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avintagekiss24 · 5 years

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Eyes Always Seeking [2/?]

Pairing: Dark!Biker!Bucky Barnes x Original Black Female Character (Saoirse Wilson)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Dub-Con, rough sex, masturbation, oral sex, smut

Summary: You haven’t been able to keep your mind off of one Bucky Barnes since your initial meeting. You want him again. You need him again. Then, just like magic, he appears in your brother’s backyard.

Word Count: 5025

A/N: I’m so overwhelmed with all of the support I’ve received on this one! I’m just starting to branch out into dark!fic, and you guys have been so warm! I hope this lives up to the first part and, it’s just in time for Sebastian’s 37th birthday!

Again, this was written for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 3000 followers #inthedark!challenge. The prompt is in bold. Enjoy!

PART THREE | SERIES MASTERLIST

“There she is.” Wanda’s warm voice floats toward you as you step into the kitchen, “Good morning.”

You smile back at her, crossing your arms over your chest as you pad toward the kitchen table. You fall into one of the chairs and bury your face into your hands and the cuffs of your sweater before smoothing your messy hair off your forehead. Your body is sore. Your joints, your muscles, your skin; it all hurts. Your eyes burn and your head spins as fragmented images of the night before flash before your eyes. You can still feel his rough fingers on your hips.

Your heart drops to your stomach at the thought of him. Bucky Barnes. You vision tunnels into the corner of the room as Wanda’s voice fades away from you. You can smell him, almost as if he’s standing in the room with you right this moment. He was a tantalizing mixture of cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and musky cologne. You shiver as the feeling of his prickly beard scraping against your jaw and neck washes through you. You squeeze your legs together.

Embarrassment flashes through you as your body begins to react. You shouldn’t feel this way. You should be angry at what happened to you, terrified at the very least. But, as you sit here, you slowly realize that this is what turns you on. The fear. The powerlessness that consumed you when he ripped your jacket from your torso. The adrenaline that coursed through your veins when he craned your leg around his hip.

You miss him. You were ashamed to admit it, it almost made you sick to. You miss the fullness that his cock brought your aching body. You miss the feeling of his black leather jacket balled in your hands as he fucked you up against your car. You swallow hard, slamming your eyes closed as you take a deep breath. Something is wrong with you. He assaulted you, in plain sight of a hundred bikers, your brother, and the good lord himself - and you can’t wait to see him again.

“Here,” Wanda says, snapping you out of your daze as she slides a cup of coffee toward you, “This’ll help with that hangover.”

You reach for the mug, a smile on your face as your overly large sweater slips off your shoulder. Wanda’s big eyes widen slightly as she reaches for your arm, “Oh honey, that’s a nasty bruise.”

You grab at the sweater quickly, pulling it back up over your shoulder as you laugh nervously, “I was so drunk last night, I ran right into the freakin’ door jam when coming out of the bathroom. Hurt like a mother fucker.”

“What hurt like a mother fucker?” Sam asks as he moves into the kitchen, the back door slamming shut behind him.

He moves to Wanda, wrapping his arms around her waist as he kisses her on the cheek. She points toward you before resting her hands on his arms, “She’s got a nasty bruise on her shoulder. Said he ran into the door jam last night.”

Sam chuckles as he removes himself from the smaller woman, “Pushing thirty and you still can’t walk and think at the same time. Bravo.”

You flip him off, “Fuck you.”

“Oooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He quips.

“What can I say, I learned from you big brother.”

Wanda laughs as she turns back toward the stove, flipping the frying bacon, “You two make me miss Pietro.”

“Pietro?” You ask, sipping on your black coffee.

“Twin brother,” Sam answers, “I told you to invite him out. He can stay as long as he wants.” Wanda opens her mouth but Sam stops her, holding up his hands, “I know, I know, he don’t like Texas.”

You finish your coffee and scarf down the hearty breakfast that Wanda prepared. You didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon until her pesto eggs and cinnamon toast were slid in your direction. You giggled as the three of you sat and ate, Wanda giving Sam a ration of shit for not properly stalling the horses, for leaving the cows out to pasture for far too long, and for forgetting to corral the chickens. You cut your eyes toward him over your glass of orange juice and watch him nearly cower, a dopey grin on his face as he shrugs and delivers a lame ass excuse. He’s happy and obviously smitten, and that makes you smile.

You excuse yourself once you’ve helped with the dishes and snuck back up to your bathroom. You grab a towel from underneath the sink and start the shower, slowly undressing as steam begins to fill the small bathroom. You bite your lip as you look over your battered body, your heartbeat beginning to pound in your ears. Red welts and scratches crover your chest and arms, blue and red bruises splashed on your brown skin. You hiss as you brush your fingers over the deep blue bruise forming in the nook of your neck and shoulder.

You can still see his teeth marks.

He’s branded you.

You shiver at the thought. Your pussy clenches as an ache begins to sting your clit. God, you fucking miss him. No other man has ever made you feel this way, made you want them this way. You blink a few times, trying to calm yourself down before grabbing a hair tie and pulling your hair into a bun. You pull on a shower cap, not having the energy to wash your hair, and step underneath the hot stream of water. You close your eyes instantly and let the water wash over you. You roll your head back and forth slowly, ignoring the slight sting as it beats down on your damaged skin, and let it soothe your tight, sore muscles.

You push your hands along your neck, rubbing gently before you tilt your face toward the ceiling again. You rest your hand on your chest, feeling thump of your heart quicken as the wicked thoughts of your new biker friend returns. The ache between your legs intensifies as your pussy begins to lubricate itself from the memories of his hands busting the buttons of your jacket. You bite your lip, a soft moan escaping as your nipples harden at the memory of him rolling them between his fingers.

You push your hand between your breasts and down your stomach, running your fingers over the bruises he caused by digging his fingers into your flesh so roughly. You lift your left leg and rest your foot on the edge of the tub, pushing your hips forward slightly. You spread yourself open with your left hand, strings of your wetness clinging to your lips. You push your fingers to your clit, rubbing slowly as your mouth drops open from the sensation.

You thrust your hips into your hand as you tease yourself, dipping your fingers into your cunt before pulling them out to continue stroking your swollen clit. You hiss as your fingers quicken against your flesh, rubbing fast circles. You sink your fingers into your pussy again, pushing them in and out as you use your free hand to massage your clit. Your eyes close to slits as you try to remember the feeling of his rough stubble against your cheek.

Your walls constrict as you hook your fingers inside of you to hit your spot. You moan, dropping your head as your orgasm builds, pure adrenaline and lust coursing through your veins. You buck your hips, imagining the denim of his jeans scraping against your thigh, his hot breath washing over your face as he pounded into you. You remember yourself squirting all over your thighs and onto the ground from his unforgiving thrusts.

You come, hard, as the hot water cascades over you. You whimper as you buck your hips against your furious fingers, your pussy constricting tightly as your orgasm rips through you. You continue to rub circles against your clit as it quakes and jumps with your release. You spread your lips open again, hissing loudly as the hot water beats down on your sensitive nub. You slap your sex through the water as you continue to come, trying to stretch the feeling as long as possible.

You squirt again, your moans growing louder as it bounces off of the walls. You push your hips forward as your slap and rub your sex through another wave of your orgasm. Your fingers start to slow as the minutes pass, your release finally beginning to recede. You lick your lips as a slow smile spreads on your face as you continue to massage yourself slowly, your fingers sticky with cum.

“Fuck.” You whisper, pushing air out through your teeth as you start to relax.

You giggle softly, your legs and arms turning to jelly as a shiver racks through your body. You wash quickly as post-orgasm sleepiness starts to spread through you. You step out, wrap up in the warm, fuzzy towel and traipse back into your room, closing the door behind you. You fall on the bed, rolling over onto your back and stare up at the ceiling fan as it twirls slowly. Your mind is still, your body satisfied - for now - your heart calm. You fall asleep to the sound of him saying your name over and over and over again.

Saoirse. Saoirse. Saoirse.

Awww, what’s wrong sugar?

Mumbled voices from outside break into your subconscious. You roll away from the window, grabbing your pillow and placing it over your head to try and drown out the sound of loud talking and laughing. There’s a thumping from downstairs, like someone is moving around in the kitchen before the back door opens and slams shut. You sigh deeply, not ready to rejoin the living quite yet.

You try and tune out Sam’s loud ass laugh as he hoots and hollers from just outside of your window it sounds. You lean up as your skin prickles from the air conditioning, and slip underneath the comforter, pulling it up to your chin. You’re just about to fall back asleep when your brother’s voice floats toward you again.

That shit ain’t right Bucky! You ain’t right for that!

Your eyes pop open at the sound of his name. You sit up, clutching the sheets to your chest as you turn your head back toward the window. You stare out into the distance as your mouth falls open, your breath becoming shallow.

