callme-sarge - Tumblr blog

callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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unattainable

dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader

the reader and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

warnings: SMUT (unprotected vaginal sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation & praise kink), age gap (19-early 20s x late 30s early 40s), inappropriate relationships, cheating, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, gratuitous smut

this came out a lot softer than intended, whoops

You’ve had a rough fucking day. And that’s to put it lightly.

You woke up after sleeping through your alarm, twice, making you miss an online morning class and wildly late for another. The local brewery was all out of your usual order- which was the only thing that would’ve brought you peace. To make matters even worse, your phone died when you needed it most, and when your boyfriend; who you’ve been dating for over a year- handed you his cellphone to use instead, you were slapped in the face by sexually charged text messages between him and one of your closest friends. And all of that is just a brief summary.

Really, the last thing you needed was a stack of work given to you by your employer to do on your time off, but of course, that’s what you were given.

You’re sat at your kitchen island, home alone; your parents excusing themselves for a much needed date night, clad in nothing but panties and a shirt you had gotten at a concert years before, which was the only size they had left— a size too large for your frame.

The sound of the front door opening collides with your incessant tapping of keys, making you almost jump out of your skin. A relief washes over you when you see a familiar face, dressed for the fall weather and dropping a plastic bag by your side.

“Your dad home?” Bucky asks, almost grunting.

“No,” You say, turning to face him, “What’s in the bag?”

“Bread.” He says, opening it and showing you the round object wrapped in tinfoil. Bucky’s always been a good cook; at least when it comes to dough and grain. Your mother always insists he brings over extras when he bakes, and he always obliges, basking in her admiration for his skills.

When you reach to unwrap it, he slaps your hand away, making you yelp. “Hands off. This is for dinner.”

“Asshole,” You mumble, rubbing your now slightly irritated hand. You’re not usually like this— usually happy to see him, happy to see a warm, non familial face around the house to bring you conversation. But with a day like today, all chivalry is out the window.

“Hey,” He says, eyebrows raised. Despite his surprise, his voice remains calm. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I just don’t like getting slapped, surprisingly.”

“Don’t be a brat.” He says, voice stern and stabbing. He’s got his glare set on you, towering; it almost scares you, almost makes your heart drop to your stomach.

You don’t respond, instead opting to avert your gaze, placing your attention to the work on your computer and the splitting ache in your head and heart.

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice calmer, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” You breathe, barely audible.

Your reply makes Bucky tsk, shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “You’re lying. Talk to me.”

You swallow, harsh and rough in your throat. You can barely help the way your lip quivers. Every piece of text on your computer is nothing but a blur, a mindless space of pixels that’s clouding your head. You’re almost staring past it, but desperate for a way to not look at him— because you know if you do, it will just make everything worse.

“I’m just having a bad day.” Your voice is soft. Fragile. Barely there.

You feel his hand rubbing your arm, trying to bring you as much comfort as he can. He can’t take your stress away, he knows that, but he just wants to put it to rest for now.

“What happened, hun?”

The nickname strikes through your chest, but simultaneously covering you in warmth. “I just…” You can barely speak without choking, “It’s just one of those days where everything goes fucking wrong. I wake up too late, I miss my classes, get berated by teachers who don’t understand that I can’t control how my body works— and then I can’t even get food in my stomach, let alone a fucking coffee. My parents wouldn’t call me back all day, wouldn’t even lend me a text, and Chase can’t be there for me because he’s too busy sending photos of his dick to other girls!”

“Hold on,” Bucky jets, tightening his grip on your arm, “What was that last part?”

“Chase?” You ask, eyes watery. Bucky nods. “I- He’s- He was texting- sexting my friend, Chloe.”

Bucky’s eyebrows tighten in a furrow, thumb stroking your bare skin. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

“No, I just…” You breathe in, trying to catch your breath from the four mile sprint of a monologue you just did, “I haven’t had time for him lately, y’know? I’ve been busy with my job, and-and school, we haven’t done anything in weeks, and y’know- he has needs. I don’t- blame him, I wasn’t- I wasn’t there.”

“What?” Bucky bellows, voice rising. You jump at the loudness, before he brings you back down with his grip. “Is that what he told you?”

You nod. Bucky sighs.

