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bittersweetsparadise · 14 hours ago

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eyes don't lie 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader (no spoilers though!)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, one bed trope, dom!bucky, lots of sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, self-pleasure, rough sex, slight degradation, bucky manhandles you, rough sex (please read the warnings)

summary: you and bucky were trapped in a storm during mission, with one bed and so much tension. (really just lots of filthy sex guys)

word count: 2.8k

author's note: hi! i am obsessed with the one bed trope and i've been trying to write something for thunderbolts!bucky! i am glad i finally finished this up! thank you for reading! again, please read the warnings, I received some comments on my previous work, i understand my fics may not be for everyone, so please take care to read the warnings! love ya guys and stay safe!

It should have been easy, a covert extraction in the Romanian wilderness, just as you and Bucky had planned, weeks ago. Intel in, asset out, and given how you and the brunette had run riskier ops with much less and fewer exits, this was supposed to feel like a walk in the park. But the weather had turned fast, almost as if it had a vendetta, ominous dark clouds had spilled over the carpathian ridge just as the both of you had left the drop point, and within twenty minutes, the sky had cracked open in a violent deluge.

The mountains were drowning as you sprinted through sleet and biting wind which soaked through your gear in seconds, thunder splitting the sky like a scream. “Which way is it?” You managed to ask as the wind howled, “right, we should be nearby” Bucky replies as lightning flashes close, lighting up Bucky’s face in ghost-white bursts as he moves beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, jaw clenched, steps unrelenting. You followed the fallback coordinates, grateful that Yelena had embedded it in your comms, breath ragged, legs burning with adrenaline. A safehouse, government-owned, forgotten, and you and Bucky’s only shot at shelter.

By the time you stumbled through the warped wooden door, your boots were squelching with every step, water dripping from your clothes in heavy droplets, you shivered, your skin cold to the bone.

Then Bucky turned, and your breath stuttered in your chest, the firelight from the stone hearth barely reached the corners of the single-room cabin, but it was enough for you to see the way his soaked, black, tactical shirt clung to him, transparent in all the right places. You noticed how his hair, now longer since the last time you saw him, wild from the rain, plastered to his forehead in thick waves. His jaw was tight, the stubble sharp and biting, water slid down his throat, over his collarbone, disappearing beneath the cling of drenched fabric.

You hated how your gaze had caught there for too long because when your eyes snapped up again, you found Bucky already watching you. For a moment, something passed between you in that moment, heat, recognition, restraint stretched, razor thin. His stare didn’t falter, it raked over you in silence, dark and heavy, almost as if it had a weight of its own.

You looked away first, he was always like this after missions, all silence and sharp edges, carved from restraint. But it seemed lately, ever since he asked for your expertise in retrieving files and other classified information hidden across Europe, you realised that restraint had been reserved only for you.

You peeled off your soaked jacket and gear piece by piece, trying to focus on the hearth, “well, this is cozy” you muttered, eyeing the single bed tucked in the corner, “hope you like cuddling”.

Bucky didn’t even blink, he crouched low by the fire, striking a match, the flames crackled to life on the third try, his jaw flexed as he stared into the fire almost as if it owned him something.

“Better than freezing out there dollface”. He said finally, voice like gravel dipped in whiskey, you tried to ignore the way the nickname he had for you made you feel, the way your cheeks heated up as you crossed your arms, teeth still chattering, “don’t suppose there’s a hot tub?”.

“No power, its barely insulated, you’ll want to dry off,” Bucky replies, voice clipped, almost controlled, but you could hear it, the tremor in his voice, not from the cold, from something else, something neither of you dared to name.

You stepped behind the divider wall, pretending you didn’t feel his gaze burn a hole in your back, your hands trembling as you peeled off your soaked clothes, bra, panties, socks, everything clinging to you like a second skin. You found an old thermal shirt in the worn down cabinet, grateful to whoever who had decided to chuck it in there because it was probably the most useful thing in the cabin right now. You slipped it on, and it fell mid-thigh when you did.