I’m telling you man, that girl slipped me something. I swear!

Your heart leaps at the sound of his voice. Bucky! You slide toward the edge of the bed and stand, grabbing the discarded towel from the end of the mattress as you move toward the window. You stand to the side, trying to stay out of sight as you peer through the small pane of glass. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you spot him below. He smiles widely as he listens to Sam recount some old story. He’s dressed casually, just as he was the night before. Tight black jeans, loose black t shirt, and that old black leather jacket.

His dark hair is loose and wavy, some of it pulled back to keep it from falling into his face. He tilts his head toward the sky as he downs his beer, throwing the glass bottle into an old barrel before he moves to the cooler to grab another. You turn away from the scene below and lean against the wall as your mind begins to race. You push away from the wall, damn near running to the other side of the bed to grab your suitcase. You toss it on the bed and rummage through it, throwing around random articles of clothing until you find what you’re looking for.

You settle on a tight pair of jean shorts, the ones where your ass cheeks hang out of the bottom of them with little to no effort at all. You pull a pink halter top over your bare breasts before grabbing your makeup bag and running into the bathroom. You work quickly, doing your best to cover you scratches and bruises before applying your favorite lip gloss as you pucker them. You keep your eye shadow light, applying a quick layer, before you push your diamond studs into your ears.

You play with your hair, trying to get it just right, before getting frustrated and pulling it up into a high bun. You let a few strands fall around your face, turning your head from side to side as you pick at it. You didn’t pay five hundred dollars for these bundles to have them betray you like this, but then again, you should have sucked it up and washed the shit. After precious minutes tick by, you give up, semi approving of the quick up-do.

You spritz on some perfume and head for the stairs, skipping down them and turning into the kitchen. Wanda is hard at work, stirring a large bowl of potato salad before she glances up and greets you with a smile, “I came to check on you earlier but you were fast asleep.”

“Yeah,” You smile back as you let out a sigh, throwing your eyes toward the screen door, “I think the drive and all the drinking finally caught up to me.”

“I hope those loud ass boys didn’t wake you. Impromptu barbecues are famous around here.” She laughs, turning on her heel to tend to the pot of beans on the stove, “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving. You need any help?” You ask, praying that she’ll say no so that you can get outside.

She waves you off, “No, no. You’re a guest here, go grab yourself a beer and relax. It’s beautiful outside.”

You’re out the back door before she can even finish her sentence. The gaggle of men turn toward the sound of the door slamming shut and you dip your head, shoving your hands into your back pockets as you move toward your brother.

“I thought you were asleep.” Sam calls, squinting his eyes as you approach. He remembers your tricks when you were kids. He remembers every pair of booty shorts you just happened to be wearing when his friends were around.

“I was, your loud ass woke me.”

“Your voice does carry, Sam.” A short, slightly older man laughs, holding his beer to his lips.

“Nobody asked you, Clint. Thank you.” Sam answers, watching as you move up next to him, “Clint, Bruce, this is my baby sister Saoirse.” They greet you warmly, holding out their hands and smiling, “You remember Bucky from last night, yeah?”

You slide your eyes toward the object of your desire, shoving your hands into your back pockets again as you jut out your hip slightly, “Of course. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”

He nods his head toward you, his ice blue eyes staring at you for a quick second before he glances off and takes another sip of his beer. You swallow, letting your eyes linger on him for a moment more before you pretend to listen as the conversation strikes up again. Something’s off. It feels strange, the energy, or lack thereof, between you. Last night, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, but today, it’s like you’re not even there.

You grab a beer and laugh lightly as the boys continue to ham it up. You do everything possible to try and catch his attention. You push out your chest, you laugh at every one of his little quips and jokes, you find every reason on the planet to bend over in your shorts, knowing full well your ass in on display for him. He doesn’t even budge. Not a wink, not a glance, nothing. You’re invisible.

Anger starts to build inside your chest as you move away from the group, throwing your now empty beer into the barrel. You kick at the dirt, biting at your cheek as you glare at him from a few feet away. Asshole. You know he can feel you staring at him, but the fucker doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps on laughing, keeps on hamming it up as he finishes off beer after beer. How dare he.

You stomp back inside, huffing as the door slams shut behind you, “Need any help?” You ask, your voice low and full of frustration as you lean against the counter and fold your arms over your chest.

Wanda quirks her eyebrow, a small smirk on her lips as she hands you the pot of beans, “You okay?”

“Fine.” You answer, turning and kicking open the door with your foot, “Fuckin’ food’s ready.” You call as you move down the steps.

Sam scrunches up his face as he glances over his shoulder at you, “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing, just get the steaks off the grill, will you?” You answer curtly, turning and heading back inside.

You make several trips with Wanda, setting out plates and drinks and the rest of the sides as the boys take their seats. You make one last trip, grabbing the roll of paper towels, salt, pepper, and butter, before you traipse back outside. You lean over the older, and for some reason nervous Bruce, your breasts lightly brushing his shoulder as you place the items on the wooden picnic table.

He blushes, laughing nervously as you apologize and rest your hand on his shoulder, “Sorry ‘bout that.” You coo, smiling as you realize the effect you have on him.

You settle down between Bruce and Clint, just opposite Wanda, Sam, and Bucky. You glance up as you reach for the beans and do a double take as you connect your dark eyes with Bucky’s blues. His lips are in a hard line as he stares at you, a hint of anger on his features. You roll your eyes and stand, reaching across Bruce again to scoop some beans in your plastic bowl. You make sure to brush up against the nervous man as much as possible and bend and stretch as far as you can to make sure Clint gets an eyeful of your ass as well.

“You want some beans, Clint?” You ask sweetly, tossing your eyes back to him over your shoulder.

You want to laugh as you catch the man staring at your ass, his mouth slightly open as his eyes grow wide. Sam kicks him under the table, leaning up as he sucks his teeth, “Eyes forward, dickweed.”

Clint shakes his head as he rubs his shin, “Yes, please.” He answers after a second, clearing his throat, “Thank you Saoirse.”

You scoop a healthy helping into his bowl, your tits bouncing as you stir the beans. You pass his bowl back to him, and offer the same to Bruce, Sam, and Wanda. You plop down, staring at Bucky as you fail to offer him some and begin to pile your plate with potato salad, chips, and steak. You wiggle as close as you can to Bruce, keeping your attention solely on him as he talks about his work with the government.

“Oh gosh,” You say, letting out a quick breath and a light giggle as you turn toward him, “That sounds so interesting. You know, I never had a head for science or numbers or anything like that. Not like Sam.”

“Pssh, I don’t have anything on this dude. Banner’s got like six PhD’s or something crazy.” Sam points out.

“Seven.” Bruce shrugs before scratching at his scalp, “But you know, that’s boring stuff.”

“No, no,” You smile widely, nearly feeling the heat radiating off of Bucky, “Seven PhD’s? That’s incredible! Tell me more.”

You eat slowly, never taking your eyes off of Bruce as he rattles off a bunch of science terms that you’ve never heard before. Warmth floods through your body as you finally start to feel Bucky’s icy stare. It’s unwavering now. You continue to bat your eyes and laugh and smile, resting your hands on Bruce’s arm and shoulder, only throwing your eyes back toward Bucky every now and again. Every time you make eye contact, his jaw tightens even more. His eyes are nearly black once you’re all finished eating and you’re sure he’s broken a few teeth.

“Want me to take some plates, guys?” You ask, standing and holding out your hands.

You step over the seat and throw your hips back and forth as you reenter the house, a proud smirk on your face. You keep your back to the door as you toss the plates and utensils into the trash can, the group’s voices floating toward you through the screen door. You turn to wash your hands and hear the door open. Before you can turn fully, you’re pulled roughly toward the back of the kitchen, out of view from the door.

Bucky slams you into the wall, a grunt passing through your lips as pain rips through your body. He grabs your chin, pushing your head against the wall and cranes it up toward his face. Your chest rises and falls quickly as air audibly pushes through your nostrils. You stare back at him, your eyes dipping down to his lips before rejoining his stare.

“Don’t,” He starts, his voice low, “Play with me. You’ll regret it. I promise you.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the laugh that bubbles up in your chest. He raises his eyebrows at you, fury building in him. You slap his hand away from your face and lean forward, coming nose to nose with him, “Fuck you.” You answer calmly, venom dripping from your words.

He smirks, his eyes bouncing dangerously between yours, “Mouthy little thing, you are.” He spits back.

He grabs your wrist again and pulls you from the wall, pushing you roughly toward the stairs. You stumble and fall on the staircase, squealing as he grabs your arm and pulls you to your feet. You struggle against him, pushing back against his hands as he forces you up the stairs from behind. Once you reach the landing, you whirl around and slap him across the face, going in for another before he catches your hands in one of his.