“Listen, I’m… I’m gonna give you some advice.” He says. “Take it from me. I’m a lot older than you, and I’ve had a fair share of weak moments- but never, ever would I think it’s okay to go behind a woman’s back just because I’m not gettin’ any. That’s fucking cowardice. If a guy ever tells you it’s your fault he cheated on you, run in the other direction.”

“He didn’t cheat on me,” You hiccup, “They didn’t do anything, they-they were just texting.”

“Did he say that, too?”

You pause, staring at him- before nodding.

“That’s bullshit. He went behind your back with someone else. That’s cheatin’.”

You bite your lip, not hard enough to break skin, adverting your eyes from his gaze. You let the words sink in, let them fill you, let them sit in your body for now. He’s right, and you know he is, but it’s hard for you to admit to yourself. It’s how you’ve always been treated by men. It’s how you’ve always experienced love. It’s how everything has always been.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head, huh?”

You laugh, breathy and broken, “I’m just… I feel like a shitty girlfriend.”

“Don’t say that shit,” Bucky has your face in his hand, pulling your gaze back to his. He’s staring at you with those steel eyes, intense in gaze; like they’re reading your thoughts. “He has a right hand for a reason.”

That makes you laugh. The sound of your giggle makes him laugh, his dimpled smile covering his features.

“I’m serious, okay? Don’t do that for yourself. He’s the asshole.”

“Yeah,” You sniffle, “He is.”

Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you look away, taken over by a soft gleam he’s had for a while now.

“I shouldn’t be crying over a guy who thinks eating pussy is gross,” You laugh, wiping your slightly teared cheeks with your palms.

“What?” Bucky’s gawking, almost comedically, “Gross?”

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“Far from it.”

You smile weakly, only one corner of your mouth turning upward. You attempt to move back to your work, before he grips your arm again, pulling your gaze back.

“You sounded surprised,” He notes, “Has every guy you’ve ever dated thought that?”

“Uh…” You chew on your bottom lip, staring down at your lap, “Yeah.”

The silence that follows is almost deafening. Bucky’s seen you with a couple guys- seen the boys you bring home to meet your folks, boys who pull up in your driveway and great you with a rough kiss. The thought alone that you’ve just been taken without getting is enough to tighten his shoulders— a pretty little thing like you, perfect ass in tight panties— it’s insane to him. Insane that no ones taken advantage in the right way.

“So,” He tuts, “You’ve never had anyone eat you out before?”

The question surprises the shit out of you. Sure, you’ve had raunchy conversations with him— but they’ve all been shitty jokes followed by “if you tell your parents I joke with you like this, I’ll kill you”. He’s always been the soft, teddy bear next door with a potty mouth, careful to not overstep boundaries or get into you personally. He’s never even asked about the boys you’ve brought around, or pointed out the actors you ogle in movies. It’s always been behind a wall.

“No.”

He hums, deep in his throat, bringing one of his fingers to lift your chin. He’s got his gaze fixated on your mouth, nostrils flaring with his heavy breaths. “D’ya wanna know what it feels like?”

Your heart drops down into your stomach, falling into an ashy pit. Your breathing gets harder, thicker, your thighs clenching at the very suggestion— he’s always been the guy your friends have joked about being too hot for his own good, being a tease for remaining so forbidden. You’ve never said anything, never spoke a peep, knowing that if you admitted anything to yourself it would become real. He would become real. Instead of your dads friend who comes by with pastries, he’d turn into the man you stare at by swimming pools, praying he’s catching glimpses of how your ass looks in your swimsuit. And you had never been ready for that immature, young schoolgirl crush.

“What’re you saying?” Your voice is breathy, whispering. His free hand lays wait on your waste, itching to move down, tangled with the fabric of your shirt.

“Gonna ask you somethin’, and you can always say no, get up ‘n leave. Tell me to fuck off.” He says, still staring at your mouth, still holding onto you, “Can you get up ‘n bend over for me?”

Oh fuck. Suddenly every wall, every rule you’ve made with yourself, every illusion of unattainability comes crashing down, falling apart like bricks. If you weren’t clenching your thighs tight before, you are now.

You don’t even respond. With a heavy breath, you stand up, and he follows behind, moving back to give you room. You pause, letting yourself breathe— before placing your hands on the cold marble of the countertop, letting yourself bend down.

You can hear the shaky breath Bucky lets out, hear him fumbling to move behind you. The feeling of his hands on your hips almost makes you jolt. He moves you to where he wants you, before pulling you up, bracing your back flat against his chest.