You stepped out, seeing Bucky sitting by the fire, shirtless now, his tactical shirt placed over a chair, his hair had started to dry in soft waves, and you could see the scars that marred his shoulder, chest and back catching the flicker of flame. The scars he endured over the years, his vibranium arm, gold and black in the low light, sleek, deadly and almost beautiful.

His eyes found you, dark, slow and unblinking, the kind of look only years could shape, Bucky didn’t just see you, he saw everything, every late night conversation, every one of those missions that just caused the tension between you and him to build, so thick you could probably slice through it with a knife, every almost that had ever happened between the both of you, not that you would ever bring it up.

He looked like he wanted to devour you and god knows how much restraint he must have had in him at that moment.

You swallowed, sitting at the edge of the bed, trying to pretend your thighs weren’t already pressing together. “You taking the bed too?” You asked in a bid to break the silence, the thin ice you were treading on starting to crack beneath the weight of your own voice, brittle and breathless. You didn’t dare look at him, not when the heat of his gaze felt like it could burn straight through your spine.

“I’ll take the floor,” Bucky said after a beat, “you need rest”.

“Does it look like I’m sleeping?” you reply.

The silence was thick, smoke-like, you didn’t want to see those cerulean blues, because if you did, you’d remember what happened in Prague just weeks ago. That kiss—a fake out, a cover that had happened when you both were at some stupid alleyway, a whisper of heat at the edge of danger. You had pressed your lips to his jaw like a lie, in a bid to escape the eyes of agents hunting you both down after escaping with a hard drive.

But the look in his eyes afterward? That hadn’t been fake. Neither of you spoke about it, not after, not ever. Not even when Alexei joked about how the both of you seemed awkward, and he joked about everything, despite Yelena’s eyerolls and groans. He always had a quip ready, but after Prague? He and the rest of the team had watched the two of you with careful eyes and said nothing. The silence had been louder than any tease.

Because something had changed.

You had felt it in the heat of Bucky’s breath against your lips, in the way his hand lingered too long on your waist after that kiss. In the way he didn’t look at you for days after, or when he looked at too much or too long, almost as if the man was trying to remember how to keep his distance.

You had spent nights wondering if he felt it too, the shift, sure the tension had always been there, since the day Steve introduced you to him, since the days you spent with him in Wakanda, but this spark was different, it felt electric—like the gravity of something neither of you could name. Or if he was just pretending it hadn’t happened.

But now? It pulsed in the air between you like it has never gone away, just buried, waiting.

You lay back, letting the warmth of the fire lick at your skin, the coarse wool blanket that you had draped over yourself scratching lightly at your thighs, but it wasn’t what made you squirm.

It was him.

Bucky. Stretched out near the fire like a wolf at rest, deceptively relaxed, every inch of him radiating coiled strength. Every line of him was cut from shadow and heat, his muscles taut, almost as if he were sculpted by Adonis himself, glistening faintly from with the remnants of rainwater and sweat. His dog tags glinted faintly in the fire light, rising and falling with slow, even breaths that belied the tension buried just beneath the surface.

He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the weight of his presence like a hand around your throat, firm and deliberate. The tension in his body hadn’t left, in the rigid set of his jaw, the way his metal fingers tapped against the floorboard with rhythmic precision.

Like he was trying to keep himself in check.

His eyes flickered toward the fire as if he was trying not to look at you, as if he didn’t want to give himself away. But you catch the way they flick back now and then, the slight twitch in his brow, the shift in his throat when you move. Like he couldn’t help it, like you were a habit he hadn’t meant to form.

He hadn’t touched you, but god, he didn’t need to.

Your thighs pressed tighter together beneath the blanket, you kept replaying the way he had looked at you, how his gaze had dropped to your thigh, your ass, then back up.

You imagined his voice, low, rough, almost dangerous.

A soft, involuntary shiver rolled down your spine. Fuck.

You squeezed your eyes shut, let the image of him bloom, imagined his fingers dancing along your skin, his breath warm against your neck, that vibranium arm spreading your thighs like he owned the right, one hand around your throat, the other slick with your arousal.