He pushes you violently, sending you into your bedroom door and crashing to the floor. He grabs you, pulling you to your feet as you protest wildly, ripping and clawing at his chest and face with your hands.

“Yo, everything okay up there? The hell are you doin?” Sam calls, seconds later.

Bucky holds your shoulders firmly, squeezing your body to his, daring you to say anything other than you’re fine. You swallow harshly, the same fear from the night before growing in your stomach again as he stares at you. The stubble on his cheeks and chin brushes against your face as you start to shiver, his breath warm on your face. Your eyes are wide and wild as they bounce between his. Without warning, he leans in and bites your bottom lip, pulling back and taking it with him. You squeal from the pain and he lets go, letting your lip snap back to your face.

“Saoirse!” Sam calls again.

“I’m fine Sam. I just tripped over my bag.” You shout back, your eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“You see Bucky? The fucker didn’t leave, did he?”

You shake your head as if he can see you, “No, he’s in the bathroom. Said something about the beans.”

You hear Sam laugh and then his footsteps as he moves toward the back door. You bite your lip as you turn your attention back toward the man in front of you, “Good girl.” He whispers.

You smirk. He leans in again, nuzzling his face against yours before his tongue slithers out through his lips. He licks up your chin and lips slowly, his tongue curling upward once it reaches the tip of your nose. You moan softly from the contact and he kisses you deeply, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. He groans lightly, sending a shiver down your spine as your sex begins to throb for the second time of the day.

You push your hips into his slowly, your wet lips sticking to your denim shorts. He forces your head upward with his as he nuzzles your neck, his lips and teeth scraping along your skin. You push your hand into his hair, grunting as he nips at your skin, your hips grinding against his leg as you hiss. He pops the small silver button on your shorts and unzips your fly before pushing his hand into your pants. He groans as his calloused fingers slide between your wet lips, and he bites down on his bottom lip.

“Filthy girl.” He mumbles, as he cups his dick through his jeans.

He slips his other hand into your shorts and shimmies them down your thighs, letting them pool at your feet. He turns you away from him, pushing you down to the bed. He hooks his hands around your waist and pulls you up on your knees before sliding his hands back to your waist. He squeezes your flesh in his hands as he moves them along your lower half. He lands a hard slap on your ass, lurching you forward, the sound of the skin to skin contact bouncing off of the walls.

He pulls you back into his hips and rubs his crotch into your ass before he steps back. You hear the sound of his zipper coming down, your heart lurching into your throat in anticipation. He pushes his hand into your top and slides his fingers around your body. He pinches your nipple in his fingers, tweaking and turning it as he slides his dick along your folds. You slam your eyes shut as he finally pushes into you, your walls spreading as you take him all in. The mattress dips as he presses his knee into it. He pushes your shirt up, freeing your breasts as he starts his slow thrusts, nearly pulling out of you entirely before he sinks all the way back in.

You groan with each thrust, biting down on your bottom lip to try and stay quiet as he fucks you from behind. He rests his hands on either side of your hips as he bucks into you, guiding you back onto his cock and then pushing you forward again. You grip the thin sheets in your hands and bury your face into the pillows, unable to stifle the noises coming from you.

He bucks into you hard, much harder than before, and you cry out, your face scrunching in pain. He slams into you again and you howl as he hits your cervix. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls harshly, causing you to squeal as pain prickles at your scalp, “Buck-”

“Shut up.” He growls, “Don’t say another fuckin’ word.”

Chills flood through your veins as his demeanor shifts. He pulls out of you roughly and grabs your thigh, pinching your flesh until you’re whimpering from the pain. He pulls you up, your back flush against his chest as he digs his nose into the side of your face. He grabs your chin again as he bites your earlobe, chuckling as you wail, “I told you you’d regret fuckin’ with me, didn’t I?”

“Bucky,” You whisper as you sob, fear consuming you.

“Did you think you were being cute out there? Huh? Rubbing your titties all over that fucking nerd.” When you hesitate to answer, he tightens his grip on your chin, shaking your head lightly, “Answer me.”

“No.”

“No.” He mocks you, raising his voice an octave, “I think you did. I think you thought you were being cute out there.”

Tears stream down your face as you sniffle, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He laughs. He smiles as his eyes travel along the side of your face, “You need an attitude adjustment. On your knees, now.”

He steps back and you obey him, falling to the hard floor. He pushes his dick against your lips and you accept it without any hesitation, afraid to anger him any further. You bob your head back and forth as he thrusts into your mouth, his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hands tangle in your hair as you suck him off, his fingers pulling your hair every now and again as his eyes flutter shut.

His groans and grunts get louder, his hips moving faster as you feel small spurts of cum slip down your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks as he uses you, all the confidence you had earlier completely slipping away. You question yourself, your motives, cursing yourself for being so stupid. The same emotions that filled you last night course through you now and once again, you’re humiliated. But what’s worse is, you brought this all on yourself.

He thrusts into you again and comes, his sticky spunk filling your mouth as it erupts from him. You close your eyes as the hot ribbons pour into your mouth, his fingernails scratching at your scalp as his body tenses. Once he’s finished, he steps back, pulling his dick out of your mouth. You swallow, afraid not to, and drop your head as your chin quivers.

Bucky tucks himself back into his jeans before kneeling down in front of you. He places his index finger underneath your chin and lifts it slowly so you can face him again, “I am always in charge. Understand?” You nod, “I take, what I want, when I want it, not the other way around.” You nod again, your eyes brimming with tears as you cry softly.

He stands, his heavy boots thumping against the wooden floor as he moves toward the door, “Clean yourself up and get back outside.”

“Yes.” You whimper.

He disappears seconds later, whistling and smiling to himself as he moves down the stairs, leaving you in a crumpled heap on the floor.

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onewaywardwitch · 5 years

Text

Just A Typo (2/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: Just a bit of language

Word Count: 2140

A/N: Ahhh the feedback on part 1 was amazing! Thank you all so much! Here’s part 2!

There are moments in your life when you know you’ve screwed up. Like when you decide to try the new Starbucks coffee, only to realise it’s as horrible as you predicted, and you’ve wasted €5. Or when you spend all night binge-watching some show on Netflix when you know you’ve got to get up early for work the next morning. Or when you agree to hack into one of the world’s best security systems to fuel your own ego and diminish your friend’s one. And while I've found myself in the first two situations many times, the third was a new one for me.

“I promise to visit you at least once a month when you get sent to Alcatraz,” Becca sang as she all but skipped into Angie’s apartment to join the rest of us. I laughed sarcastically.

“Sent to Alcatraz for hacking? Crime expectations must be low lately if they’re sending hackers there.”

“I’m sure Tony Stark has some pull in the government to get you put away there. You know, when you get caught,” she gloated. It was obvious she thought I was heading down the same route as Sophie. Her confidence only made me want to prove her wrong even more.

Angie ignored our seemingly never-ending banter and carried on setting up my laptop and other work necessities.

“I still don’t understand why you have to have a pack of Haribo with you every time you do something illegal,” she sighed, glaring at me as I stood with Becca.

“Well it’s just common sense, Angie. I can’t have chocolate, it’ll get all over my hands. Biscuits leave crumbs everywhere and hot chocolate is a recipe for disaster,” I replied, keeping my face as straight as I could.

“No, I don’t get why you need sweets at all!”

“That’s a stupid question. You always need sweets. We can’t all live off boiled vegetables and whole-grain everything.”