“Listen to me,” He says, speaking into your ear, voice soft. “If you don’t want me to do this, just tell me, okay? Not doin’ anything you don’t want me to.”

You nod, but don’t move. With your silent consent, he pushes you back down, laying you flat against the island. He hooks a prosthetic finger into your panties, pulling them slowly down your legs, letting you step out of them.

“Mmm,” He hums, letting himself fall down to his knees. He’s staring up at your pussy, glistening with your arousal, profited by his very presence. He slides a finger through your drenched folds, making you twitch, rubbing your slit from top to bottom in an experimental test.

The first slide of his tongue in your folds is heavenly. It has you keening, legs trying to move away, but he keeps you there with a tight grip of his hands. He’s wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking lightly, finger teasing your hole with wide circles.

“Oh fuck,” You’re moaning, head falling forward and eyes rolling back. It’s different from anything else, better than anything else— and he’s got you stuck, manhandling you the way he wants you. The way he knows is best for you.

When he slides his fingers in, you clench hard, making him moan around your cunt. The vibrations send a jolt of pleasure up your spine, leaving you whining- whimpering against the granite.

With him switching from sucking your clit, to fucking your hole with his tongue— it’s not long before you feel the build up deep in your core, spinning wildly towards your finish. You’re grinding against his face, practically smothering him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, with the way he’s moaning, whining against your soaked pussy, you’d say he fucking loves it.

Then, you’re cumming, drenching his face with your wetness, his face buried deeper than you thought possible. It leaves your legs twitching.

As you come down, he goes up, fingers still sliding inside of your cunt as he pulls you back up towards him. With you leaning back against his chest, he leans down to your ear:

“You know why I’m doin’ this?” He asks, fingers still gliding inside of you, overstimulating you in the best way, “Cause you drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

You’re gasping, gripping his arms tight, his thumb flicking and rubbing your sensitive nub, fingers pounding away at that spongey spot deep inside your core.

“Every time I come in here,” He grunts, “You’re dressed like this. Tight ass in those fuckin’ panties, beautiful legs— you have no idea what you do to me. Your dad would kill me, if he knew what I was thinkin’, if he knew how I hard I fucked my fist thinkin’ about his sweet little girl. How bad I wanna stuff her cunt full, watch the way she cums— just wanna treat her right. Cause you deserve it, honey, you fuckin’ do. Tired of watching you get pushed around by little boys who don’t know nothin’ about making you happy. Just wanna see you happy, wanna see you satisfied. Wanna see you get what you need. What you deserve.”

“Please,” You beg, eye’s shut tight, “Buck, please fuck me, please.”

It has him gasping, breath fluttering. “I can’t, honey, this is about you.”

“Please.” You’re practically crying. “Please, I need your cock so fucking bad, please— I need you to fill me up, want you to fuck me so good, Bucky, please!”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, grinding his already throbbing cock against your bare ass, “Fuck!”

You hear him fumbling with his belt, the clinking of metal filling up the murderous silence. He pulls up behind you, gripping your hips, before stopping—

“Fuck,” He stops, “Don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” You don’t have time for this. You’re practically dripping arousal onto the floor, clenching around nothing, cunt desperate for his cock. “You can cum inside me, you can do whatever you want, please just fuck me.”

You’re going to be the fucking death of him, he swears.

The first slide of his cock makes your body twitch. His cock stretches you almost to the point of pain, burying inside you to the hilt with a heavy moan. His balls are heavy against your ass, ready to burst, thrusting shallowly into your cunt out of desperation.

“Fuck,” He moans, “God, your pussy’s so fuckin’ good.”

“Please, move,” You whine, “Just fuck me.”

Bucky places his hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you down against the countertop. After he places himself just right, he starts snapping into you, deep and hard.

You’re reeling, moaning against the marble, the slapping of skin on skin filling up your ears. You can hear him moaning, grunting about how good you feel, precum dripping down in your inner walls.

“Oh god,” Bucky’s grunting, thrusts getting faster. “God, yeah, stay just like that for me. Let me fuck that pretty cunt, fuck, lemme fill you.”

“Yes, yes,” You’re moaning like you’re being paid, gripping the counter so hard your nails change color, “Please, please fuck me— fuck, harder, please, Bucky.”

The sound of your moans have him desperate. He feels feral, uncontrollable, unable to stop how recklessly he fucks you. He lifts your leg up, pulling his arm underneath it as leverage to fuck you deeper. You’re both colliding in a symphony of moans, the sounds of your pleasure so loud you know the neighbors can hear.

