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open rp;
 open roleplay post for PSLs, meme continuations, AU world building, and everything in between! ⅰ. reply with your character. include a prompt. written prompts work best! ⅱ. request a character/verse/continuation in the subject line. ⅲ. have fun! unsure of where to start? here are a few of our favourite bakerstreet memes for inspiration: texts from last night morning after rainy/snow day hurt/comfort road trip insomnia rules: Ⅰ. nsfw stuff is welcome and encouraged, but please comment or PM for heavy kink discussion. Ⅱ. i am terrible at writing action scenes. this isn't really a rule, actually, just a fair warning. Ⅲ. be nice. no shaming or wanking and you get a free cookie. Ⅳ. do not comment here if i haven't played with you before, or if we haven't previously discussed starting a thread. graphic by |
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he gave Steve and Sam a decent enough excuse to go out for a while. he may or may not have avoided using Stark's name - it's still a little hard to talk about it, because this guy is Howard's son and he knows he was a friend of Steve's and it's all just one big complicated mess. and now that he's here, it's better to just not think about it and instead focus on the fact that it's the most comfortable bed he's ever been in.
it's late at night, Bucky's been here for all of ten minutes, which was just how long it took to get from the front door and up the elevator to the guest room Tony had so proudly shown him. it wasn't like he brought anything with him for a long stay, but he figured he should probably get to know where he'd be sleeping. not that he'd be stumbling to the elevator drunk - that never happened anymore, no matter how many bottles he went through.
but, well. now that he's checked out the place (what he can see so far, anyway--) he heads out down the hallway and peeks into the other rooms as he passes by. he should probably figure out if Tony's still planning those new drinks he was talking about. ]
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labelled or not, he did find it endlessly amusing how Steve always reacted if he somehow found out they had spent an evening together. he had remarked once that if he had been a cartoon, a vein would probably be visibly pulsing and at that Tony had had to duck from an incoming book. he figured it was because Steve thought him a poor influence, not that that was something he hadn't heard before, but that just added to his general amusement over it all. he had learned not to mention it in front of him, though, and Sam too, and so he was left relaying it to Bucky who didn't find it as amusing as he seemed to. oh well, you can't win 'em all.
of course he had been proud of the room he had made up for Bucky. after talking it up as much as he had, it would be bad show if he didn't follow through. as promised it had sheets that cost more than a used car, Egyptian cotton spun to sateen with a pretty price tag closer to the $1500 mark, not to mention the bed itself. all had been washed and pressed a few hours prior to his arrival (since he hadn't know exactly when that would be, if it would), and so they were fresh for him as well.
again, it would have been bad show if Tony hadn't come through with the whole offered plan, he didn't want it to seem like he was bringing him over on false pretences, which is why, when Bucky eventually comes to living room where the bar is also located, he'll find Tony behind it, a contemplative look on his face as he looks at the platters in front of him. both hold apple slices, one with bright red centres and the other creamy caramel. he hadn't given them a try yet, but they so look interesting. when he finally looks up to see Bucky, he'll get a smile and a sheepish shrug.) Apparently they're really good with caramel too.
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it wasn't as if he had visited Howard that often, back in the day. they were always out in the field, or the training grounds. they were overseas often, and Howard had his own company to work on. but they'd seen each other now and then, from time to time. he remembers his face well enough - though that's more from the last time he'd seen him, and he tries not to think about it but every time Tony looks at him, there's a flashback to when he was shown the picture and told this is your next target.
he never mentions it. he's not sure if Tony even knows - Steve doesn't, not yet. Bucky will keep that secret for as long as he can.
it'd ruin the atmosphere pretty heavily. he doesn't want to be the kind of guest that drops a bombshell like that. the bed was the most comfortable he'd ever slept in, in his whole life, and with the promise of a decent breakfast and experimental shots, he kind of wants to make this a good visit. so when he does make it to the same room as Tony, he offers him his usual half smile as he saunters over to him, eyeing up the apple slices laid out on the counter. ]
That almost looks too fancy to eat.
[ but don't mind him pulling up a seat at the counter and giving them a very serious once over. ]
You're spoiling me, you know. Luxury bedroom, now this?
