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#but i kept it vague either way

honorhearted · 2 years

Note

"About last night..." for any of my muses that Ben hasn't defl.owered thus far asjnsajfnjffj feel free to ignore this if you're not feeling it xD or idk if you want an alt. timeline for anything, feel free to dive into that too (twss?)

Send "About last night..." for the m.orning after our muses had a one n.ight stand. / @torytendencies

The first thing Ben was stricken by was a pleasant warmth -- not from the fire on the hearth, nor the woolen blankets upon the inn’s bed, but a soft, slender form pressed welcomingly into his side. With a drowsy hum, he rolled toward that warmth, seeking, yearning, before subconsciously curling his arms around a lithe waist and brushing his lips over the smooth curve of a shoulder.

All at once, his eyes snapped open. Despite the bleariness of his gaze, a spike of panic rippled through him once he realized he was very much entangled in a woman’s arms. Although normally, that would have delighted him -- amidst his muddled thoughts, he could almost hear Caleb’s snarky congratulations -- but this...this was not a woman he was supposed to lie with, nor even deign to touch.

Swallowing, Ben’s heart leapt into his throat and wobbled for a moment, then plummeted downward to knock between his ribs as he drew back and gazed upon Harriet’s soft, peaceful expression. He couldn’t quite remember what happened -- he knew she’d been restless, so he’d caved and taken her from her room to chaperone her in a tavern, and then...well... Flashes of hungry mouths crashing together, harsh and needy, and the seeking of moremoremore as he dizzily stumbled over her threshold came to mind, followed by him lifting up her skirts and dropping to his knees, eyes dark and wild before his mouth seared along her inner thighs. And then...

Ben swallowed back his nausea, pressing a hand over his mouth. Fuck. Oh, God, how could he have let this happen? B.illy L.ee was sleeping in the room next door...was it possible that he heard?

Immediately launching upward, he shakily disentangled himself from Harriet’s arms and drew in several sharp, frenzied breaths, his limbs trembling as he peered around him in search of his clothing. The disarray of his shirt, breeches and coat were strewn haphazardly across the floor, and Harriet’s own garments were not far behind.

Far too anxious to look over and accidentally see something he shouldn’t -- and sober, this time -- Ben anxiously debated on whether or not it was safe to stumble out of bed and...well...flash her, for lack of a better phrase. “Miss C.ustis,” he weakly greeted, his voice raw with sleep, “would you mind keeping your eyes closed, please?”

Just pretend it didn’t happen, he inwardly begged. He had to be her first, didn’t he? Oh God, he was undeniably her first! A fresh wave of guilted panic washed over him then, and Ben dropped his face down into his hands, groaning as his ale-induced headache suddenly became wholly tension-based.

#torytendencies #i now pronounce you...#ben x harriet #lime #//i love how i REALLY had to think long and h.ard (twss) about who he hadn't s.lept with lmao #i think it's basically harriet (who i picked). deborah and your p&p muses? LOL #okay wait a lot more are coming to mind #but since i never really wrote with them before it doesn't quite count xD #anyway i figured this took place sometime after that thread we started where harriet was in danger/told she had to be moved #though i'm glad i reread my last response #cuz i'd forgotten b.illy l.ee was coming with them #so this is going to be even more awkward since...well because LOL #i couldn't decide if it made sense for ben to normally sleep in harriet's room #because they could've been posing as husband and wife to keep her safer #and thus she'd be able to have him in her room without s.candl #*s.candal #or if they'd all have their own separate rooms (leaning more toward the first and b.illy l.ee has his own room)#but i kept it vague either way

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thiriumblood · 6 months

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From @tellescope: ❝Legacy is a heavy burden, child.❞ Do you detect something sad in that tone? It's hard to tell with how booming the voice is. ❝You carry it well, but always be mindful of its weight.❞

~ELOHIM for Connor

Legacy. What was the legacy he was talking about? His reputation as a deviant hunter? The legacy he’d have to carry with him. Or was it how he turned and helped Markus? Was that the fate he was stuck with? Connor shook his head, “I believe your legacy is what you want it to be. It can be any weight you want it to be. For me, I want my legacy to be simple. Just a detective who helps people.” After all, he’d not be able to carry the weight of something that was put on him by others. He could barely carry the weight as it was right now.

