zevran’s shoulders sagged a bit. He dared to look behind him and a grin brightened his face.

Kit was already halfway into the opening of the trash dump, looking both up and down, assessing their escape route.

“There's a ladder in there, quick!” Her voice was muffled, as she already went into the vent.

She nimbly grabbed the rusted metal bolts, nailed onto the wall, and started climbing up.

Zevran was fast to follow, glancing last time at the door to the storage room. They were close to break up completely. He made sure to close the hatch behind him, as he swinged into the narrow vent.

He gripped the bolt and looked up, Kit already far above him. There was a faint light coming from the above, the exit most likely wasn't closed like the entrance.

Someone must have thought about the escape route, he thought. Even better for them to use it.

It looked like there was a chance for them to get out of there intact.

[more under the cut]

Thank you, honeybunch! ❤︎❤︎❤︎ Get ready for some post-breakup identity crisis, @dadrunkwriting​ 😅😅

         She tried not to look into the unfamiliar reflection, white-knuckled grip on the cushion instead of pawing at her face. She felt strangely detached from herself, as if a visitor in her own body. A glance around her quarters, at the differences from that morning, only amplified the feeling.  No, not a visitor. A ghost, perhaps; simply plaguing the place she once belonged. There were the same familiar touchstones: the bed, the warm hearth, the writing desk and tall bookshelves. But with the new little changes, the additions, the room seemed to belong to someone else entirely.         Vivienne and Josephine had brought in plush furs, fresh potted plants, the fine vanity at which she sat—carved wood, marble, and gold leaf, a gift from some foreign noble or other. It was undoubtedly beautiful, and nicely displayed both of their name-day gifts to her. Halesta ran her fingertips over the stoppers topping the delicate crystal bottles, settled and shimmering in their little matching tray. Her touch danced nervously over to the lovely carved combs and cameo-backed brush from Josephine. Still, at the edge of her vision, the mirror mocked her every movement, daring her to finally look up.

Preconception/Headcanon Meme

Varlen: 7/10. Pretty close! He is selective when it comes to entering into a full relationship, but he has had a number of more casual encounters as well. Not everyone he has been with was worth investing time and effort into, and a lot of them weren’t looking for a ‘time and effort’ encounter either.

It’s so easy to say yes. To givein. To reach out and accept, without thinking of anything else. The means todefeat him. A way to never be afraid. To never be captured, chained, takenaway. To never feel lesser. To be equal. He gives agreement, and it is asthough his mind goes blank. His body moves, in a way he doesn’t want it to. Shebarely catches the first swing of his sword, metal striking against the hastilyraised barrier as she stumbles back. He expects anger. Instead, shock.Disappointment in every line of Hawke’s face. It stings worse than anger.

He falls from the bed, onto thefloor, raises himself onto hands and knees. Struggling for breath, touching histhroat where Isabela’s blade had pierced it. Leaning back, looking at theothers still huddled in sleep, Marethari weaving her spell. Fenris rises to hisfeet, reaches for his sword. He leaves, the door slamming behind him, racesthrough the streets. He throws his sword across the hall, once he’s safelyinside the mansion.

He fell to temptation. Soeasily. Is that what she faced every night in her dreams? The demon had offeredup everything he wanted and he just… said yes. Then all of him, gone. A cage ofa different sort, a collar of the worst kind. He sits at his table, his head inhis arms, tapping his foot. Restlessly, without stopping. Her eyes had been sowide. Never once did she think he might ever attack her. Never once did hethink he might ever attack her. He had betrayed her. Failed her. He doesn’t realizehow long he sits, not until he hears the chair opposite him move.

Raising his head, and thereHawke sits. Her hands folded on the table, tilting her head and wearing asympathetic smile. “How are you feeling?” He forces himself to sit up straight.“When I woke up, you were gone. I was worried,” she says. He wants her to beangry. That, he would understand. She should be angry.

“Fenris,” she says quietly,reaching out. Her fingertips barely graze against his arm. “I shouldn’t havetaken you into the Fade. No one should have come with me. I’m sorry.”

“No. The fault lies with me,” hesays. His hands clench into fists. He looks away. Still, he cannot escape her.The broken mirror, on the floor and against the wall, reflecting only her. Thegaze that lingers on him. The small frown that passes, the way she bites her bottomlip. Looking at the table, and then back at him. Her fingers tremble on hisarm. She looks so much younger, like this. Softer. She is Hawke when people arelooking. Marian, when no one else is.

He turns back to her, and sheseems relieved. “The demon used magic on your mind. It wasn’t fair. You shouldn’tblame yourself,” she says.

“It won’t happen again,” hetells her.