You swallowed hard, and your hand was already moving. You slid it beneath the blanket, then under the hem of your shirt, lower, lower, until your fingers brushed our soaked, needy skin. You gasped softly, hips twitching at the contact as your fingertips circled your clit, slow, desperate, and in your mind, it was his hand, his voice.

“So fucking wet for me”.

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep the sounds quiet.

But not quiet enough.

You didn’t hear him move, didn’t hear his boots on old wood, your mind cloudy with the things you wanted him to do to you, until his voice rasped through the dark, like a gun shot.

“You touching what’s mine princess?”

You froze, eyes wide. You didn’t even have time to stammer out an excuse, any excuse. The blanket was ripped away in one swift, brutal motion, and there he was, looming, dominant, those cerulean blues now blown wide with lust. Bucky’s jaw was clenched, fists tight at his sides, chest rising and falling like he had run a fucking marathon.

“You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?” he gritted out, his voice wasn’t angry, it was worse—controlled. “Or are you gonna be a good girl and tell me what the fuck you were doing”. Your breath caught as your thighs instinctively snapped shut, but Bucky was already kneeling between them, spreading you wide with both hands, one rough and warm, the other smooth and unrelenting, vibranium pressing against your skin like a brand.

“I-” you gasped, but he was already dragging the hem of your shirt up, exposing your slick cunt to the cold air and his greedy eyes. “I couldn’t help it” you whispered, “you couldn’t help it” Bucky echoed, mocking. “Poor little thing, soaked and needy while I’m just over there, keeping myself in check like a fucking saint” he cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I see you princess. Walking out in that shirt like it’s not a god damn invitation, shifting under that blanket like you wanted me to notice”. His hand slid down, over your collarbone, between your breasts, down your stomach, slow and firm, until his fingers brushed the slick heat between your thighs.

“And now look at you,” you whimpered when he dragged a single finger through your folds, slow and devastating, watching the way your hips jerked.

“So fucking wet for me”.

“Bucky-” He cuts you off, “you don’t get to say my name like that, not when you’ve been touching yourself like that. This,” he swiped through your folds again, this time bringing his thumb to your clit and pressing just enough to make you cry out, “belongs to me. Say it”. You whine, pleasure sparking up your spine like lightning.

“It’s yours, Bucky, fuck, it’s yours”. “That’s right” his voice dropped, dangerous and delicious.

“Now, beg”.

“Please” you whispered arching into his hand.

“Please touch me, I need, need more” you whimper.

“You gotta be real specific princess” Bucky’s voice was velvet over knives. “Beg me to wreck you” your face burned, but your body screamed for it louder. “Please, Bucky, wreck me” you breathed. “I want it, want you, need your cock, need you to fuck me until I can’t breathe, p-please” he stood, the sight of him towering over you, muscles taut, eyes ravenous, made your breath catch. He tore his belt off in one swift pull, tactical pants shoved down just enough to free his cock, hard, thick, flushed and leaking.

Your mouth watered, he gripped your chin, forcing your eyes to stay on him. “Keep your eyes open for me dollface, don’t make me repeat myself” you obeyed instantly. He wrapped your thighs around his hips and slammed into you in one smooth, brutal thrust. The sound you made was half-scream, half-moan, shock and pleasure colliding as he filled you completely. The stretch was overwhelming, perfect. Bucky didn’t give you time to adjust—just gripped your hips and started to fuck you, raw and deep, snagging into you with bruising force.

“God, Bucky!”

“You begged for this,” he snarled into your neck, hair falling over your cheek. “You asked me to ruin you,” You could barely think, the way he filled you, relentless, punishing, perfect, had your brain short circuiting. His cock dragged against every sweet spot inside you, ruthless and filthy. You clawed at his back, legs trembling as he slammed into you over and over.

“You wanted my cock that bad?” he hissed, fucking you harder. “Needed to get yourself off thinking about me? Is that what you do sweetheart? Lay in your bed, fingers buried in that needy little cunt, whispering my name like a fucking prayer?”