“What would you want yours to be?” Not minding the use of the word child or how this man was seeming to know a fair deal as the android was curious. He was just like everyone else after all, just another person with goals, a past and even feelings. No matter if they were human or android, nothing would change that fact.

#Musing: Connor #An echo of a God: ELOHIM #Detroit Become: Crossover #I don't know if you want them to have no knowledge #Like if Con is hearing a random voice #Or if ELOHIM is a random android to him asking this #But I kept it vague either way #Also Con is not the best with philosophy so he is way out his element XD #But he's trying #tellescope

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giggly-squiggily · 1 year

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Woahh thank you very much!! You're super considerate!! I'm glad I found a sweet & comforting blog like yours! If you have time, please consider writing lee reader & ler loid hehe, Probably a stress-release massage themed would be nice (Loid is my comfort character)! Have a wonderful day! P.S. no foot tickles hihi

Aww, you're too sweet! Thank you, anon :) I've gotcha covered! One massage therapy tickle fic with Loid, coming right up!

Sweet Heart ("Oh, is someone ticklish?") + Cutie ("Why are you trying to hide?") + XOXO ("Hey, do you like raspberries?")

“How about a massage?” Loid offered, smiling gently at your shocked expression. “To help you relax?”

The event that led to this came when you stood, wincing in pain as your back cracked. You’d been sitting- or rather, hunching- over your desk in a sea of paperwork for the past hour. Loid, coming in to remind you to stretch, bore witness to your pain- hence the offer.

“You know massage therapy?” You asked. Cooking, cleaning, the whole doctor thing- what did this man NOT know how to do?

“I took a few courses back in the day. If you’re not comfortable with it, I completely understand.” He sounded sincere enough, and your back was killing you…

“Okay. I’m keeping my shirt on though.” You nodded as you walked over to the nearby couch.

“Of course. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” He waited patiently as you got situated, folding your arms under your chin. “Okay, I’m gonna start now. If you at any time want me to stop, just say the word.” His hands rested gently against your spine, positioned and steady. “Ready?”

“Read-EH!” You arched with a yelp when he pressed in, kicking a leg. Loid blinked, freezing at your reaction. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, just sensitive.” You giggled out, gesturing for him to continue. That earned you a small smile.

“Ah, so you’re ticklish?” He asked, lightening the pressure. This proved to only make you more sensitive- you let out a muffled squeak against your arms as he continued working the knots in your back. “Why bother trying to hide? It’s pretty obvious.”

“Ahehahahhaha! Noohohooho ihiiihihihihit’s nohoohohohoohot! Ahehahahhhaha!” You argued through your laughter. “Iiihihihihim tohoohohohotahahhahally imhuuhuhuhune!”

“Sure you are.” He sounded smug, giving your upper ribs a pinch just to hear you squeal, returning his fingers back to your shoulder blades. “If you’re not ticklish, (Y/N), surely you wouldn’t mind the taste of raspberries?”

“Rahahhaaspberries?” You asked, eyes widening when the reality of what’s to come hit you. “Ohoohohoohoho nohoho! Dohooohohon’t you dahhhhAHAHAHHARE!” A shriek escaped your lips when you felt him blow one against your shoulder, somehow targeting the exact spot you were most ticklish. “LOHOHOHOOOHOHID!”

“Heh, alright- back to the actual massage.” He adjusted his pressure once more, this time the touch just firm enough that you didn’t feel nearly as tickly. Sneaky jerk- he could have done this from the beginning! “Feeling better?”

If his hands weren’t currently working magic against the ache in your spine, you’d tell him no to spite him. Instead, you only groaned out a half answer, too comfortable to move.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Candy Heart Prompts Are Officially CLOSED!