“This what you wanted?” Bucky slaps your ass, watching as the flesh jiggles underneath his thrusts, “This what you were begging for? A thick cock in your tight little pussy? Fuck, how shitty those boys fuckin’ treated you, leavin’ you this desperate for cock, practically fuckin’ drooling against the counter. Fuck, take it like that, honey, you’re takin’ it so fucking good for me.”

Your moans are practically incoherent at this point. You’re blabbering, unable to keep your mouth shut, desperately humping yourself back against him when he moves to rub at your clit.

“So fuckin’ cock hungry,” Bucky laughs, “What would daddy think of you?”

When you clench around him, he knows he’s got you with his words. “Yeah? What would daddy think about his sweet girl getting pounded in his own kitchen? Begging to be fucked by the only man who’s ever gonna fuckin’ treat her right?”

“I’m a- I’m a slut,” You moan, broken.

“Oh god, yeah you are.” Bucky pulls you up, putting your leg down and pressing you against him by your throat. “But you’re my fuckin’ slut. Don’t wanna see anymore boys around here— the only cock you’re gettin’ is mine, okay? Only cock that can make you feel this good.”

“I’m gonna cum again,” You whine, grabbing onto the hand thats wrapped around your throat. “I’m gonna cum, please.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” He moans, fucking you harder, faster, “Cum around this cock, baby, fuckin’ claim it. C’mon, be a good girl and cum.”

The orgasm rips through you hard, your moans turning into screams as he fucks you through it. You can barely make out his praise, the way he’s commending you for coming around him. The chord snap is almost painful, almost has you trying to run away from it, but the feeling of your orgasm running through your core is enough to have you crying.

“Oh god, here it fuckin’ comes, baby,” Bucky moans, eyes shut tight, panting breaths against your skin, “Gonna cum so fucking hard, I’m fuckin’ shaking,”

You’re begging him for it, pleading for him to cum inside you, fill you up—

With one hard thrust deep inside you, he lets out a loud yell, cum filling you up deep inside your body. He’s shivering, humping desperately against your ass as he rides it out, light moans escaping his lips.

The aftermath of it scares you. You can feel reality set in as he slides his cock out, cum dripping down your leg and onto the tiled floor.

Before you can let your thoughts sink in, he’s grabbing you by the chin, pulling you to face him. He captures your mouth in a kiss, tongue finding its way in your mouth, passion setting in heavier than anything else. You moan against his mouth, letting him groan, pulling you against him by your waist.

When he pulls away, he’s followed by a string of saliva— one of the many things connecting the both of you.

“If you ever need anythin’,” Bucky says, using his thumb to wipe up the spit on your chin, “Just ask me. I’ll give you everything.”

“Can you-“ You stutter, embarrassment flooding you at how exposed you are, “Can you help me clean up, please?”

He smiles at the politeness you still give him even after all of that. Bucky turns you around to face him, before sliding down to his knees on the floor.

“I didn’t mean like that!”

“Mmm,” He hums, grin plastered on his face, “But I prefer to do it this way.”

#fic rec

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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I re-blogged this (the first time) in 2014. Today, I tried half a dozen times to re-blog it, and it wouldn’t work. So, I saved the images and re-posted it. I hope it helps make life a little easier. :-) The original post is by iraffiruse.

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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Hi, guys!

As you may know, I am Ukrainian. I live in Kyiv. I have lived here since I was born and I love my country with my whole heart.

I see a lot of misinformation under the tag "Ukraine". Most of it comes from American people, who try to explain the conflict in their own words. They can't. It's impossible to explain if you haven't lived here. There are too many influences on this conflict. You keep looking from an american perspective, which is not crucial in understanding the conflict.

For example, have you ever had you language forbidden? Like straight up forbidden by the law? It happened to Ukrainian language a lot of times thought our history. And who did it? The Russian Empire. And it's not the end of it. The genocides, the assimilation, the deportation. Have you even researched Ukrainian history?

You do not uplift Ukrainian voices enough. And you should if you care about what's happening. If you don’t do it, you're just doing a performance of your support and activism.

Lucky for you, I am a Ukrainian person! And I am DYING TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS. I scored 191/200 points on my graduation exam in history, so you can suppose I know something about Ukrainian history.