Angie just looked at Becca in defeat, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Hey, if I get the job done, who cares what I eat?” I strutted over to the table that had my laptop on it. Unfortunately, my confident walk did nothing to ease my nerves as my friends watched on eagerly.

~~~~~

“Becca, I swear to Thor if you breathe on my neck again, I’ll break yours,” I snapped. Becca and Angie shared a nervous glance while I typed furiously, the lines and lines of code beginning to make me dizzy.

“Y/N, you’ve proven your point. Your brilliant. A mastermind. A true gift to the hacking community. You can quit now, it’s alright.” Becca was beginning to regret ever provoking me when she saw how much more advanced Stark’s system was compared to the systems we would normally attack for a laugh.

I could sense Angie about to open her mouth when the screen suddenly went blank and the three of us froze where we were; Becca leaning over my shoulder, Angie holding her third cup of herbal tea, and me with jelly rings on each of my extremely tired fingers.

The screen flashed once, before several different boxes popped up. It took each of us about seven seconds to realise we were looking at the feed from the security cameras placed around Avengers Tower.

“Holy shit,” whispered Angie.

“I am the greatest and I’m completely unappreciated in my time,” I grinned, my eyes flickering from each small screen.

“IS THAT BLACK WIDOW?”

“Agh! Becs, inside voice please.” Becca refused to acknowledge my complaint. Her gaze was fixated on the image of the Natasha Romanoff eating what I guessed was-

“A poptart! I have those all the time, we’re practically soulmates!” Becca exclaimed.

As Angie tried to explain to Becca that her comment was only a bit unrealistic, I gazed at each of screens on my laptop. Who would have thought that the Falcon would be spending his day holding something shiny while running away from a very angry, one-armed Winter Soldier? Or that Hawkeye drinks milk straight from the carton and puts it back in the fridge when no one’s looking?

Just as Becca started to talk about the Black Widow’s hair (“I could never pull off the red like she does!”), the laptop flashed black, before more lines of code began popping up again.

“Oh shit, we’re busted. Angie, gummy bear, now,“ I demanded, quickly returning to my state of concentration (which was difficult after seeing Captain America lifting weights). Angie grabbed the bag and put one of the bears in my mouth, only for me to spit it out in disgust.

“Not a yellow one, a red! I'm not a monster,” I yelped before turning back to the task at hand. Nervously chewing on the nicest flavoured gummy bear, I attempted to keep up with Stark’s excellent security.

“Make sure you can’t be traced. Keep the IP address hidden and get out,” I heard Angie mutter behind me. After a couple of minutes, I felt myself relax, watching the screen change to my regular background of the Supernatural cast.

“We are out and I’m going to go down in history as the greatest hacker that ever existed.” I spun in my chair, grinning at the girls as my confidence rose again. “I just hacked into Avengers Tower, admired Captain America’s incredibly toned body for a bit, before successfully leaving without giving away my location or any way for them to trace me. How was that for you Becca?”

She looked at me, a small smile growing on her face. “I'm impressed, Y/N. Shame Sophie’s not here so you could gloat to her too, but that was pretty awesome.”

“I can’t believe you pulled that off,” Angie said admirably, her herbal tea long forgotten on the nearby countertop. I winked at her and held out the nearly empty bag of Haribos.

“Yellow gummy bear anyone?”

~~~~~

Tony Stark was busy doing nothing in his lab with Dr Banner when F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that someone was hacking into their system.

“Well what are you waiting for F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Flush ‘em out. And get their location.”

“Sir, they’ve already broke down our firewalls and accessed our cameras.”

That caught Tony’s attention. He looked at Bruce confusedly before again telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get whoever it was out of their system using whatever means necessary. As the A.I. was occupied with that, he called all the Avengers to the briefing room.

~~~~~

“Barnes, if you could stop murdering Wilson with your eyes for just five minutes so we can start?”

Bucky turned and aimed his glare at Tony instead, still scowling that Sam had somehow managed to steal his arm for nearly half an hour. That man knew all the best hiding places in this tower.

Tony rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together, deciding to get straight to the point. “Nothing to worry about, but someone hacked into the tower and accessed all of the cameras. We don’t know who or why, but F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s nearly got a location, I think.”

The uproar was immediate.

“I thought your security was the best there is!”

“How long have they been watching us?”

“What else have they hacked into?”

Tony grimaced as all the voices overlapped and became louder. His embarrassment that some computer nerd cracked his online defences was obvious from the lack of his usual playful tone and he wasn’t in the mood for messing about now. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice rang through the room, effectively shutting everyone up.

“Sir, I believe I have the location of the hacker. It appears they made a slight typing error when concealing their IP address.”

“A typo? Rookie mistake,” Sam mumbled.

“That ‘rookie’ managed to hack into all our cameras pretty quickly,” Bruce stated, looking at Sam pointedly.

“Okay, Cap, take your brooding boyfriend in the corner and bring in whoever it is. It's nowhere near any known HYDRA bases, so my guess? A group of boys hiding out in one of their mom’s basements. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Steve nodded at Tony and made his way over to Bucky while everyone else left the room, still discussing the infiltrator who was able to beat the great Tony Stark.

~~~~~

Steve looked around the apartment in surprise. This was definitely not what they were expecting. The place was clean and lacked any personal touches. That is, if he weren’t including the many Funko Pop figures that were scattered seemingly at random throughout the apartment. He moved towards the laptop that was laying carelessly on the kitchen table.

“Just talked to the landlady,” Bucky said, gesturing towards the front door where a woman in her mid-fifties stood excitedly, trying to catch a glimpse of the great Captain America. Bucky waved his flesh hand at her, hoping she’d get the message to leave them alone. Fortunately for him, one of the neighbours came out and started complaining to her about the thin walls. That made her run off quickly.

“Apartment is owned by a woman in her late twenties, early thirties. She asked to be kept off the books, and your admirer back there had no problem with that because she always paid her rent on time and by cash.”

“Does she have any idea where she could be now?” Steve asked, closing over the front door again so they wouldn’t raise any suspicions.

“She said she left around three hours ago, hopefully to get some food. Her fridge is empty. Except for a tub of ice-cream,” Bucky snorted.

They both stopped talking when they heard the rustling of keys just outside the door. Bucky went to stand beside Steve, who was back beside the laptop. He placed a hand over the gun he always carried in his trousers as the door opened. But he felt himself relax a bit when he heard a familiar tune.

“Is that… Queen?” Steve whispered as the woman began humming to herself. Natasha had taken it upon herself to educate the two veterans on all the music they had missed out on in the past seventy years, including Queen, Michael Jackson, and Adele. This was one of the few songs they actually recognised.