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And well, if he did, and the truth did come out. That would turn a lot of things awkward. And sour, too.
It'd be bad to turn things that way with his new...friend? Is that what you call them? Something like that, at least. The man who was spending the night, at least. This was going to be nice. Relaxed. No need to spoil that.)
Looks, but definitely is not. I have yet to find something that I wouldn't eat because it looks too nice.
(That is, of course, assuming that it's something meant to be eaten and taste good. For now though there are the apples, and he experimentally takes one of the caramel ones and pops it in his mouth. He chews and swallows before humming thoughtfully, and then giving a little shrug.) Hey, not bad. Reminds me of college, I think that's about the last time I had jello shots.
(There's a flash of a grin, before he lets out a laugh.) Just how I am. I want the best, and so I only give the best, too, but there aren't a lot of people who get to experience it. You're lucky you've somehow weaselled it out of me.
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for now it's kind of nice to just hang out and drink with someone who doesn't mind his company. someone who, at the time, doesn't have the same sort of tension between them. it's hard to be around Steve sometimes. he knows he doesn't mean to be, but it feels like there's expectations and standards he's not meeting, and sometimes he can't handle it.
maybe that's why he told Tony he'd come over. ]
Must be why people take pictures of their food nowadays.
[ yeah, he still thinks that's weird.
but, Tony says they're pretty good, Bucky figures he might as well. he tries one of the caramel ones as well - he's always liked caramel - and even without the normal kick of alcohol, it's not half bad. ]
To be honest, I'm not even sure how he did that. [ brow arching as he reaches for a second slice. ] It's not like I was trying to win you over or anything.
[ hell, he's sure he only met Tony because Steve asked him to check out Bucky's arm and fix a loose wire. ]
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The fact that there was no tension between them was what attracted Tony to Bucky, too. He had some with Rogers as well, residue from their first encounter, along with little tiffs along the way. While they may work together well as a team, when it came to personal lives theirs were vastly different, and they had a difficult time finding a balance between them. Bucky, on the other hand, came into this and Tony was frank with him from the start. There was no obligation to be friends as some perhaps expected with Steve, and so he had just been straight with him, and it had just clicked. He didn't feel like he had to hide certain things he did, nor censor himself vocabulary wise. Oddly enough, he could feel relaxed.)
Probably. And the whole Pinterest and food blogging craze that's going on. Which, obviously, is where these are from. So I guess some good comes out of it.
(it is definitely weird. But at least he hasn't done that. And he's not going to try to get Bucky to take a selfie with him either, because though he worked out an instagram account for Steve, and he's pretty sure he doesn't use it, he doesn't want to take any chances. He's not even sure how this whole "feud" started when it came to him. Why Steve would get so mad at Tony when he learned they had done something together. He could wake up to an angry text or voicemail berating him for it, even though they never did anything bad. It wasn't like they were out shooting people up in alleys. It was dinner or drinks and sometimes both. But he had given up trying to really understand it. )
I think the only thing I'd change is next time I'd add more butterscotch schnapps to them. Do you want another drink as well?
(There's a pause as he take another, and chews thoughtfully.) Maybe that's what did it. You're easy to be around, that's why I like you. There's no pressure.
(Maybe at first, but now? Now it's the man behind the arm.)
(nsfw) for broil;
[ it's at least past two in the morning. the music is still blasting loud from the speakers, the dance floor is still crowded and pulsing with the beat, and James (as he's determined his name to be, that much has been made abundantly clear and "Bucky" just doesn't sit well for some reason--) is enjoying himself, for once. he's not entirely certain how long it's been since he'd left Hydra's control and struck out on his own, but then again, he's also not sure how long he's been at this club. he's not even sure why he's here. but he knows what he's doing.
he's making his own damned decisions, for once. he's not here because it was an order, he's not here because there's a target in the building, he's here because he wants to be. and he fucking loves it.
not having all of his memories back is helping out here. he doesn't recognize anyone, and he doesn't have to. if he wants to cozy up to a sweet gal at the bar until she buys him a drink, or slaps him to make him go away, that's fine. if he steps between a couple on the dance floor and he can't determine whose hands are feeling him up, that's fine too. no one knows him here, no one's watched the news in recent weeks or is too drugged up, high as a kite to recognize him. he's well on his way to joining them; it started with the drinks, then the smoke in the lounge, and after a few hours of dancing he'd pretty sure the others weren't sugary candies.