If you stand for Ukraine, uplift Ukrainian voices. Educate yourself. Learn Ukrainian history. Ask Ukrainian people

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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Say hello to mechanically separated chicken. It’s what all fast-food chicken is made from—things like chicken nuggets and patties. Also, the processed frozen chicken in the stores is made from it. Basically, the entire chicken is smashed and pressed through a sieve—bones, eyes, guts, and all. it comes out looking like this. There’s more: because it’s crawling with bacteria, it will be washed with ammonia, soaked in it, actually. Then, because it tastes gross, it will be reflavored artificially. Then, because it is weirdly pink, it will be dyed with artificial color. But, hey, at least it tastes good, right? High five, America!

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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Geraskier Incorrect Quotes [11/∞] (insp. @valdomarx) [Jaskier forgives but he does not forget edition]

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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🥳 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN WINCHESTER! 🥳

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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Take the edge off

Summary: One night, you discover Bucky has a peculiar way of dealing with stress - so you decide to help him find a better solution.

(It’s sex. Sex is the solution.)

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only (oral sex, sex in a bar), language, some fluff and a hint of angst, shirtless Bucky beating the crap out of someone, Sam being a soft snack, Wade Wilson being himself.

A/N: WELL HELLO AGAIN. Been forever since I posted a fic, but some words finally poured out! So anyway, the thought of getting all sexy with a cocky, sweaty, bruised and shirtless Bucky a la Fight Club is making me have all the feelings. Enjoy the feelings with me.

“Nah man, this is crap. You said you didn’t want any food. Your exact words were ‘I’m not hungry Sam, just get your cheeseburger and hurry the fuck up,’ so not only are you a liar who ate all my fries, you gotta put five dollars in the swear jar.”

“I hate that fucking swear jar.”

“That’s ten dollars.”

“Fuck you.”

“Keep going and you’ll pay for my new Xbox.”

Licking salt off his fingers, Bucky grumbles under his breath as he pushes open the front door of their apartment, flipping on lights as he goes. Sam slogs behind, kicking off dirty boots and throwing his duffel bag and shield on the kitchen island with a dramatic groan.

“I hate this part of the job. Should I should clean it all tonight, or..." he trails off, glaring at the mud caked bag. He answers himself immediately. "Yeah no. I’ll deal with it tomorrow, I’m done with everything today.” Turning to Bucky, he fixes him with a pointed stare. “What about you? You're going to bed, right? Or you gonna be that guy who cleans everything and writes his report right away so I feel like a slacker? I hate when you pull that crap, some of us actually need sleep you know.”

Bucky fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. Same. I’m going to bed. Soon.”

Sam eyes him suspiciously.

“I know that voice. That’s your liar voice. Same one you used when you promised not to eat my fries. Are you - “ Bucky bristles and Sam sighs. “Of course you are. Seriously?”

Ducking into the refrigerator, Bucky digs through the packed shelves until he unearths a monster sized energy drink. He gulps it down in three swallows.

“Yes, seriously,” he says tersely. “It makes me feel better. I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

“Man, I’m not asking you to apologize, I’m just saying.”

Crumpling up the empty can, Bucky chucks it into the overflowing blue container labeled RECYCLING ONLY!!!! in Sam’s careful cursive. He says nothing. They’ve been here before.

“I know. You’re always just saying.”

“Sometimes you’re the worst,” Sam says flatly. “Just a reminder, if you call me again in the middle of the night and I have to come pick you up, I will dropkick you in the nuts.”

With that, he trudges toward the hallway, heading for his room. Bucky leans over the island and calls after him.

“You going with roses or lavender tonight?”

“Actually it’s the cotton candy one you got me for Christmas,” Sam hollers back. “It makes me smell like a snack and I like that. So goodnight and go fuck yourself.”

“Swear jar!”

The sound of Sam’s laughter fades as he bangs his door shut. Alone now, Bucky takes a deep breath, counting slowly in his head.

Standing in his bright, cheerful kitchen, all those flashbacks of gunshots and explosions should be fading. He has more than enough combat training to know how to tune out the bad and focus on the good. And normally he’d pop an extra strength sleeping pill, call it a night, and pass out under his favorite feather quilt.

But there was something about this mission that was agitating. More than usual. He feels that familiar energy skittering under his skin and he knows. He has enough experience with his own fucked up brain to know it won’t disappear unless he does something about it.

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters.