#Candy Heart Valentine Event #chve2k23 #tickle #tickle dabble #spy x family #loid #reader #Loid x Platonic!Reader #loid x reader #can be read either way #I kept it vague so interoperate as you see fit :D

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meatbricks · 3 months

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Fanfic request here :))

The Painter, by the extreme luck of the universe, makes a female friend who is 5’1 and mixed (half white and half black) like him. She’s the typical “felt bad for the loner kid so ill be nice to him” stereotype who sees the good in anyone and doesn’t know how risky this action is considering who she is befriending. The painter, knowing who he is, becomes obsessed as usual but probably in a narcissistic way.

hi anon!!! <3 thank you SO much for the request, and i'm sorry it took me so long to get to!! writing full fics as opposed to headcanon lists takes a lot of effort out of me, because i wanna make sure that they meet my own personal standards of what's acceptable to post here... since i'm writing for other people now, i wanna make sure my writing is in top shape!! :3

anyways, without further ado, i hope you enjoy!! <3

warning(s): mentioned/implied past racism, harmful delusions, mentioned past bullying/verbal abuse, mentioned murder/being coerced into murder, uhhhhh. reader REALLY needs to get a new job

fic is under the cut!!

The sun fell beneath the horizon, tinting the sky a pinkish-purple color that beautifully melted into firey orange as you lay in bed, listening to your favorite album and gazing out through the window beside you at the scenery. The fading light illuminated your quiet, suburban neighborhood perfectly; at least, it seemed perfect to you. Houses lined up neatly with golden light beaming down onto them, an occasional car rushing past on the newly-paved road in front of your residence, the well-kept shrubberies and hedges in your neighbor's yard slightly fluttering their leaves in the wind, as if to wish the daylight a fond farewell... you sighed. No matter how good or bad your day had been, being right here in this moment seemed to make it all worthwhile. It made you remember what was really important—not snide remarks from ignorant customers at work, not pay cuts or stressful overtime or even traffic jams on the way home, but this. This, and the rest of your life outside what you did for a living.

As your mind wandered and a mellow, easygoing tune soothed you, the thought of your newly-made... friend was presented to you by the celluloid of your mind. You pursed your lips momentarily. You hesitated to call him your friend, but you were ashamed of that hesitation. There was really nothing wrong with him! Sure, he looked a bit strange, and he was a bit socially awkward, but he had done nothing wrong. He was simply not used to being treated with dignity, you were sure of it. Upon first meeting him outside the coffee shop you frequented since moving to your new home, he'd mentioned his shock that you were taking time out of your day to speak to him, specifically citing his cleft lip as a deterrent to others before you and causing your heartstrings to twang with sympathy. You were well aware of what it was like to be avoided based on physical characteristics; especially here, in the deep south. That was, after all, why you'd moved here: you'd heard through the grapevine that the citizenship of Urbanspook, Louisiana was far more accepting (and even welcoming) of diversity than the vast majority of its geographical region. In a way, you saw a piece of yourself in this strange man. He sat alone, leaning against a wall, absorbing the world around him and yet having difficulties finding his own place in it. It was then that you decided you'd help him, help him realize his own value and potential.

And it was now that you found yourself thinking of your decision, wondering whether or not this simple act of kindness would be your undoing.

You figured it was fairly common for men to harbor at least a little bit of romantic feelings for their female friends; after all, it had been a trend in your previous male friends (and even simply some of the male acquaintances you'd met at work over the years). Despite this, you couldn't shake the way he looked at you. It was obvious that he adored you, yes, but you couldn't help but sense something else behind his gaze. Something that worried you quite a bit. You couldn't quite place what it was; no, not yet. You'd only known him for a few weeks. The opportunity to examine his intentions hadn't presented itself enough times for you to reach a verdict on whether your apprehension was for good reason or not. Yet, it was present. No matter whether he was in your presence, alongside you, or simply occupying your mind, it was always there.

Deep within the woods, sitting in a worn and abandoned house at the exact same time, he was there.

Reclining on a king-sized mattress and gazing at a single polaroid photo, a man known only as the Painter found himself falling deeper and deeper into a mad obsession. His deep, void eyes stared into the ink that formed in such a way that resembled yours, those belonging to his newest friend. He longed to know of what thoughts lay behind those glistening eyes, those brown eyes glittering golden in the summer sunlight... before, then, and now, he wished to think of what you thought of. Did you think of him? Did you think of his presence beside you, worshiping your every breath and motion? Basking in the glory of existing alongside the beacon of human kindness and generosity? Did you know of how he admired you, and your nobility in taking him under your wing in an act of solidarity? Your understanding and compassionate treatment of him born of a shared strife? He took a moment to imagine it all... anyone would be lucky to have you. As a friend, as a lover, simply as an acquaintance... anyone who knew you should've considered themselves one of the luckiest people alive.