“Yes, fuck, always think about you-”

“That’s what I thought” Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanked your head back and bit your throat, sucking a dark bruise into the skin as you writhed beneath him. “You’re mine” he demanded. “Say it”. “I’m yours, I’m yours” you choked out, pleasure running through your veins as you felt that coil in your stomach tighten as Bucky inches you over the edge. “You gonna come for me now princess? You gonna soak my cock like that desperate little thing you are?” your body was already there, strung so tight, you could hardly breathe.

When Bucky’s thumb found your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts, you shattered. It ripped out of you like a storm, your orgasm crashing through your body so hard it stole air from your lungs. You screamed his name, back arching, thighs shaking as you pulsed around his cock, soaking him just like he promised. But Bucky didn’t stop, god no, he fucked you through it, groaning as your walls milked him, thrusts growing sloppy, brutal.

“Gonna fill you up baby” he panted, burying his face in your neck, “gonna give you every fucking drop” you whimpered begging for it, pleading like you didn’t care how filthy it sounded. “Please, Bucky, want it—need your cum inside me” his hips snapped once, twice—Then he came with a snarl, cock buried deep, ropes of hot seed spilling inside you as he trembled against your body, moaning your name like a curse and a prayer.

You stayed like that for a long, long moment, breathing hard, clutching each other like the world outside didn’t exist. And then slowly, Bucky eased out of you gently, catching the whimper that left your lips with a kiss, his mouth was so soft now. Reverent. He dragged it across your cheeks, jaw, your temple, grounding you as his hands cradled your body like you were breakable.

“You did so good for me, princess” he murmured, voice low and warm. “So perfect.” you blinked up at him, dazed and blissed out. Bucky grabbed the blanket, wrapped you up in it before tugging you into him. His hands smothered over your thighs, your stomach, brushing your hair off your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it, you nod, smiling sleepily. “I’m better than okay”. His smile, small, crooked and real was almost enough to undo you. He leaned down, kissed your temple, then your lips.

“Good. You’re mine now, you know that?” you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Always was” he chuckled. “Cock drunk little doll face”.

And then he tucked you in against his chest, wrapped you in his arms like you were the only thing that mattered.

Because to Bucky, you were.

thank you love for taking the time to read this fic!

#may.tbr

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bittersweetsparadise · 19 hours ago

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Touchstarved & the Tarot

after seeing lovely fanart done by @grimalkinscribbles, I was inspired and wanted to make a post looking at the love interests and what their cards would be, if they were cards in the Major Arcana. So, without further ado (rambling under cut);

I The Magician

Beyond the obvious parallel of Leander the mage and the tarot card, he suits many of the different aspects. Broadly, when interpreting, the Magician is associated with energy, potential, and the realization of one’s desires. The manifestations of spiritual energy and want into the living world. With Leander’s attributed quote “we make our own luck here”, it seems quite fitting, no? He himself spoke of his past, “I grew up idolizing the Senobium. I wanted nothing more than to join their ranks, to learn magic from the best, to make a real difference.” Nowadays, it’s clear that he has attained some of his dreams, even if in a different way than he imagined. He’s an excellent magician, and one who clearly makes a difference in the lives of his gang, and in reaching out to the rest of Lowtown. When in relation to other people, the Magician can be interpreted as someone adept and wise, who can be learned from. In the French deck, Le Bateleur is also le mountebank — “the sleight of hand artist”. Fitting, for the man of so many secrets.

The Magician is also associated with the planet Mercury. Amongst other things, Mercury is associated with communication and cognition, alongside adaptability and variability, both of which seem to suit Leander. Beyond that, Mercury (or Hermes in Greek mythology) was avid of many domains, including finance, commerce, travellers, trickery, and he helped to guide souls to the underworld.

VII The Chariot

The seventh card of the deck, The Chariot can represent “succour, providence; also war, triumph, presumption, vengeance, trouble.”

