And for the last round of Arc Two character introductions, we have the Barnes family and their bounty hunter arch-nemesis, as well as the two most notable professors at Spagonia University (one of whom provides a good bit of foreshadowing for certain future lore developments! 😉)
El Aguila was introduced in Power Man Iron Fist 58#, cover date August 1979. He was created by Mary Jo Duffy and Trevor von Eedon. ("El A'guila has Landed," Power Man and Iron Fist 58#, Marvel Comic Event)
Auguste Levasseur’s journal was not quite as forthcoming today as I would have liked it, but this is not going to stop us.
This day included once again a dinner given in honour of La Fayette – only one among many of such dinners. The hosts were the Free Masons of the Grand Lodge of the State of New York. La Fayette, their “distinguished brother”, had joined the Free Masons as a youth in France but I am unsure how active he still was. Anyway, the Granbd Lodge was kind enough to publish this Order of Ceremonies so that we can have an idea how the afternoon went.
After dinner, La Fayette attended a play at Park Theatre. The play in question was A School for Scandal by the infamous Richard Brinsley Sheridan. A Mr Barnes played the male protagonist of Sir Peter Teazle.
My toes nudge the edge of the roof. It would be so easy. The wind whips around my, pulling at my hood. I slip off the roof. I turn around and spread my arms out and let out a whoop. I am the webs and sling upwards.
I stare down into the streets, all the people going on with their lives. Jealousy bubbles in me.
Patrol was slow when I finnaly call it quits. I send a report over to Sheild, I decided to go to Mr. Barnes. I haven’t visited in a while. The swing there is slow, but the sunset is beautiful. I knock on his window. A minute later it slides open.
“F- Golden-Web what are you doing here?” He looks tired, the bags under his eyes bigger than what I’ve ever seen.
“I don’t know,” I shrug and he lets me in. Alpine comes up to greet me as Mr. Barnes closes the windows then the blinds. I take my mask up and push my hair back.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh yea,” i plop down next to Alpine and scratch her cheeks.
“You sure?”
“What about you?” I retort. The silence stretches for bit, understanding grows. “You hear about Donald Gill?”
“Yea, didn’t know him. You?”
“Fought him durning them ice storms, going down to see him over spring break.” He nods slightly and goes into his kitchen.
Summary: James and (Y/n) Barnes live the perfect apple pie life. Or so they think. In a marriage as close as theirs, secrets are bound to be revealed at some point, it’s only a matter of time. What will the other do when the secrets threaten their lives?
A/N: Bruh it’s been over a year. But here is the second last instalment of this series. I’ve got the ending planned out and it’s a little different than the movie, but I like it and I think it fits nicely. Me posting this is part of my New Year, New Series personal challenge where I finish the stuff I’ve started to make room for new stuff in 2021!
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
SORRY IF I MISSED TAGS
~*~
“James I can’t handle this. You keep not dying when I think you’re dead.” He scoffs from the other line and you hear a car engine revving in the background.
“Stop trying to kill me then. I thought we were having a moment,” he says. You wipe your eyes and sigh. “We were. And I had to do what was necessary.” He exhales deeply. “I guess we’ll just… deal with this when we get home.” Your stomach drops at his tone, knowing exactly what’s gonna happen when he gets home.
“I guess so. I’ll meet you home then, James. And I love you. I really, truly do.”
~
You race home, obeying a grand total of probably three traffic laws on the way, determined to get home before your husband.
And you succeed. The house is empty and dark when you get home, you make sure of that. And you make sure it stays that way by locking all the windows and doors and arming yourself with as many guns and weapons your body can physically carry.
You situate yourself on the staircase, back against the wall while your eyes and ears stay peeled for any sudden noises or movement that would indicate that your husband is home.
Bucky has to break into his own house.
His own goddamn house.
That pisses him off. But, he does it and manages to do it silently, breaking in through a window in the dining room, clock and silencer in hand as he stalks around the house, looking for you.
When he approaches the wall by the staircase he stops, trying to figure out if you’re there or not. Eventually, he grabs a picture frame and decides to check for himself.
He carefully angles the picture frame towards the stairs, trying to see if you’re there in the reflection on the glass.
Just as he sees you, you shoot the frame out of his hand. He ducks down as you start shooting through the wall, each bullet missing his head by only a few inches.
When you stop shooting you wait, listening for any indication that he’s still alive.
“You still alive, Baby?” You ask almost teasingly, ignoring the tingling in your chest when you hear him groaning and his gun dropping to the floor.
Huffing out a breath, you loosen your grip on the gun, until you’re suddenly being shot at through the holes in the wall.
You roll down the stairs and into the corner, shooting at him through the wall again, pissed off.
You hurry down the rest of the stairs as he walks down the opposite hallway. You round the corner on your knees, gun raised and sliding towards the couch while he rounds the other corner, shooting at you. You shoot right back until you’re safely behind the couch, switching the magazines on your guns.
Taking a deep breath, you round the corner again and back up against the stairs, looking around for Bucky.