It was fitting, he figured, then, that you had chosen him to occupy a place in your life.

He knew his timid appearance would get him somewhere. As everyone derided him for being too soft, too weak, too pathetic (he shuddered as the phrase crossed his mind), he would simply smile at them. He knew. He knew all along, that someone like you would find him and offer themselves up on a silver platter. Perhaps not explicitly, but in some subtle display. Some invitation to enter their life, to make himself at home in their psyche. He smiled. He had no doubt, now, that he was floating around in your mind in that very moment; breaking down your other thoughts slowly and bringing you closer to where he wanted you: into his grasp.

He wasn't quite sure what he would do with you yet. You didn't seem malleable enough to turn into an accomplice. No, no... you weren't capable of such despicable violence. He giggled, thinking of what horrified expression would cross your face as you witnessed the brutal crimes he'd made a name for himself with. Crossing his legs, he also decided that immediately killing you off would be too much to bear as well. Although he was far too familiar with murdering his darlings, there was something about you that simply entranced him too much to extinguish the life in your eyes. Those precious, innocent eyes...

He found himself lost in your photo again. Your soft hair, your glistening eyes, your impeccable choice of clothing, your beautiful skin, your gorgeous figure, your charming pose...

He just had to keep you.

#this is the answer (ooc)#this is the answer #this is the writing #this is the fanfic #x reader #🖌#urbanspook #the painter urbanspook #urbanspook analog horror #honestly i had a lot of fun writing this!!! i missed writing fics LOL #thank you again anon!!#also painter shuddering at the memory of being called pathetic is um. not exactly what you think it is #i'll give you a hint: hes not shuddering out of discomfort—#if you look REALLY closely theres some subtle hints of painter being a little bit silly :3 #but yeah tldr painter cant be normal ever about anything #and i feel rlly bad for this particular reader :')#smh she deserves better #for some reason i imagined her listening to pink floyd in the intro paragraph LOL #but i kept it vague so it can be whatever ur favorite music is!!#either way im sure its fuckin BANGER

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eievuimultimuse · 7 months

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“Your family loves you, y’know.”

THE SILENCE THAT follows the statement is HEAVY — and TENSE. WAY TOO TENSE. The fly mutant says absolutely NOTHING at first to the sentiment; his expression is difficult to get a read on. HE’S DISPLEASED BY THE WORDS, that much is obvious.The hardened gaze, the deep furrow in his brow, the tight frown on his face just shy of being a sneer. It’s like he HATES that such a phrase has been uttered to him — and, hell, it could very well be true.

THEY ABANDONED HIM. THEY LEFT HIM FOR A DIFFERENT FAMILY, AFTER EVERYTHING HE DID FOR THEM. Where the HELL is the assurance that they LOVE HIM in all of that ? Here he is, hunched up in some nook, doing little more than PATHETICALLY lounging around. Can’t go anywhere without TCRI potentially breathing down his damn neck; can’t turn to anyone for help. He’s completely ALONE out here. Elusive criminal mastermind reduced down to— THIS. THEY PUT HIM HERE. ALL OF THEM. HIS OWN FAMILY. HOW COULD THEY ?

And yet…there’s a sort of sadness in there, in the midst of all of that RAGE, accompanied by a slight droop of his antennae. He should hate them, after what they did. After how they hurt him. ( yet, as PISSED OFF as he is, he can’t say he does. ) He just doesn’t understand. IF THEY LOVE HIM, THEN WHY DID THEY DO THIS TO HIM ?

