Title: In Stride (ao3 link)
Pairing: Arthur Morgan/John Marston
Word Count: 2020
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: AU - canon divergence, older Morston, PWP, fluff, established relationship, endearments, slice of life, erectile dysfunction, dry humping, masturbation, anal fingering, comeplay, present tense
A/N: I was struck with a vision of John coming all over Arthur and this was the result. Also, dialogue and narration is written in "cowpoke" diction.
Summary: Arthur makes sure John still gets his.
Title: Fistful of Sand
Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Word Count: 2404
Rating: G
Warnings: post-season 03 [ignores any promo footage/material for season 04], au - canon divergence, established relationship, endearments, slice of life, fluff, present tense
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their universe.
Summary: Billy introduces Steve to a fundamental activity from his childhood.
Title: Under this Roof
Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Word Count: 3900
Rating: 18+
Warnings: post-season 03, canon divergence, slice of life, established relationship, implied drug use, endearments, oral sex, rimming, anal fingering, barebacking, anal sex, felching, PWP, present tense
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their universe.
Summary: Living together isn't always a breeze. Steve tells Billy off for his bad habit, and Billy shows Steve he's sorry.
It's the spooky month but there is a severe lack of the WHITE WOLF in werewolf form art /fics
Have a little something~
On AO3
rating: PG-13 (language)
word count: 1284
warnings: established relationship, AU - canon divergence, bipedal werewolf, incredibly sappy werewolf actions lmao
summary: It’s Halloween night and something’s broken into the house.
Frowning, Steve walks through the open gate. The back door is missing, hinges hanging off of the splintered jamb. Their alarm isn't trilling and it doesn't seem like their neighbors have noticed anything's amiss. It's late, though, the Sinclairs next door already in bed and incredibly hard of hearing.
He sets his duffle by the fence and cautiously makes his way up to the house, footsteps light on the creaky deck. The door crashed into the dining table with enough force to knock it askew and tip over two of the chairs. Whoever got in had meant to get into their house.
The only light is from the fridge, upper doors flung open, freezer drawer pulled nearly all the way free. A jar of pickles lays shattered on the tiles, bottles of condiments and sundries tossed haphazardly either side of the open freezer. Shreds of plastic wrapping and yellow and white styrofoam make a trail toward the stairs. O-kay, whoever got in was also apparently very hungry...
Steve quietly makes his way up the carpeted steps. The house smells. Sure, he and Buck don't keep the place in Open House condition, but it's never smelled like this. It's weird. Nothing nauseating like rot or decay. He inhales deeply. Something like petrichor and hot sidewalk. Except it hasn't rained in two weeks despite the overcast skies. Tonight's so clear the moon looms huge and yellow like a cat's eye.
Bigger chunks of styrofoam litter the upstairs hall. It's quiet and dark. Still. Maybe whoever blew through the house came and went.
He pauses. There are marks in the carpet. Steve looks back upon his own path, soles of his shoes leaving obvious impressions in the fibers. These marks are not that. Whatever had come before him left no foot- or shoe-prints. Bits of shag are pulled up around the clustered slashes.
“Shit,” he breathes, taking another deep breath and following the slashes and styrofoam into his and Bucky's bedroom.
It's a goddamn mess. The comforter's been ripped off the bed, sheets all twisted, and his pillow's missing. Only his pillow. Bucky's side of the bed is as undisturbed as it can be considering the state of Steve's.
The dresser's been ransacked, socks unballed, underwear, workout gear, and pajamas strewn about the floor. Steve crouches down and picks up a pair of his lounge pants. There's...fur on them. And is that, he prods a pink blob...meat?
He brings his finger up to his face, and as he leans in to sniff the cool mysterious substance, a low rumble draws Steve's attention to the en-suite. The pajamas fall out of his hand. He puts his back against the wall and edges toward the bathroom.
Their laundry hamper's tipped over in the bathroom doorway, white plastic split down one side, dirty clothes conspicuously absent. He braces himself and leans around the jamb.
Steve's jaw drops.
Upon the pile of missing laundry rests the source of the stink, a huge white mass. A beast, really. Body heaving as it breathes. His pillow's there, in the thing's maw. His eyes flit across the tiled floor, more styrofoam and hunks of meat are scattered among the clothes. All Bucky's clothes, 'cuz the beast apparently had taken a liking to Steve's. Dragged all his dirty shirts, pants, and underwear into its own personal hoard.