Meanwhile, he’s walking along the other hallway to the stairs, trying to catch you by surprise. It backfires horribly, however, when he knocks a mug off of the counter in the kitchen, sending it falling to the floor with a loud crash.
You shoot through that spot in the wall and he runs the opposite way, diving into the kitchen as you shoot at him through the doorway.
He throws open the fridge door, blocking your rain of bullets, and you grind your teeth in frustration.
He hides behind the counter, reaching up under the stove and cutting the gas line, hoping this does the trick.
He peaks his head out and, as suspected, you start firing. He holds the hose and you gasp as fire bursts and explodes towards you. You dive to the floor, backing away as fast as you can while trying to grab your gun.
That’s when he emerges from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and ready to fight.
As you’re standing up, he knees you in the chest, sending you stumbling back into the wall. He knees you twice more in the stomach then tries to elbow you in the head, his arm connecting with the wall as you duck and swing your own elbow to the back of his head.
He stumbles away from you and down the hall, forcing you to follow him. You shove him over a vanity, making him fall to the floor with a loud grunt while you grab a lamp. He raises his arm just as you bring it down, breaking it over his elbow instead of his head like you wanted to.
He grabs your shoulders and all-but throws you into the wall, cracking the wall with the force of your fall. He grabs onto your arm and slams you against the doorway and, while you try to catch your breath, he pulls you into the dining room and shoves you over the table.
You end up falling over a chair and onto the floor, bringing many things from the table down with you.
You push yourself onto your knees weakly, the breath knocked from your lungs for a moment. He saunters around the table, no doubt with a cocky grin on his handsome face, and your own face contorts with anger.
“C’mon baby, come to daddy.” You grab your antique metal flower vase and wrap it in the table cloth, fury filling you at his taunts.
You get up onto your feet, spin around, and smack him across the face with the vase.
He’s momentarily stunned, and you use that time to wrap the cloth around the back of his neck and tug on each end. He leans towards you involuntarily and you slam your forehead against his, sending him back a step. You kick him in the chest and he falls into the liquor cabinet, bottles of expensive booze shattering around him as he falls to the ground.
“Who’s your daddy now?” You ask with a smirk, running out of the room.
You hear him stumble to his feet and chase after you as you approach the living room where your gun lies on the ground. Sliding to your knees, you grab it, only to have him kick it right out of your hands.
He tackles you to the ground and you use the momentum of the fall to roll him onto his back, you straddling his waist.
You raise your fists and lay into him, hitting him over and over again, mostly on his arms when he raises them to block your blows, but a fair amount hitting his face.
He blocks your punch with one arm then uses the other to grab you by the side of the neck and pull you onto the floor, switching your positions quickly.
Before he can hit you, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, slamming his head into the ground.
He groans then grabs you by the hips and stands up, stumbling a step as you stay clinging to his figure.
He runs you into the wall, and when that doesn't shake you off he slams you into the mirror on the opposite wall. You let go of him, sliding down onto the decorative stool and struggling to catch your breath while glaring at him.
You grab two heavy crystal decanters from beside your legs and bring them up, crushing them against either side of his head then diving forward onto him, legs around his waist again.
Your elbow finds purchase where his shoulder and neck meet, and you hit him there time after time, trying to find the spot of nerves that will make him collapse.
You eventually manage to get him on his back again, but before you can hit him he’s grabbing your hair and tossing you onto the floor beside himself.
He smacks you across the face and scrambles to his feet, then starts kicking you. You curl your knees to your chest to prevent him from hitting anything major, but he’s already landed a few solid kicks to your ribs and stomach.
You kick your own foot out and it hits its target between his legs, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The two of you struggle to your feet at the same time, and he stares at you, panting with his fists raised, and you do the same. He waist for you to make the first move but when your eyes dart a few feet to the left then back to him quickly, he drops his hands and dives over to where your guns lay strewn on the floor.
You grab yours and aim it at him while he grabs his and aims it at you.
Everything comes screeching to a halt and the house is silent, save for the panting coming from the two of you.
You slowly rise to your feet and he does the same, blue eyes trained on yours as you point the gun at his head.
He lowers his gun after a moment, glances down, then shakes his head and looks back up to you.
“I can’t do it,” he whispers. You shake your head, tears falling down your cheeks.
“Don’t! Come on, come on!” You shout, desperate for him to make the next move.
“You want it?” He asks softly, eyes never once leaving yours. “It’s yours.” He tosses the gun to the ground and you feel your bottom lip tremble.
He watches the tears, the sorrow in your eyes, and sighs when he realizes the anger and the determination are gone.
He takes a careful step forward and when you make no hostile move he pushes the gun out of your hand and tosses it to the floor.
His hands come up and cradle your face and you grab at his neck, pulling him in for a searing and passionate kiss.
His hands move down to your ass and he hoists you up, groaning against your lips when you wrap your legs around him, accidentally grinding against him. He pushes you to the kitchen table, sitting you down on it while his lips move down your throat, you gasp as he bites down, no doubt leaving a mark, and he kisses back up to your lips while his hands shove your dress up away from your legs, giving him access to what he wants.