“ …I don’t give a damn, “ he mutters at last. “ They can take it and shove it. I’m DONE. “

#SUPERFLY. / IC.#SUPERFLY. / VERSE 001. ON THE FLY.#ANON.#ASK.#( u didnt specify muse so im assuming its going to him lol /lighthearted #either way OUGH......OWIE #sb tellin post MM SF that his family loves him after everything thats happened OW #& HIM STILL NOT REALIZING HOW HE'S IN THE WRONG YET SO LIKE IT'S SAD BUT IT'S LIKE DUDE......#PLEASE please recognize that for as much as they hurt you; you hurt them like Way Worse; PLEASE #ig this is him after he's escaped TCRI?? idk i kinda kept it vague bc i couldnt make up my mind :'D #ALSO idk if this is a meme or not; i thought it was?? but then i realized it wasnt; at least not for the ones i rbed 2day #if it isn't then thank you for the extra pain; appreciate it /gen </3 KJGHFKG )#mutant mayhem spoilers //#ask to tag //

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comicbones · 2 years

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@bythebonefire like for a starter

“hey G, wanna hear some science jokes i’ve been rattling around in my skull for a bit? might help liven things up around here”

#M:Comic #idk what kind of relationship yeh want with these two #I usually default to dad/son but i'll let you pick #either way sans calls him G #kept it vague and short #hope this is aight

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glambytes · 2 years

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@astraljams sent a transmission!

"Do you REALLY want to help us?" Sunny to Greg. >:)

⇒ Barbie of Swan Lake sentence starters | accepting!

☆ ◦ “Yeah, honest! Look, I—I know I’m not supposed to be here, but you have to listen to me—”

He’s trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. The attendant in question is (understandably) upset, Gregory isn’t stupid. It’s not the first time he’s crossed a caretaker’s wires either — metaphorically speaking. Mind you, he’s never had a home placement with a robot.

But as stubborn as they are, Sun is not like these people, not by intent. It’s hard not to think this around most adults — the boy was kind of rude when Freddy first discovered him, wasn’t he? It’s not his proudest moment, but there’s a reason why Gregory warmed up to the Glamrock.

Perhaps, maybe, he could do the same for the Daycare Attendant?

He hopes explaining himself will at least be enough to gain some semblance of closure. It’s easier to lie to avoid the inevitable than to be yelled at for telling the truth... but he has to, at least this once.

“Freddy told me to get the security badge. I got locked in and he was trying to help — the one here was closest. I dunno why the lights came off, they just... did.” Gregory knows full well he can instigate trouble, but the lights were not part of that. His hands tremble and he tries to bite his quivering lip — why is he nervous? It’s not like Sun is out to get him, right? “Something about those Freddy-shaped boxes — I didn’t mean it, I swear...”

#astraljams #astraljams: Sun #{ fazwatch messages | asks }#{ i don’t know; i’m just a kid! || gregory }#{ 🩹 v; mark the stars || postgame 🩹 }#[[oooor #{ verse tbt }#depending on the direction :o #he /could/ be attempting closure before the plex opens again #but i kept it kinda vague just in case!#either way uh. have an annoyed-to-not-so-lowkey-shaken greggy >:)#ask to tag #iiiit's more implied than outright stated but. yeah. he's wary because Reasons]]

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honorhearted · 2 years

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@therapardalis | continued from (x)

With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, it was only now that Ben realized he was gazing down the barrel of a c.ocked p.istol. The m.uzzle glinted faintly within the moonlight, and though a part of him wished to laugh, he’d witnessed firsthand that Thera could certainly handle herself with one of these w.eapons.

When she finally tucked it away, Ben exhaled and moved farther into the room. “What number is that now? Three? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve done that to me three times now,” he said, but without any true malice.

While Thera turned to fetch her clothes, he huffed and arched a brow. “I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to come here, if that were the case,” he assured her. “I wasn’t followed. I took my time, just to be sure.”

Heading over to assist, he started grabbing up her belongings, and then (perhaps none-too-gently) deposited them onto her bed. “I doubt they know of your role in this,” he said. “Women don’t tend to be viewed as capable of masterminding these sorts of things, so we should be safe here.”

For now.