The woman stumbled into the kitchen, struggling to carry all the shopping bags she had tried to carry up in one trip. Her headphones were blaring Bohemian Rhapsody loud enough for the two men to hear clearly. They shared a look of surprise as she still hadn’t noticed them standing a few feet behind her.

~~~~~

“But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away,” I sang quietly to myself as I restocked my fridge. I was still on a high from my incredible success with Becca and Angie only a few hours ago. We were going to celebrate with Angie’s cheap champagne, before Becca realised she was about two hours late for work. I left shortly after her to buy more ice-cream, which quickly turned into buying half the grocery store.

“Mama, oooo- OH WHAT THE FUCK!” My dramatic spin while singing didn’t end as well as I had planned. I wasn’t exactly prepared for the two super soldiers who stood by my table, watching me with humour. I tugged my headphones out of my ears and stared at them dumbstruck.

“Captain America… wow such an honour… you’re very… wow. And the Winter Barnes! Oh god, there’s a ‘soldier’ in there somewhere, isn’t there? Very, very… broad.” My voice died off towards the end as the word came out of my mouth too quickly for me to recognise them. The Captain’s eyes sparkled in amusement, while the Winter Soldier was looking at me with interest. He failed to see how this woman caused Stark so much concern.

Captain America opened his mouth to speak, but at that exact moment I coped why two Avengers were standing in my apartment.

“Oh, this is about the whole Avengers Tower thing, isn’t it? The camera, the hacking… I'm not evil! I wasn’t planning on accessing any confidential information and selling it! I don’t do that, I was just messing with friends, I swear!” Apparently, I had lost all control over my own mouth and I confessed to everything without either of the men saying a word. They glanced at each other before Captain Rogers turned back to me.

“You understand we need to bring you in anyway. We have questions you need answer back at the tower.”

I nodded nervously at the pair as they escorted me downstairs to where a car was waiting outside, the Soldier bringing my laptop with him.

“This explains why Nora was in such a good mood when I passed her on the stairs earlier,” I thought to myself. “She never smiles when I pay her my rent, but one visit from America’s golden boy has her skipping to her door!”

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occasionalfics · 6 years

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The Ones To Go, 10 (Thor X Reader)

IT’S ANOTHER FINALE!

Summary: Thor’s life is finally no longer a series of unfortunate events.

A/N: For a while I had no idea where this was going to end. And then it just kind of happened in the fluffiest way it could? But like I’ve said before, I’m not even mad.

Thank you so much for reading <3 This story (and the prequel) were so much fun to write and share, and so many of you reached out to say how much you liked them and I’m so grateful for that!

Warnings: More fluff. All of it. Thor deserves to be happy and soft.

Words: 3,614

Torunn came first, then Alvgeir a few moments later, named Supernatural Spear after the trident his mother wielded. A Thordottir and Thorson. Loki had been right; she’d carried twins to term, then spent long, strenuous hours in labor with Thor at her side. He never left her, refusing to clear the room when the nurses asked him to. His Queen screamed at them to stop, but they forgave her, knowing that she was in pain. So Thor stayed and watched the first two of their children come into the world, his hand in hers as she squeezed every muscle in her body to deliver them.

When they’d been cleaned and fed, when they’d each gotten to hold one at a time and calm their children’s wailing, he asked the nurses to put the twins to sleep and the maids clean the bed. Then, as they had for one another before, he went and drew a bath. He asked the nurses which oils or salts he should put in the water and carefully followed their advice, then he gently picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. He put her down in the water before removing the loose nightgown the nurses had put on her earlier.

She sighed as she slowly lowered herself into the tub, wincing as her limbs spread into a sitting position.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, going to shut the door to the bathroom.

“Yes,” she said under her breath. She grunted, and the water sloshed against the tub. When he turned back around, she’d gotten her body under the water up to her shoulders and her eyes were closed. “Just...come sit with me please.”

He pulled his clothes off, then did as she asked, gently stepping into the tub behind her. He put his legs around her, then she positioned herself against him. He’d put his hands on the rim of the tub, but she gripped them and wrapped each one around her body.

“Mm,” she groaned. “Much better.”

“Is the water helping ease your pain?” he asked, to which she nodded.

“It’s more like strain now,” she answered. “Stars, it’s like I fought six battles in a row without stopping.”

He laughed and moved some of her hair out of the water, letting it fall over his shoulder and beyond the tub. “Just two very intense, worthy battles,” he told her. “Which I thank you for fighting.”

She shrugged. “Are you going to thank me for giving birth to all our children?” she asked, a hint of jest on her tongue.

His fingers spread across her stomach, then ran along her sides - up and down in slow cycles. “Perhaps,” he said softly as she rolled her neck. “You put more physical effort into one act than I ever have. Thanks is the least you deserve.”

She didn’t protest to that. She relaxed, shutting her eyes again, and pushed water back and forth with her forearms. They sat silently like that for a bit, just enjoying what might be one of the last moments of privacy they’d get for a while. They had children now, and a kingdom to rule, and they still didn’t know quite what the rest of her siblings might mean for their future. So far, only one brother had come to the planet, and Thor was grateful for that. Now that Torunn and Alvgeir had been born, they had to be even more wary of strangers.

Heirs posed threats to the claim of other siblings. Hela had, in some way, taught him that, though she’d been locked away for too long for her claim on Asgard to mean much. His people never would’ve have accepted her, even if she’d come with much less aggressive tidings. He had to remind himself that, most likely, (Y/N)’s other brothers and sisters ruled their own kingdoms. They had no need for this one. He hoped.

“Do you have a favorite?” she asked out of nowhere. “I think Torunn’s mine.”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “A favorite child?” he asked. “They were born mere hours ago - and they’re our children!”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But she was made in the perfect image of you.”

He didn’t agree. The twins looked like each of them, together. Torunn had his blue eyes, yes, and Alvgeir had hers, but he had the light hair of Frigga and Thor where she had (Y/N)’s hair. He knew his wife was joking, but he shook his head anyway. “They’re both magnificent,” he told her. “Both equal parts of both of us.”

She smiled, nodded, and reached over her shoulder to stroke his beard. “Of course,” she agreed. “And I’m sure Brunhilde will want to start training them both tomorrow.”

They laughed together at how absurd - but predictable - the situation was.

“Loki can’t wait to start magic lessons,” he said. “Before we know it, they’ll be hiding all the swords they can find.”

If they were any other set of parents, that may have worried them. But Thor had wielded Mjolnir from the time he could lift it, and (Y/N) was born the Goddess of War. She knew as well as Brunhilde did how to safely teach children to use weapons - and they both knew that there would be no stopping their children from getting their hands on axes and shields before long. At least they had the right team to do so appropriately and safely.

After a few more minutes of silence, she sighed and pushed her forehead against his neck. He lowered his lips to her temple for a quick kiss, then listened as her breathing evened out.

“Are you ready for bed, my Moon and Stars?” he asked a while later, after they’d both turned pruny.

She sighed and groaned, then nodded. “I’m sure the twins will be up early for food. May as well.”

They returned to Midgard when the twins were four. It’d been a long time, or so it felt. The whole group went - all save Heimdall, who was deemed worthy of protecting the throne in the interim. He could see all who came and went, and he would be able to communicate with the King and Queen while they were away. He was trustworthy and dedicated to the safety of the realm, and thus he was left in charge of it.

Thor and (Y/N) decided to bring the twins, knowing that they would need to be looked after while the fighting ensued. The threat didn’t seem as bad as Thanos, so they agreed to bring a maid and a nurse in their entourage for Torunn and Alvgeir.

When they arrived, (Y/N) kept Thor close to her. He’d carried the deaths of his friends heavily on his shoulders, though he hardly showed it to be so. He was strong - he had to be, as king. But he always got to be soft and emotional with her, so she understood better than anyone what returning to Midgard would mean.

It meant facing the battle with the new Avengers once more. It meant recognizing that some of his friends were dead. It meant attempting, once again, to acclimate to Midgardian advances. With his family, though, Thor felt strong and able.

It was a pleasure to see the Captain America mantle passed on to Sam Wilson. Though Thor hardly knew Bucky Barnes, he recalled that the Winter Soldier had made it so that Bucky was currently unfit for the title. He seemed happy enough helping to run a recruitment program for the Avengers, assessing enhanced individuals for their strengths and weaknesses. And to see Bruce Banner happy - as happy as one might be with a rage monster trapped inside - and working on new biological enhancements was always a delight. (Y/N) was certainly pleased to see her friend in such a high position and good spirits.

Natasha adored the twins, and they loved her in turn. “I’m coming to whatever planet it is you guys live on and babysitting. Often. I’ll make Stephen get me there because these two,” she said with Torunn at her hip and Alvgeir on her back, “are amazing and I love them.”

(Y/N) bowed her head and said, “You’re most welcome. We’d love to have the whole team for their next birthday, if it’s possible.”

Natasha’s eyes went so wide, the only thing to eclipse them was her smile. “Okay, that is absolutely happening now.”

The twins cheered, and the adults laughed. When Clint arrived with his family - the new Avengers compound was something of a safehouse, with emergency lockdown procedures programmed into FRIDAY’s hardware system - the twins finally had someone closer to their age to be around. It warmed Thor’s heart to see Torunn try to figure out Midgardian toys with the Barton children.

The children all stayed behind, as they were meant to, when the battle came. With the new recruits and old friends, it was nothing. Easier than Ragnarok, though perhaps more difficult than overthrowing (Y/N)’s father. The battle was over in a matter of hours, and then there was a grand feast at the compound.

Princess Shuri and King T’Challa had come with the Dora Milaje, most of whom Brunhilde was still...particularly friendly with. She went off with a few of the soldiers while the monarchs spoke.