Looking first at succour and providence. As the seeming overseer of the Seaspring, he offers providence to those who seek it — at a great cost. On a more personal level, we also know Ais helps out at the clinic sometimes, providing that same succour and support in a much less drastic manner. It’s worth noting that in many iterations, including the Rider-Waite tarot, the central figure wears a crown. Someone of seeming importance, yet the stars above represent greater forces at play. The figure has power, but is not at the top or in full control, not like the Emperor.

Further, we know Ais is known in Eridia for being a “violent, unpredictable outsider.” This brings in those ideas of war, vengeance, trouble. We also know that he is easily influenced by his emotions — his fatal flaw is that he “lets his emotions rule him, with destructive consequences.” The Chariot is ruled by the Moon, which is associated with emotions, reactions, and the true self. This all links back to Ais’ impulsive nature. In readings, the Chariot tells of strength and willpower to overcome obstacles. There is a sense of freedom which can come with this, but with freedom inevitably comes danger. This is similar to the price being paid both by those who swim in the Seaspring, and the price Ais seems to have made in his deal with Ocudeus.

IX The Hermit

While it’s rather obvious, I do believe out of all of the cards, Mhin is most suited to the Hermit. On a surface level, Mhin’s isolationist tendencies can be easily found in the card. On a deeper level, the Hermit is a seeker of knowledge and wisdom. A lone wanderer, he is deeply committed to his goals of attaining higher knowledge, which seems to work perfectly with Mhin’s broad intellect. In readings, the Hermit is a sign to take a break for contemplation and self reflection, to seek guidance from within.

Within the Rider-Waite deck (arguably the most well known deck of Tarot), the lantern he holds shelters a light in the shape of the Star of Solomon — a symbol found in many religions and beliefs, but also used and found in alchemy. As Mhin has the strongest link to alchemy as we’ve seen so far, this makes sense for them.

XIV Temperance

The fourteenth card of the deck, Temperance represents moderation, balance, and patience. It is one of the three cardinal Virtues of the deck, and by far the most peaceful. In many decks, the central figure is a winged angel, androgynous in presentation. It is heavily associated with Abrahamic religion and the bibles. Kuras the angel would fight right in.

Temperance is ruled by the planet Jupiter, King of the Gods. Jupiter is associated with many things — morality, mentorship, and faith are some. These are all words we could attribute to Kuras in some way or another. Red Spring Studios gave him the title of Divine Teacher — “an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge.” This card represents balance and duality, but also the calm in the eye of the storm. We know Kuras as a calm and steadfast individual, but he has equally been described as “a harbinger of chaos and ruin.” It is in this balance that we find Temperance.

XV The Devil

Another one whose assigned card seems almost too obvious. However first we must know — the Devil card is not solely associated with evil and wrongdoing. It has a variety of meanings, covering the taboo and shadow self, and feeling restricted and wanting or needing to break free. Both of these could be applied to Vere.

First, the shadow self. This is the wild or untamed side of ourselves that exist within all of us. It can reflect upon addiction, depression, secrecy, obsession, or any seemingly negative or shameful aspects. In many ways, Vere is the most (openly, at least) ‘untamed’ love interest in the game. He speaks openly on these subjects, provoking and bringing light to the taboo and shameful parts of the self. Reversed, the card speaks to revelling in chaos — another thing Vere seems to enjoy. The devil may also be linked to sexuality, lust, passion, and pleasure, which we see Vere is also undeniably open with. He’s flirtatious to the point that MC mistakes him as working for one of the brothels, and his chains resemble something closer to bondage than shackles. Not only this, but in the trailer we see hands sensually caressing his body.

Secondly, the Devil reflects upon feeling trapped or restrained. It is ruled by Saturn (Kronos in Greek Mythology), who represents limitation and confinement. We know Vere is a prisoner of the Senobium, and has been for a very long time — “Centuries ago, the Senobium bound a wicked beast with a magic collar, sealing his powers and forcing his obedience.” He’s kept on a short leash, one which he wishes to break free of.

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