his head is swimming as he heads back to the lounge, his hat and coat long since disappeared, sweat across his forehead and a madly content grin on his lips. he can't even remember being happy. but he is now, he's free and he's having fun. he needs a breather, and he's sure the stranger he's flopped down next to is used to similar crowded-lounge-type situations. everybody does this sort of thing once in a while, right? right. ]
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Soon enough he's accompanied again. By a man this time, someone who looks just as exhausted as he is, like he's here to forget something. Someone. Himself, maybe.
Petre rolls his head, watches him for a moment. Then without a hint of shame he reaches over to dig his hand in his hair.]
That's really soft.
[Hi.]
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there's been a few close encounters during his extended stay in the club. he's rubbed up against some people, others have grinded up against him, some kisses have been exchanged and not all of them were with women. but it's all part of the hazy blur in his mind, he's not concerned or wondering if there's something else he should really be doing instead. he's having fun. and one thing James has discovered: he really likes hands in his hair.
it's an invitation, he figures. why wouldn't it be? he smiles, wide and lazy, tipping his head back to lean into the stranger's touch. and he moves further down on the couch, not enough to be too close for comfort, but enough so the other man wouldn't have to reach as far to pet his hair again. ]
Mmm. [ it's almost a purr. ] You can keep doin' that, if you like it.
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I will if you do.
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Hell yeah, I do. [ he can't help closing his eyes, tilting his head a bit more so his cheek rubs against the other's palm. ] You see anythin' else you like?
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[He's shifted even closer now, adjusting himself in his seat while his hand drops down to James's shoulder. Tilting his head coyly, eyes scan him down to his chest and back up to his lips.]
What's your name?
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Smooth-talker, huh? [ it's fine, he likes that too. it's a pity that hand's left his hair, and he does frown just the tiniest little frown at it, but he still has a pretty good buzz going that it's hard to look too disappointed. ]
[ -- oh, right. names. he sounds a little unconfident about it, but he can rebound quick. ] It's, uh. James. You can call me anything you want.
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[His finger comes up to his face, pretends to gently pick a lash from his cheek.]
I'm Petre. That's European. Ever been there?
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Few times. Parts of it are nice. [ instead of watching Petre's face, his eyes instead follow the other man's hand, moving his head so that finger's closer to his lips. ] What brought you over here?
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I'm a private investigator. Though tonight I'm just a guy looking for someone to take me home.
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I don't exactly have a place. Could probably find one, though.
wingmate; bed sharing, florist & tattoo artist au
It started out innocently enough. A client wanted a very specific flower for a shoulder tattoo, but the pictures provided from her phone were pretty much the least helpful, and rather than look it up on his own phone, a trip to the local florist had been in order. The intent had only been for a single trip, get the references he needed, and that would be it. It ended up being four trips, his excuse being that there were far too many different flower species he wasn't aware of and wanted to be prepared, and now there was a small cactus plant on the front counter of his shop. He named it Frank.
That had been at least four months ago by now. After more than a few visits to "learn more about proper cactus care," and discovering they coincidentally liked to stop at the same corner bakery the odd afternoon (after a teasing discussion about stalking,) he had taken the brave step and asked the really cute florist if he'd be interested in maybe having dinner together sometime no pressure. And now, all those months later, he's half dressed and lounging in Sam Wilson's bed, sketching out a design in his sketchpad as he waits for Sam to finish up in the shower.
He's not sure if it's exactly what Sam's thinking of. Usually, Bucky's pretty good at visualizing another person's descriptions and ideas for tattoos, but it's different when it's a customer or client. If he doesn't get it right, then they don't come back, simple as that. But Sam's different, and even though it was just an off-handed suggestion over lunch earlier that day, Bucky couldn't get it out of his head. Even if it doesn't actually end up being a tattoo at all, maybe Sam will like it on paper well enough.