“I see the trident is still working well,” Shuri said, nodding at the weapon in the corner of the room.

(Y/N) nodded with a smile. “It’s a work of art, Princess,” she said. “I only hoped you’d find a good use for the roses we sent as a thank you gift.”

“They make a particularly fragrant tea,” T’Challa said.

Shuri rolled her eyes. “Says the man with the heart-shaped herb powering his body,” she said with a shake of her head. “For the rest of us, I was able to breakdown the components of the plant and create a hybrid material that acts as synthetic skin. I’m working on attempting to recreate whole limbs.” Her eyes shifted, and Thor realized she was glancing over at Bucky.

“He doesn’t like his vibranium arm?” (Y/N) asked, perhaps digging too far to quickly.

Princess Shuri shrugged. “He says he’d like to retire early. Not now, but eventually. Sergeant Barnes’ seen a lot. He might like even a synthetic arm that no longer makes him a target.”

Thor had the thought that maybe, unlike he and his wife, who had both been raised as warriors, he wasn’t meant to spend his entire life in defense mode. “We’ll be sure to send more roses when we return home,” he said, finally turning his attention back to the conversation at hand.

Before they did return, Wanda brought them to her favorite bookstore. Natasha ran off with the twins to the children’s section, so (Y/N) and Thor browsed the other areas. He found the mythology section particularly fascinating, especially when he pulled a book of Norse myths off a shelf and skimmed the pages. The stories were so outlandishly ridiculous that he had to laugh - though he did admit that some were certainly truer than others.

His Queen went and found the very books she’d lost in the fires her father had caused. She brought a stack of fairy tale books - books from all over the Midgardian globe, from different cultures and traditions - to a little nook and got to reading. She nearly cried when she picked up a Hans Christian Andersen collection, remembering with crystal clarity what his stories had meant to her in her lonely days, before her loving husband had come into the picture.

Natasha and Wanda paid for everything, and Thor made it a point to repay them somehow.

On the day they returned home, Torunn held Natasha’s face between her small hands and asked, “You promise you’ll come see us?”

Natasha smiled softly and nodded. “Your momma said we can all come for your next birthday, remember?”

Torunn’s face lit up, and she removed her hands to throw her whole small body against Natasha’s. “Good. Don’t forget,” she said.

Natasha laughed, but Thor could see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Never, little dove,” she said, using a pet name she had only come up with a few days prior. It suited Torunn, who only allowed Natasha to use it in the first place. “And you,” she said, pulling Alvgeir into her embrace, “my Alf. I love you both.” She looked up at Thor and (Y/N) over their children’s shoulders, her smile more genuine than Thor could recall having seen before. With a small nod of approval, Natasha pulled them both back and said, “Be good, and be brave. Got it?”

Both children nodded, then kissed her cheeks, one on each side. When they returned to their parents, Natasha stood.

“You guys did a good job,” she said softly.

Thor sighed through his proud smile. He approached Natasha and wrapped her in a huge, warm hug. They’d seen so much together, had lost so much together, and still fought together when they needed to. Her affection for his children made his heart soar, and her approval meant more than he could say. “Thank you, Natasha,” he said. He left a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and then the family readied themselves to go home.

A few years later

“Torunn,” Thor called across the training ground. He and (Y/N) sat in the stands while Brunhilde and the twins sparred in the ring below. “Keep your posture loose and feet grounded!”

“Don’t listen to your father,” Brunhilde said. “He only knows how to use his fists.”

“That’s not true!” Alvgeir said. “He’s the God of Thunder!”

Brunhilde rolled her eyes, but Thor stood proud and watched as the twins listened and learned. (Y/N) sat at his side, her stomach swollen with another child. This time, she insisted it was only one, and she was sure they were having another girl, just like Thor wanted.

“Have you told them?” his Queen asked as she looked on.

“That their ultimate test will be to fight you?” Thor asked back, turning and sitting to be at her level. He smirked and shook his head. “Not yet. I thought it would be a nice surprise for their birthday.”

She smiled. “Good. I want to see their faces light up at the news.”

He chuckled at that.

“The two of you are sickening, you know that?” Loki asked from two seats away. Thor had practically forgotten he was there, but then he looked at his brother and shrugged.

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be, Loki,” (Y/N) said, leaning forward as best as she could with her stomach protruding as far as it was.

Loki had, surprisingly, settled nicely over the years. He enjoyed being useful at court and teaching the twins magic. He even, occasionally, enjoyed trusting his brother to care for him. He still had his moments where he disappeared and caused mischief elsewhere, but for the most part, he was content.

Which was exactly what he was when he turned his attention back to the ring. “They’re late,” he said, his tone dry. “They were meant to meet me in the library an hour ago.”

“Oh, come now brother,” Thor said. “They enjoy their lessons with their aunt.”

“She’s not their aunt,” Loki said. “I am, however, their uncle. And Alvgeir’s shown more promise at my lessons than Brunhilde’s.”

(Y/N) laughed, loud enough to halt the lesson in question below. She didn’t stop, either, even as all eyes turned to her. She took in sharp, short breaths and shook her head, whining as she leaned forward to catch herself. Thor shot his arms out, but she stayed in her seat and pushed him away.

“Oh, stars,” she cried, still laughing. “I can’t believe-” she took a breath, “that our children-” another breath, “have made you so adorably petty!” She went into another fit of straight laughter, pushing back in her chair to throw her head back.

Loki stared for a second, then moved toward his brother and whispered, “I am not adorably petty.”

Thor’s smile turned into a devilish smirk. He rose a brow at Loki and shrugged. “You kind of are, Brother.” He sat back in his own seat, then grabbed one of (Y/N)’s hands as she calmed herself down slowly. “Better accept it now. Your only going to have more pupils as time goes on.”

As they all returned their attention to the sparring below, Thor realized just how lucky he was. He and his brother were on mutually agreed upon terms of civility. The twins were enthusiastic, bright, wonderful people who were proving their strengths and weaknesses all on their own. Brunhilde had been named General of their army a few years back, and when she wasn’t overseeing her troops, she was conducting business in court or training the twins for the future. Heimdall had resumed his position as Gatekeeper after Loki had been able to open a portal to the other realms off the beach.

And he and (Y/N) were more in love than ever, more beloved by the people than her father had been, and were expecting a third healthy baby soon. Less than a decade ago, he’d been unsure of the future, but then she had found him. She still often blamed herself for the nature of their meeting, but he’d forgiven her long ago. Together, they were everything Asgard could’ve ever needed.

Thor looked at (Y/N) and sighed before he could stop himself. She was magnificent. Just as fierce as the day he met her, but infinitely softer. She’d proved that people could be both, if he ever needed the reassurance. Not for the first time, he was sure his parents were smiling in Valhalla, beaming with pride at his choice of a wife. Frigga especially would be brought to tears at the scene of her sons sitting in the stands, watching her grandchildren learn to defend their home and crown from a Valkyrie. Perhaps, if Torunn was the one more skilled in battle, Brunhilde really could reinstate the order of the Valkyrie. He knew it would be an honor to both himself and (Y/N) if that did happen.

She turned and looked at him as the lesson ended. Loki stood and left the stands to collect his niece and nephew for magic lessons, so they were left alone for a few moments.

“What is it, my Sky and Sea?” she asked, using a name to match his Moon and Stars. She’d started calling him that after the twins had been born, and she’d said it was because of his storms.

He sighed contentedly again and shrugged. “Just thinking of how wonderful my life is,” he said through a lopsided smile.

She rolled her eyes, though she smiled at him. “You’re so sentimental,” she said. It wasn’t meant to degrade him or be negative by any means. She simply pointed it out, as she sometimes did when he got this way.

He laughed softly and nodded. “It’s true,” he told her, “but only when your smile reminds me of what I have.”

She reached over and ran her fingers through his long hair - he’d let it grow out since they’d returned from Midgard the last time; sometimes he wore it up, but today he let it down. Not for the first, nor the last time did she tell him, “You’re far too good to me, Thor Odinson.” This time, unlike she did when they’d first courted one another, she said it with a light tone, still smiling as she twisted her fingers in his locks. “Will you let me braid this later, when I need a distraction from court?”

He turned his eyes toward his hair, though he couldn’t really see it, and nodded. “There isn’t much to braid, but sure.” Then he stood and came around to help her up - she had to push against the back of her seat to launch out of the chair, then lean on him to come around it. He knew she was already impatient for this baby - hopefully Sigrid, if he got his way - to be born, so he watched quietly and held her arms until she’d come all the way around the chair.

They were meant to go to the throne room for a meeting with a neighboring sovereign, but Thor had other ideas. He wouldn’t make them too late, but he wanted to be alone with his wife and by the Stars, he’d get his way about this. So he brought her into the library, one of her favorite places in the palace, and just looked at her. He sometimes felt as though she was a physical manifestation of everything he’d ever wanted and deserved, but she was still her own person and he loved her for it.

So he said as much: “You know, I’m still baffled by how much I love you.”

She sighed through a smile and put her head on his shoulder, only straining a bit around her stomach. “And yet, I’m not surprised at all that I fall for you again every morning,” she said softly. “It’s my favorite part of each day.”

He was lucky, but so was she. They both knew it, and they both appreciated the other because of it. They stayed in the library for a few quiet moments before heading to the throne room to resume their day, as they would continue to do for many, many more days.

TAGS (send a message if you want to be added to Thor or Permanent!)

Thor Tags: @thewayilookatbacon @athorable-and-deanlicous @baileythepenguin

Permanent/Global Tags: @infinityblogger @champion-ofthe-sun @hopefulblazetriumph @httpmcrvel @capsheadquaters

The One to Stay/The Ones to Leave Tags: @mysweetcookie99 @tegan-eva @kinglyhemmings @markusstraya @dragoste-lunes @arrowswithwifi @ourdreamsrealized @demonic-meatball