He lets himself catalog the beast's features. It's wolf-like yet entirely unlike any wolf he's ever seen. It's massive. The ears are relatively small compared to the size of its head and body. Its neck and shoulders are thick. Steve takes a step closer without even thinking to, kicking the broken hamper into the bathroom counter, plastic clattering loudly against the wood.
The beast's eyes snap open. strikingly blue even in the dark of the bathroom. It shakes its head as it yawns, dropping the pillow and revealing the sharp points of its enormous teeth.
“Oh fuck,” whispers Steve, creeping backward as the beast rises from its slumber. Rises, and rises, and rises, easily filling the generous space of the en-suite. He reaches into his jacket for a weapon that isn't there. The beast—wolf—thing prowls toward him, head tipping, snout scrunching. Its seen him, clearly, but as it leaves the, the nest its created for itself, it scents the air and lets out a soft howl.
He scurries further backward, backs of his knees smashing into the edge of the bed, and the beast is on him. That odd smell surrounds him as he's caged in on his back, slightly wet nose of the Werewolf nudging at the underside of his jaw.
Steve twists his head away from the Were's muzzle and his eyes widen, lighting upon a familiar metal arm. “Bucky?!”
The beast—Werewolf—Bucky, howls—practically a coo, it’s so soft—then drags his tongue along the column of Steve's throat.
He tentatively lifts his hand up to the Were's—Bucky's face, fingers petting the smooth white fur on his snout. “Buck, what the hell happened to you?”
Bucky nuzzles his palm, slimy tongue sliding up his wrist and over his fingers.
Steve grimaces and smears the slobber up Bucky's furry forehead. He's not going to get any answers from Bucky like this, a soft whine Bucky's only response as he strokes Bucky's fuzzy ear. Bucky clambers up onto the bed, mattress sinking under Bucky's ridiculous weight. He wriggles so Bucky won't crush him, Bucky huffing and curling around him in the middle of the bed. Bucky's tail thumps against his calf.
“Hell, Buck, if you're like this, here, what happened to Sam?”
Bucky coos again and licks the top of his head twice.
“Does that mean he's alright?” asks Steve, trying to push Bucky back only to give up when Bucky drags him closer and continues grooming his hair. “I can't imagine you'd leave him...and you got yourself home while you're like this...”
Bucky stops licking his head and huffs, burying his snout in Steve's armpit, massive, furry arm, and smaller metal one winding around his waist.
Bucky's chest is plenty hairy when he's a human, but it's nothing compared to the thick fur covering Bucky's new form. In seconds Steve starts to sweat, Bucky radiating heat, fur trapping it all between them. “You really fucked up our house, ya know?” Claws drag over the back of his jacket, and he shivers. “Racoons are going to get in.”
If a conscious werewolf wasn't going to give him any intelligible answers, an unconscious one wouldn't either, Bucky's eyes shuttered, limbs slack.
He should at least shut the fridge; there's not much he can do about their back door in the middle of the night. Steve shifts, Bucky's arms tightening around him, soft growl tickling his flank and armpit. He squishes his arm around Bucky's snout, and Bucky's tail wags. “Weirdo,” he mumbles, falling asleep with Bucky wrapped around him.
~*~
Loud pops and cracks startle him awake. Bucky yowls and Steve hurries to clamp his hands around Bucky's muzzle, muffling Bucky's groans as Bucky shrinks and transforms before his eyes. White fur and limbs shorten as Bucky twitches and convulses. He loses his grip on Bucky's snout as it flattens and reshapes into a human nose and mouth. It looks horrific and painful, but Bucky grits his teeth and keeps his eyes tightly closed; he's been through worse.
It seems like a lifetime until he's naked and all man, spread sideways across their bed at Steve's side, gasping for breath in the bands of the morning sun.
“Buck,” whispers Steve, leaning up on his elbow and palming Bucky's cheek, “what the hell was that?”
Bucky pries his eyes open, that same incredible blue, and casually shrugs, lips quirked, “I, uh, Happy Halloween?”
For your imagination ;Steve says he got a teeny tiny tattoo somewhere and Bucky is looking for it everywhere on Steve's body and losing his mind. (you can place it anywhere you want 😉)
word count: 480
rating: PG-13
warnings: as canon compliant as them being together in the future can be, established relationship, sexual themes, major fluff, present tense
a/n: probably not exactly what you were looking for, but I hope it’s still enjoyable!
“You sure this wasn't a trick to get me to take off your clothes?” asks Bucky, meticulously scanning Steve's bare chest.