#therapardalis #under the guise of nightfall #//kept it vague cuz i didn't know if you wanted to do a modern au?#or keep it historical?#either way i was thinking maybe amos and company #figured out ben wasn't who he said he was #which could work in either verse

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foldingfittedsheets · 1 month

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In one misfortunate year I ended up getting into several car accidents. It cemented my general fear and anxiety in cars, because in each case I was either in the car but not driving or driving safely when suddenly something hit me.

One was my ex driving in an unfamiliar city and cutting someone off on accident that resulted in a sideswipe. Another was getting rear ended when I came to a required stop.

The last was when I had a green arrow at an intersection. I turned and was smashed into by someone running a red light, T-boning my little car.

Dazed and in shock I tottered out of the car to behold a crusty older man eating a donut step out of the offending vehicle. A fire truck arrived to block us off from traffic since my car could no longer move under its own power.

“Were you on your way home from work?” The firemen asked me.

I shook my head, struggling to focus on them, “No,” I said vaguely, “I was on my way home from volunteering at the animal shelter.”

In an instant they were closing ranks around me, glaring at the ambivalent donut man who would dare to hit a tiny frail angel who volunteered at the animal shelter. They asked if I needed to get anything out of my car. I did.

“It’s… uh. It’s a little weird though.”

They gestured for me to proceed. I grabbed a bag with snacks and books and filled it with things I couldn’t just leave in my car. Last out I pulled my cutlass.

“Is that a sword?!”

It was. They were instantly like giant puppy dogs, excited and delighted but trying to mind their manners. The bravest said, “Can we…?” I held out the sword. They whooped with delight, unsheathing and marveling at it.

“Why do you have that in your car?”

“I honestly don’t remember, it’s just a fun thing to have at a party now.”

“Is your wrist okay?”

My shock was wearing off and I realized I was cradling my wrist to my chest. “Oh.” I rummaged into my bag and pulled out a wrist brace.

“Wh….why do you already have that?” I was starting to confuse the firemen. I volunteered with cats, had a sword offhand, and kept a wrist brace in my car bag.

“Sometimes I try to hold books in a way that sprains my wrist? So I have this in my car just in case.”

They stared at me. Maybe, like my wife, they assumed it was for masturbation induced injuries. They handed my sword back as the tow truck arrived and thanked me for letting them play with it. They gave donut man one last glare and drove their big truck away.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #story #writing #I ended up not having a witness and there was no cameras so my insurance didn’t back me #I’m willing to bet any of those nice firemen would’ve lied for me if I’d thought to ask

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xlostparadise-a · 2 years

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[ SKATES ] for sender and receiver to go ice skating. ( it’s the most wonderful time of the year prompts ) // @musicallyiinclined

Following a trip to the mall, shopping for Christmas gifts for family and friends alike, Caleb was slipping on his borrowed pair of ice skates. “It’s a good thing I remembered to put on socks today,” he quipped, grinning while glancing over at Riley. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” A small chuckle left him as he shook his head, tying the laces securely on both skates. He hadn’t been ice skating for how many years now? The last time had to be when he was still in high school, probably. It'd been that long he couldn't remember the exact year. “Wow, these are tight! Is it supposed to be like this?” he laughed. After letting out a small breath of air, he said, “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

#» 𝐜𝐡: 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 #threads / caleb & riley.#// this is cute <3 #i figured this is before the baby? but i didn't mention anything and kept it vague so it's up to you! either way works for me.#thanks for sending <3 #musicallyiinclined

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jen-with-a-pen · 3 months

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𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is.

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter– to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day.

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week.

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together.

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival.

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door.

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger.

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder.

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit.

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing.

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink.

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it.

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time.

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell.

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear.

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below.

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape.

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully.

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium.

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form.

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.”

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan.

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear.

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours.

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.”

You wanted to take his finger and break it.

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.”

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion.

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance.

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles.

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike.

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously.

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side.

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?”

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward.

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard.

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body.

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!”

“No! Fuck– Get off me!”

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.”

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone.

“Is that all, Sergeant?”

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.”

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged.

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you.

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.”

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why.

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door.

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy.

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however.

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?”

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release.

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core.

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs.

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass.

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.”

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him.

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure.

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you.

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!”

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you.

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode.

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

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