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #the ones to go fic

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dawnjeman · 6 years

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Classic Home with Blue and White Interiors

This family of four wanted a “happy home” that could serve as a gathering space for family and friends. It needed to have character, liveliness and livability. Through texture and color – think blue, white and grey – the interior designer Corine Maggio of CM Natural Designs (They’re located in Marin County, CA – San Francisco area) was able to create a space that was both welcoming and sophisticated, and I love how it turned out!

Pin your favorite interior pictures and get inspired!

Classic Home with Blue and White Interiors

To be honest with you guys, I am finding it to be hard to find homes with character and personality lately and it feels so fresh when I find them and I’m able to share with you. Although pretty, this home feels warm and real.

Wallpaper by Philip Jefferies – similar here.

Suzani Pillow: Pottery Barn.

Rug & Sofa

Rug is Vintage – similar here, here & here.

Sofa sectional: clients own – similar here (in light grey).

Chairs

Chairs by Palecek and Kathy Kuo.

Art is clients own.

Window Treatment

Window coverings by Smith Noble.

Open-Concept

The living room opens directly to the dining area and kitchen.

Kitchen

Kitchen was existent to the house. I love the classic cabinetry with the mitered edge countertop.

Similar Kitchen Pendants: Visual Comfort.

Inspired by this Look:

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Dining Room Decor

Table & Host Chairs by RH – similar here (chairs).

Chairs by Moe’s Home Collection.

Chandelier by Creative Co Op – no longer available – similar here.

Hall Decor

This space features a beautiful console table with wood top and metal hairpin legs, abstract artwork and a modern newel wood chair.

Chair by Stanley – similar here.

Rug by Safavieh.

Art by Wendover – similar here.

Console clients own – similar here.

Guest Bedroom

This might be a small bedroom, but it was perfectly designed. Great scale!

Bed and Duvet by Restoration Hardware – similar here.

Lighting by Pottery Barn.

Lamps by Jamie Young.

Side table: Lexington.

Rug by Chandra.

Art clients own.

Paint and Flooring existing.

Similar Bench: here & here.

Master Bedroom

This is the type of bedroom that stands the test of time. Classic, elegant and so inviting! Paint color is Sherwin Williams SW 6204 Sea Salt.

Bed by RH- similar here.

Sconces by House of Troy.

Rug by Loloi.

Side table by RH – similar here.

Ottoman clients own – similar here.

Master Bathroom

This bathroom features two separate vanities and a freestanding tub in the center.

Art by Wendover.

Mirrors

Mirrors by Mirror Image.

Lighting by Quoizel.

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kansascityhappenings · 6 years

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Florence, a wet and unwanted visitor, besieges Carolinas

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MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. — Florence, now a tropical storm, swirled at a near-standstill over the Carolinas on Saturday, dumping non-stop rain over areas already flooded by seawater and swelling rivers and creeks across both states.

Some towns have already been soaked by more than 2 feet of drenching rains , and forecasters warned that totals could reach 3½ feet, unleashing floods well inland through early next week. At least four people have died, a toll authorities fear will rise as the storm crawls westward across South Carolina.

At 8 a.m. Saturday, Florence stalled about 35 miles west of Myrtle Beach, moving forward at just 2 mph (4 kph), with top sustained winds of 50 mph.

North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper called Florence an “uninvited brute” that could wipe out entire communities as it grinds its way across land.

“The fact is this storm is deadly and we know we are days away from an ending,” Cooper said.

With tropical storm-force winds swirling 350 miles wide, Florence continued deluging the Carolinas on Saturday morning after pushing surging seas far ashore. Rescue crews used boats to carry more than 360 people from rising water in the river town of New Bern, North Carolina, while many of their neighbors awaited help. Dozens more were pulled from a collapsed motel.

Firefighters look into a home that a large tree fell on that has three people trapped after Hurricane Florence hit the area on September 14, 2018 in Wilmington, North Carolina. One man was taken out in critical condition, and a mother and baby were killed. Hurricane Florence hit Wilmington as a category 1 storm causing widespread damage and flooding along the Carolina coastline. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images)

Florence flattened trees, buckled buildings and crumpled roads. The storm knocked out power to nearly 930,000 homes and businesses, and the number could keep rising.

A mother and baby were killed when a tree fell on a house, according to a tweet from Wilmington police. A 77-year-old man was apparently knocked down by the wind and died after going out to check on his hunting dogs, Lenoir County authorities said. The governor’s office said a man was electrocuted while trying to connect extension cords in the rain.

Storm surges — the bulge of ocean water pushed ashore by the hurricane — were as high as 10 feet.

Shaken after seeing waves crashing on the Neuse River just outside his house in New Bern, restaurant owner and hurricane veteran Tom Ballance wished he had evacuated.

“I feel like the dumbest human being who ever walked the face of the earth,” he said.

Florence peaked at a terrifying Category 4 with top winds of 140 mph over warm ocean water before making landfall as a Category 1 hurricane at 7:15 a.m. at Wrightsville Beach, a few miles east of Wilmington and not far from the South Carolina line. It blew ashore along a mostly boarded-up, emptied-out stretch of coastline.

But it was clear that this was really about the water, not the wind.

Morehead City, North Carolina, had received 23 inches of rain by Friday night, and forecasters warned Saturday morning that parts of the Carolinas could get up to 15 inches more.

At times, Florence was moving forward no faster than a human can walk, and it has remained such a wide storm that its counter-clockwise winds keep scooping up massive amounts of moisture from the sea. The flooding began on barrier islands in North Carolina and then spread into coastal and river communities there and in South Carolina, swamping the white sands and golf courses in North Myrtle Beach.

Michael Nelson floats in a boat made from a metal tub and fishing floats after the Neuse River went over its banks and flooded his street during Hurricane Florence September 13, 2018 in New Bern, North Carolina. Some parts of New Bern could be flooded with a possible 9-foot storm surge as the Category 2 hurricane approaches the United States. (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)

For people living inland in the Carolinas, maximum peril could come days later as all that water drains, overflowing rivers and causing flash floods.

Authorities warned, too, of risks of mudslides and environmental disasters from floodwaters washing over industrial waste sites and hog farms.

About 9,700 National Guard troops and civilians were deployed with high-water vehicles, helicopters and boats.

Florence could become a major test for the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which was heavily criticized as slow and unprepared last year for Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico, where the death toll was put at nearly 3,000.

The hurricane center said the storm will eventually break up over the southern Appalachians and make a right hook to the northeast, its rainy remnants moving into the mid-Atlantic states and New England by the middle of next week.

Meteorologist Ryan Maue of weathermodels.com calculated that Florence could dump a staggering 18 trillion gallons of rain over a week on North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky and Maryland. That’s enough to fill the Chesapeake Bay, or cover the entire state of Texas with nearly 4 inches of water.

North Carolina alone is forecast to get 9.6 trillion gallons, enough to cover the Tar Heel state to a depth of about 10 inches.

In Jacksonville, North Carolina, next to Camp Lejeune, firefighters and police fought wind and rain as they went door to door to pull more than 60 people out as the Triangle Motor Inn began to crumble.

In New Bern, population 29,000, flooding on the Neuse River left 500 people in peril.

“WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU,” the city tweeted during the height of the storm. “You may need to move up to the second story, or to your attic, but WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU.”

Boat teams including volunteers rescued some 360 residents, including Sadie Marie Holt, 67, who first tried to row out of her neighborhood during Florence’s assault.

“The wind was so hard, the waters were so hard … We got thrown into mailboxes, houses, trees,” said Holt, who had stayed at home because of a doctor’s appointment that was later canceled. She was eventually rescued by a boat crew; 140 more awaited help.

Ashley Warren and boyfriend Chris Smith managed to paddle away from their home in a boat with their two dogs, and were left shaken.

“Honestly, I grew up in Wilmington. I love hurricanes. But this one has been an experience for me,” she said. “We might leave.”

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2018/09/15/florence-a-wet-and-unwanted-visitor-besieges-carolinas/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2018/09/15/florence-a-wet-and-unwanted-visitor-besieges-carolinas/

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

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My Boyfriend Loves Fat Women

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/my-boyfriend-loves-fat-women/

My Boyfriend Loves Fat Women

As a fat woman myself, I’m still struggling with how I feel about it.

View this image ›

Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed

Ironically enough, I met my boyfriend during the thinnest month of my life.

I was at a friend’s birthday party at a bar when I saw my future boyfriend Brian from across the room, talking to the birthday boy. Brian was the type of guy I spent most of high school and college and my entire adult life pining after and never getting: slim, with dark hair and glasses, his jeans torn in all the best places. He had a beautiful mouth that was excitedly saying things I couldn’t hear, but was making everyone around him laugh.

If I had still been at my heaviest weight, I never would have approached Brian. As a fat woman, I have been taught that there is an order of operations for love: First, you get thin; then, you can date who you want. Until you do the first thing, the second thing is impossible. So for many women who struggle with their weight, it becomes a fight not just for their health or well-being, but a struggle to just be worthy of the love so many people take for granted.