“I wouldn't need to trick you for that, Buck; I would just ask,” laughs Steve, letting Bucky pick up and carefully rotate his left arm.
“Did you suddenly sprout another limb I don't know about?” He does the same thing with Steve's right arm, flesh and metal fingers tenderly skimming along Steve's bicep and forearm.
Steve tucks both arms behind his head once Bucky's done with them. “No. Still plenty'a places you haven't looked yet.”
“Oh yeah?” asks Bucky, lifting an eyebrow. He drags his hands along Steve's sides, feeling around for any irritated skin.
The feather-light touch makes Steve wiggle, Bucky's hands clamping down over his hips to still him. “Mhm,” he hums, staring down at Bucky as Bucky slides his hands along his 'v.'
“Surely not here,” says Bucky, wrapping his fingers around Steve's thickening cock and peering closely at Steve's length.
Steve grunts, hips jerking when Bucky presses his dick against his stomach. “No,” he breathes, spreading his legs under the guidance of Bucky's hands.
Humming, Bucky continues down Steve's body, petting Steve's sensitive inner thighs and then up and over the thick muscle. He scooches backward toward Steve's ankles, raising each of Steve's legs and checking for any patches of shaved skin. “Guess you'd better flip over and lemme keep explorin'.”
Steve rolls onto his belly and pillows his head on his forearms. Bucky walks his fingers up the back of his legs, up to the curve of his behind, palms settling there. “Ain't there, either,” he says, laughing when Bucky huffs and plants a kiss to the base of his spine.
Steve's back is smooth, skin unmarred by anything aside from the freckles on the tops of his shoul—oh. Bucky reaches out and gently folds Steve's left ear with his thumb. He drops down against Steve's side and zeroes in on the flower stalk, inked delicately in pinks and greens. “Flowers,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over the design.
“Yeah,” sighs Steve, turning his head to meet Bucky's eyes. “Gladiolus.”
Bucky's brow furrows for a second and then his eyes widen, grin spreading across his lips. “I remember.”
Nodding, Steve twists onto his side, Bucky's arms winding around his waist to drag him closer. “Summer of my 17th birthday, Gladys had a planter of 'em out on the fire escape and you pinched one before you came over. You played it like it was for Ma, but it was in a jar'a water on my nightstand when I went to bed.”
Bucky snickers and presses a chaste kiss to Steve's tattoo. “Broad was always naggin' whenever we sat out there.” Steve laughs and leans in to kiss him. He pulls back and thumbs Steve's jaw, whispers, “Woulda taken her whole planter for you, Stevie.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Title: Basics
Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Word Count: 2626
Rating: E
Warnings: post-season 3, canon divergence, established relationship, implied anal sex, implied barebacking, versatile Billy, versatile Steve, underwear kink, frottage/dry humping, panty kink, use of endearments, PWP, present tense
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their universe.
Summary: Billy’s had Steve in every way he could, yet Steve’s got him in the mood for something basic.
Title: Happenstance
Pairing: Aleks/James
Word Count: 3535
Rating: 18+
Warnings: established relationship, oral sex, hand jobs, fluff and smut, present tense
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't know or own any of these people. This is a product of my imagination and I thought I would share.
Summary: James always just happens to be up whenever Aleksandr gets home from a night out with their friends.
A/N: Great inspiration taken from this NSFW art
He's usually still awake when Aleks has had his fill of socializing. He was never waiting for Aleks to get home before he went to bed; he had a Battle Royale addiction to feed and videos to record. With so many of their daylight hours dedicated to Cow Chop, he was often up late managing his personal channel. It was just coincidence that he was always up when Aleksandr got home. Really, he wasn't waiting.
Title: For Posterity
Pairing: Michael Jones/Gavin Free
Word Count: 2125
Rating: 18+
Warnings: established relationship, sex tapes, voyeurism, masturbation, hand jobs, mentioned oral and anal sex, fluff and smut
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't know or own any of these people. This is a product of my imagination and I thought I would share.
Summary: Michael agrees to being filmed.
“This is so fucking stupid,” sighs Michael, fingers chilly as they skirt over his abdomen.
“It's amazing, Michael,” whispers Gavin. He swallows hard and looks at Michael across their bedroom. “Go on, then.”
“How did you get me to agree to this?” There is a certain thrill to it. Everyone knows that Gavin's a watcher. Likes to instigate the chaos and then sit back and take no responsibility as everything unfolds. Especially if he's safe behind a camera. It isn't any different here, at home. Gavin shielded by his phone, watching while Michael takes the risk.