Scrubbing a frustrated hand down his face, he decides to throw on a fresh shirt before he goes. Not that it matters, it’ll be sweat stained and blood splattered soon enough, but it makes the process feel less like a suicide mission and more like a ritual. The illusion makes a difference.

He hurries down the hallway, feeling immensely grateful your work trip was extended, so you’re not here to witness this idiocy. He still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you this particular vice.

Nudging open his bedroom door, tosses his coat on a chair and starts to strip off his shirt, but then he sees it.

Something is wrong.

The room is empty, but his bedside lamp is shining bright, bathing his messy bedroom in a warm yellow glow.

Something is definitely wrong.

Since Sam spent three hours last month berating him for their sky-high electricity bill, Bucky’s made damn sure to turn off every light the moment he leaves any room, because Sam and his soapbox are exhausting. He checked all the lights before they left. Every single one. He definitely turned this off.

The pile of blankets on his bed begins to move.

Bucky silently shuts the door and drops into a low crouch, drawing a curved blade from his boot. Knife tight in hand, he inches closer.

A familiar face pops up from under the blankets, rubbing tired eyes.

“Bucky? Is that you?”

The knife drops with a clatter and Bucky huffs a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. Climbing onto the bed, he presses a kiss to your forehead, inhaling the light scent of your peach moisturizer.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you scared the hell out of me. What’re you doing here? Thought you were gone another two days?”

“Came home early,” your voice is low, raspy with sleep. “But I'm all kinds of jet lagged, timezones can kiss my ass. How was your mission?”

Bucky smoothes his thumb across your cheek. That jittery feeling briefly fades at the touch of your warm skin and he thinks longingly of crawling in bed and wrapping himself around you. He shakes his head, desperate to force himself off this weird precipice, but the energy pulses again.

“Mission was fine,” he lies softly. “I’m just gonna shower and finish a few things, and then I’ll come to bed. Okay?”

Eyes already fluttering closed, you snuggle into the blankets and steal one his pillows, offering one last sleepy smile.

“Okay. Hurry though, won’t stay awake long.”

Bucky leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, but you're already asleep. He whispers in your ear.

“I'll be back soon.”

*****

When you wake, the room is dark. Beside you, where Bucky should be, the sheets are cold. Struggling to sit up, you peer into the dark corners of the room.

“Bucky? Where are you?”

Tiptoeing to the bathroom, you flip on the lights. The space is empty, everything in order: toothbrushes in place, the jar of cottonballs packed full, Bucky’s expensive shampoo beside your body wash. Towels are folded over the rack, crisp edges hanging straight. When you brush your fingers over his plush green towel, you notice it’s bone dry.

Confused, you wander out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. The dim glow of streetlights outside throws sharp shadows across the wall and as you step onto the balcony, you expect to find him nursing a whiskey or stealing a smoke or reading a book. Something.

Nothing.

This isn’t completely out of the ordinary. Now and then, when the thoughts start swirling, he wanders out for a walk, letting the night air and the concrete heartbeat of Manhattan work it's magic. But normally, he kisses you awake and begs you to come with him. He never leaves without telling you.

As much as you hate being that person, you can’t help the ripple of nerves. Creeping down the hall, you decide to knock on another door.

“Sam. Sam. Are you awake?”

There’s a faint thud and a metallic clang, followed by a string of muffled curses. A moment later, the door swings open revealing a bleary eyed and fully naked Sam Wilson.

“God dammit Bucky, I broke my toe again, what do you - oh shit. Shit, hi. Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Shit.”

Fumbling behind the door, Sam grabs the red, white, and blue shield and hurriedly covers himself.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you, I didn’t mean to see your, um, your - stuff. Your, you know. Your goods,” you babble, voice ratcheting up. “Anyway. Yeah. Um, I was just wondering if you might have any idea where Bucky might be?”

“My goods? What the hell, way to make it awkward,” Sam chuckles. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know where he is, but - didn’t you talk to him before he left?”

“Kind of, but I was mostly asleep. He said he was coming right to bed.”

There’s no surprise from Sam, only resignation. Leaning against the doorframe, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Of course he did. So listen, I’m gonna level with you here and if he has a problem with that, he can deal.” He pauses for a moment, choosing the words. “You know how sometimes after a really rough mission, there’s shit just bouncing around in your head? Like some crazy adrenaline rush you can’t ignore? Well sometimes you gotta find a way to deal or it fucks with your head. Make sense?”