Most of my life, my weight has felt like a search light from above that continually hounds me, putting the spotlight on my body even when I just want to hide. My third-grade class unofficially voted me “class pig” — a title I embraced with great gusto, because the alternative meant no friends. When I was 10, my dad ripped a box of Apple Jacks out of my hand while I was pouring myself a second bowl of cereal, and told me that I was “going to turn into a goddamn pumpkin.” The summer I turned 14, I was sweating my life out every day for an hour during swim team practice. Still, when I put on a bikini one day, my mother wouldn’t stop talking about my belly fat until I just wanted to throw the bikini away and never wear one again. I have always hated my body, and in retrospect, I’m not sure I was ever given the chance to love it.

But on the day I met Brian, I had just spent the previous year slowly winnowing off 50 pounds, almost entirely due to unemployment. I wasn’t buying a lot of food, and was spending much of my free time developing a nervous running habit that led me to spend hours every day trotting in circles around my neighborhood, trying to go somewhere even as my career was jogging in place.

So I was feeling brave, the stupid kind of courage that comes from unexpectedly having a body you never thought you’d inhabit, and wondering what kinds of things it might let you get away with. And I walked that crazy all the way over to the other side of the bar, and introduced myself to him.

View this image ›

There was a three-hour period — between the moment Brian first kissed me, and the moment when I learned that Brian was predominantly attracted to bigger women — when I felt like I could do anything. In my mind, I had done the impossible. Seducing a thin and attractive person was like taking bronze, silver, and gold in the Former Fat Girl Olympics.

At some point that night, I remember lying next to him, still feeling unbelievably cocky from my victory, when Brian mentioned that I wasn’t normally his type.

My inner Douchebag Alert went off. Oh god, I thought. Is this the part where he lets me know how nice he is for throwing my chubby ass a bone?

“What’s normally your type?” I asked him, bracing myself for the part where he not-so-subtly intimated that he can usually do better than me.

I did not get the response I expected.

“I like bigger ladies,” Brian replied. “Very big ladies, actually.” He sounded as calm and as normal as if he were telling me the weather. He was not ashamed. I suddenly realized that this was not an attempt to put me down, but rather just a thing (a completely normal thing, to him) that he was disclosing about himself. In other words: It was conversation.

But the little part of me inside that had been cheering for hours suddenly got very quiet. But I am your type, I thought sadly. In that moment, I know that Brian had been saying that he didn’t consider me to be big, but I know as well as anyone that people can’t fundamentally change who they are attracted to. Brian was still attracted to fat girls, and I was one of them.

This, of course, did not take away from how into Brian I was. We started dating almost immediately, and became inseparable. When I described him to people, I would tend to use celebrities who I was currently in love with as a frame of reference:

“He’s exactly like a dark-haired Ben Folds, but younger, and with better skin.”

“He looks just like an American version of John Oliver, but with better teeth, and a more attractive nose.”

“Brian looks like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters,” I said once during a Halloween party, apropos of absolutely nothing. “But, like, even better looking.”

It was during this time that I started slowly putting the weight back on. Not because Brian was doing anything to sabotage me — he was and is supportive of my wanting to eat well and exercise. It was just a result of being in a happy relationship, suddenly having a full-time job, and life getting in the way. Normal things.

Six months into our relationship, I found myself in a very desperate laundry situation. I put on a sundress that I thought might be a little too backless for my current weight.

“I figure if worst comes to worst, I can just find a wall to stand against, or walk backward a lot,” I said to Brian as I put it on, trying to preemptively apologize for an outfit that I was pretty sure was riding the line between flattering and gross.

Brian, however, loved the dress. Maybe even a little too much — I spent a lot of time while wearing it swatting his hands away from the open back. I felt happy wearing it, beautiful. Soon, I was wearing it all the time.

Then, I wore it to a party. Late in the evening, Brian turned to a mutual friend of ours, and eagerly, drunkenly opined: “Doesn’t Kristin look amazing in that dress?”

The silence that followed felt like the moment before someone hits the button on a dunk tank, and you know that you are about to tumble, helpless, into a frosty tub of punishment. I realized, belatedly, obviously, that to Brian, I did look amazing in that dress. Because I looked fat.

View this image ›

When you are a fat person who is losing weight, people will come out of the woodwork to let you know how “amazing” you look — even my psychiatrist called me “the incredible shrinking woman” at nearly every appointment. Well-meaning people felt this constant need to make it plain that I was somehow better once I had lost weight, and it only made it that much more painful when people stop telling you how good you look, and stop saying anything at all.

For the first time since I had started dating Brian, I looked at myself and realized that my body, almost without my realizing it, was reverting to back to its former fat state. This is the real you, I thought. The other you was just a disguise. But you couldn’t fool everyone forever.

And the fewer compliments about my body that I got from other people, the more I would get from Brian. It got to the point where compliments from Brian were actually painful to hear — every time he said “You look beautiful,” all I could hear was “You look fat.”

I started trying on outfits in front of Brian in order to get his opinion. It was a good system. Anything he liked, I wouldn’t wear.

It was during this time that I started being mean to myself — really, truly unkind. I looked at myself for hours in the mirror the way a child might gawk at an ugly person on the street. I would push and pull the rolls of fat on my stomach with my hands as flat as I could, and try to imagine what my lower half would look like, unencumbered by what I had done to it. I’d meet every compliment Brian gave me with something equally cruel about myself. It was like my self-image was in a tennis match, and it was more important for me to be right than for me to feel good.

Brian’s expressions when I would rip myself to shreds eventually moved from sympathy to frustration.

“I love your body,” Brian would say, carefully. “Because Kristin lives in your body.”

Even though I was and am loved, I still didn’t feel that way — because in my mind, I had not earned it. You won, I would try to tell myself. You still earned love while gaining weight.

Then I went to an appointment with my psychiatrist, and for the first time in years, she said nothing about my body. Nothing at all.

No, I didn’t win, I would tell myself instead. I got what I wanted, but I didn’t do the work. That’s cheating. I cheated.

And though Brian is and has always been open and confident with his preferences, they started to embarrass me. Once at a party, he mentioned that Rebel Wilson was hot to a group of people we were talking to. A short silence followed, during which I actually moonwalked away from the conversation, as though trying to physically escape before a comparison between Rebel Wilson and myself could catch up to me.

Which is ridiculous. Rebel Wilson is fabulous. Why would I not want that for myself?

And what would happen if I lost all this weight? I would wonder to myself bitterly. Would Brian still feel the same way? Was I doomed to either be conventionally attractive or someone’s fetish object?

View this image ›

Brian gets tired of my self-hatred. He has limits, he’s human, and more important, he’s a human who loves me and finds me attractive, and is frustrated with having to defend those choices to me, of all people.

Once, we were at a bar, and I saw a very large woman sitting at the edge of the bar. “Do you think she’s cute?” I asked Brian, in a way that clearly indicated she was not. It was a petty, mean question, and one I already knew the answer to. But I found myself wanting to hear him say it, like I could trick Brian into openly admitting that his idea of beautiful — and that his ideas about me — were so obviously, incredibly wrong.

“Yes, I do.” Brian said, not taking the bait. “She’s very pretty. What is your problem? Do you want another beer?”

One of the things I’ve come to understand is that, when you’re single, hating your body is more or less a victimless crime, if you don’t count yourself. When you get into a relationship, however, it becomes a constant referendum on the tastes and judgment of the person who loves you.

The other problem was that, the more that I poke at myself, the more Brian pokes at himself as well. While he is objectively not a very big person, he’s succumed a little bit to the 10 to 15 pounds everyone gains when they are happy and in love. But one morning, I saw him looking at himself in the mirror, grabbing the small pudge from his stomach, and agonizing about how much he felt it made him into a terrible person.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. Because it so obviously was — he was trying to grab handfuls of his tummy for emphasis, but was struggling to even get one hand full.

“No, it isn’t,” he shot back, in that angry, desperate tone of voice I have so often used. “I am just a fat person, now.”

No, you’re not, I thought, and I wondered how many times Brian had felt like this: frustrated, annoyed, and helpless as he watched me tear down a thing he loved.

The thing that I have struggled the most with understanding is that, just like I am not just a fat girl, Brian is not just someone who likes fat girls. He is someone who has made it through this life, one that is inundated with social mores about what is OK and not OK in terms of physical attraction, and he is unmoved by any of it. How he handles this attraction is actually one of the most attractive things about him. He knows that his is not a popular opinion, and wastes no time caring about that fact.

I wish I could say that I am 100% OK with myself. I still do the thing where, when people compliment pictures of myself that I hate, I will wonder just how bad I look in all the other photos they aren’t complimenting.

But I do little things. When a couple of co-workers and I published this post about “one size fits all” clothing last December, I was terrified at the types of things people would say about my body. But when people were so overwhelmingly positive toward me, it reminded me of how important it is not to be your own biggest censor. I let myself believe the nice things people said.

Two years ago, I didn’t even realize they made bikinis in a size 18 — turns out that they do. Lots of cute ones. And this year, I intend to buy one, and wear it to the beach. And I will enjoy that no one will be able to complain to me about my belly fat (without looking like a crazy person). I will enjoy how excited that makes Brian, to see me happy in my own skin. I will let him enjoy the thing he loves without tearing it down. But more importantly, I will work to earn love from me, who is the person who will always play the hardest to get. I will flirt as hard as I can, and I will win myself back.

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/kristinchirico/my-boyfriend-loves-fat-women

#fat #fat women #men who love fat women #relationships

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