You grab at his shirt, desperate for it to be off so you can feel the comforting warmth of his skin against yours.
He gets the hint and tears it down the middle, letting the shreds fall to the floor around his feet.
“James,” you whisper, gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer to you.
He pulls your dress off of your shoulders and lets it hang loose around your waist, his hands tearing your bra off then pulling your chest tight against his.
He groans at the feeling and kisses down your neck again before shoving his pants down his thighs and freeing his cock from the tight confines.
“You ready for me, baby?” He asks softly, voice a breathy moan in your ear. You nod, desperate to feel him in your already soaked heat.
He grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge of the table, sliding his cock through your folds a few times and hissing at the way your cunt soaks him within a matter of seconds.
“Please, James, please,” you beg, tears prickling your eyes. All you want is to feel him, every inch of him, against you.
He nods, pressing his forehead against yours as he slowly pushes himself into you. You moan lewdly, basking in the feeling of him pressing against your walls and stretching you so perfectly.
“Fuck,” he hisses. You lean up a bit, lips meeting his in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and fire. He slowly starts thrusting and you inhale sharply, moaning into his mouth and digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders. He grunts against your lips, hips moving faster while his hands grip your thighs tight enough to bruise.
You throw your head back, a loud moan tearing its way out of your throat, and his chest rumbles with a growl. He pushes you down flat on your back rather roughly, one hand coming up to grip your throat, his fingers flexing and squeezing around your neck.
Your mouth drops open, eyes closing as the pleasure builds between your legs.
“M’gonna make you cum for me, baby. Gonna make you cum nice and hard. You want that? Yeah?” You nod, prying your eyes open and gazing up at him, nothing but pure love and absolutely unfiltered need in your eyes.
He picks up speed, hammering into you with enough force to have you sliding up the table. The hand on your thigh pulls you back into him, forcing you to meet him thrust for thrust, and your pussy clenches with each thrust.
The intense feeling of him hitting every sensitive spot inside of you mixed with the overwhelming emotions flooding your body has you nearing the edge in record time,
He feels the fluttering of the walls, can see the way your eyes start rolling back, and he knows you’re close.
His fingers squeeze the tiniest bit harder on your throat while he pumps into you faster, angling his hips in such a way as to allow his pelvis to rub against your clit with every thrust.
Your back arches at the new stimulation and your walls convulse around his cock. He doesn’t stop, instead, he fucks you through your climax, determined to fill you up with his cum.
The spasming of your walls and the way you’re squeezing him so fucking tightly is enough to send him over the edge. His thrusts get sloppy as his muscles clench, his orgasm crashing over him in waves.
He cums inside of you in hot bursts, painting your swollen walls white with his release, marking you up and leaving his claiming mark inside of you.
A small part of his mind thinks back to the IUD you had packaged for him, and the thought of you getting pregnant makes him groan and lean down to kiss you, his hand moving from your neck to cradle your face.
He plants soft kisses across your face as you catch your breath, caught in your post-orgasmic haze. The hand on your thigh moves up to his shoulder, prying your nails out of his flesh and interlocking your fingers with his.
You pull your other hand up, fingers raking through his hair and massaging his scalp gently. He looks up at you, a grin on his face and you can’t help but giggle.
“How’s that for hate-fucking?” He asks. You roll your eyes and give his hair a tug.
“Shut up.” The two of you lapse back into silence, and this time you can’t keep the intrusive thoughts out.
“They’re gonna expect a body,” you murmur, eyes focused on a bullet hole in the kitchen ceiling. He hums his agreement, pushing himself up to stand straight and slipping his cock out of you. You whine softly, but follow his lead, sitting up and trying to ignore the feeling of his cum dripping out of you.
He leans back, not bothering to pull his boxers on properly, and looks at you. “So what do we do?” He asks. You take a deep breath and shake your head.
“If I don’t bring your head in on a silver platter then I’m sure I’ll be the next target. And there’s only so much running we can do.” He nods, pursing his lips before raising his eyebrows.
“Why don't our companies merge?” The idea seems so obvious that it’s ridiculous. “Maria would never agree to that.”
“Wait... Maria Hill?” You nod, looking at him curiously as he rubs his chin. “Maria and Nick have been butting heads for years. I’m not surprised we were sent to take out the same target. They’re always trying to one-up each other. Some fucking stupid falling out.” You raise your eyebrows.
“Nick Fury is your boss? Jesus Christ the man is ruthless.” Your husband chuckles then shrugs.
“C’mon. Let’s get you some clothes and then we can talk business.” You nod, hopping off of the counter and heading to the stairs, Bucky following close behind.
“Well... maybe getting dressed and talking business can wait. We’ve got some lost time to make up for,” he says from behind you, eyes focused on your ass. You shake your head, a smile on your face as you glance over your shoulder at him.
“You, James, are insatiable.”
He chuckles, slapping your ass and smiling at the squeal you let out. “Yeah, but you love it.”