After a while he takes a break, rubbing his wrist as he turns his head to look out the window. It's been a miserable day outside, dark clouds and persistent rain since the morning, but that just means it's a day for staying warm and cozy indoors. His shop's closed for the day and Sam had finished his shift an hour ago, what better way to spend the rest of the evening?
Once Sam's finished and returning to the bedroom, Bucky smiles (only a little nervously,) and turns the sketchpad over for him to see.
"What do you think?"
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He touches the paper gingerly, tracing a dark whorl of ink of one drawn wing with a tentative finger. The action seems almost reverent, his expression a little awed. He'd never been the artistic type (unless it had to do with flower arrangement), so seeing Bucky create something like this is amazing to him. ]
It's beautiful, Buck. Think it'd look good on me?
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He moves closer once Sam sits with him, rubbing the back of his neck a little shyly, despite having very little reason to. Sam knows what he does for a living and has complimented him before, but this ... well, it's different. Because it's Sam. ]
Are you kidding? You could have "skank" in hot pink on your forehead and it'd look good on you.
[ Basically, Sam, you're gorgeous. ]
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Sounds like you've got some mad faith in my looks and my swag, Barnes. I doubt even Steve could pull something like that off. Natasha might be able to.
[ But then again, Nat could probably pull anything off and still come across looking like a queen - there's something about the way she carries herself.
Still, now that Bucky's shifted closer, Sam takes the opportunity to lean in and press a brief kiss to his lips. ]
Still pretty sweet of you though. I'm honored.
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Nah. Steve couldn't pull it off. [ Nat would probably shiv the person who would try to do that, so that doesn't even need mentioning. ] Not nearly as handsome.
[ That kiss is more than welcomed and Bucky smiles as he settles more comfortably against Sam, the falcon sketch in his lap. He's proud of his work, sure, but he knows better than anyone that tattoos are a permanent thing and it's not something anyone should make brash decisions about. Sam likes it now, sure - he might not ten, maybe even five years down the road. ]
Couldn't really help it, you know? [ His fingers trace over the sketch again as he answers. ] Once you mentioned it, the idea kinda stuck in my head. You don't have to actually get it or anything, just felt like ... getting it out there an' stuff.
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He scooped up his gun on the way past, firing blindly over his shoulder (the bullets thankfully going far too wide) and disappearing down the nearest alley. Dick scrambled to his feet and took off after him, swearing under his breath.
He caught the flash of the guy's leather jacket disappearing round the next corner and heard another gunshot followed by a couple of thuds - like the sound of an extremely heavy fist hitting somebody's face, and that somebody hitting the floor, perhaps. He skidded to a halt round the corner and found his quarry on the floor, unconscious, with another man standing over him.
"...uh, thanks?"
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At least it's over quick. He didn't have to do much, just take a half step to the side and let nature run its course. Running headlong into a supersoldier's metal fist is enough to take anybody out quick without much thought or strategy behind it. The man's out like a light on the ground, bleeding pretty heavy from his now broken nose, and pursuer not too far behind him. Just in case the guy chasing the fallen man is also going to be a problem, he stays tense and at the ready, just in case this is a private feud he wasn't supposed to intervene in.
"You're-- you're welcome," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, reaching to rub the back of his neck, and keeping his gaze down and turned away. Just in case. "Didn't mean to ... uh, interrupt you two."
[ ooc: i'm sorry this took me so long! it's been a rough few weeks. don't worry about replying if you're not feeling it anymore, there's no hard feelings! hope you're doing well regardless :) oh and if you're still up for loki as well let me know and i'll get back to them too! ]
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"Hey if you're gonna take out the bad guy for me, feel free to interrupt any time you like." Dick joked, crouching down beside the unconscious mobster and pulling out some cuffs, securing his hands behind his back while also checking him over for the effects of the stranger's hit. A broken nose, but no more serious damage than that, other than a probably concussion and a hell of a lot of bruising. Safe enough to drop off within easy reach of some cops, anyway, since they'd been after this guy for a while.
He was conscious of the other guy while he worked, though, ensuring he could always keep him in the corner of his eye, just in case, but after a little while he straightened up and turned to him.
"I'm Nightwing, by the way... if the costume didn't give it away."
[No worries! I never mind waiting, rl be like that sometimes. Totally still up for both <3]