“Of course. Decompression tactics.”

“Exactly. So anyway, we all got these routines to stay sane. Me, I like scented bubble baths and sleeping naked.” He gestures vaguely at his bare chest and the strategically placed shield. “Wanda bakes. Natasha eats Skittles and shoots things. Everyone’s different. Whatever your brain wants you to do, you listen. Except Steve, I guess. We try not to listen to Steve.”

“Why?”

“Steve likes to karaoke.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Sam sets his mouth in a grim line. “He doesn’t sing, he raps. And he has dance moves. He’s like a bargain basement Eminem.”

“Yikes.”

“Yep.”

“So, Bucky’s off decompressing? Why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

Part of Sam thinks you should ask Bucky yourself, but the other part - the part that grudgingly likes Bucky Barnes even though he’s a dumbass lacking basic self-preservation skills - feels like he should spill the tea.

“I guarantee he’ll be back in a few hours, he always is, but since he has some personal shit driving his little ritual, I’ll tell you where to find him just in case.”

And so you listen solemnly as Sam explains. When he's done, you can't decide if you want to hug Bucky or smack him in the head.

“Thanks Sam," you sigh. "I’ll go find him. Make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Good luck with that. If you figure out how, I could use some tips.”

Sam steps back to close the door, but you stop him.

“Wait. Since I can smell the bubble bath on you, can I just check - are you okay? Do you need anything?”

At your concern, a slow smile tugs his lips. He nods.

“I’m okay. But thanks for asking. I mean it.”

Keeping the lower half of your body demurely away from the shield and naked Sam, you gingerly lean in to give him a one armed hug. A sugary scent wafts off his skin, so sweet it makes your teeth ache.

“Is that cotton candy?”

“It’s delicious right? Now get outta here, before I tell Barnes you were trying to peep on my goods.”

*****

Down a dark street on the Lower East Side, there’s a nondescript black door beside a vacant laundromat. Tacked on the brick beside the door is a dingy brass plaque, with the surname of some long-forgotten tenant etched in barely legible letters. Rubbing your thumb over the thin metal, you can feel the letters spell out a word.

K-u-l-a-k.

While your Russian is not as fluent as Bucky’s, sounding out the letters under your breath is enough to let you know you’re in the right place.

Kulak. Rough translation?

The Fist.

Glancing around the empty street, your fingers find the smooth brick four down and two across, before giving it a firm push. It pops out, revealing a black keypad. Punching in the eight-digit code Sam shared, the door clicks and slides silently open. Slipping inside, you see a rickety looking elevator and before you can talk yourself out this insane excursion, you punch the round black button, step inside, and hold your breath.

With a whoosh, it plummets. Faster and faster it falls, until you feel the odd vibration of rumbling metal beneath your feet. It sounds like a heavy bass beat, the feel of a thousand drums tickling through your toes, crawling up your legs, banging in your chest.

The elevator bumps to a stop.

When the doors open, the sound knocks you back like a physical blow.

The cavernous room resembles an underground warehouse, exposed metal beams twisting along the ceiling like the ribs of some giant beast, layers of mesh wire adorning the walls. Down one side of the room, a long bar takes up the entire wall, hundreds of liquor bottles illuminated by coils of neon lights.

On the opposite wall is a massive tournament bracket. Names, rankings, and win-loss records are listed out, betting odds outlined beneath each.

Bewildered, you scan the list of names until you see it, listed under the ELITE division:

BARNES RANK: 1 W-L: 4-0 ODDS: 2:1

“Bucky, what the fuck,” you mutter.

In the middle of the room, a wide space is roped off into a square ring. Assembled around the barrier, crowds of people are screaming and cheering, stomping their feet, sucking in a collective breath, as some gruesome scene plays out before them.

Elbowing through the throngs of people, you duck under pumping fists, cringing when you rub against the sweaty armpit of one very enthusiastic, very hairy man. By the time you reach the edge of the ring, you’re covered in sticky spilled cocktails and sour beer. Gripping the rough black rope, you lean forward, finally discovering why everyone is going crazy.

Bucky stands in the center of the ring, dressed in a white shirt and black jeans, worn combat boots on his feet. His right hand is wrapped with wide strips of white tape, stained rusty red and his face is a patchwork of bruises - purple-blue along his jaw, a shiner ringing his eye - and blood oozes from his busted lip. When he rakes a hand through his hair, it stands up in messy, sweaty spikes.

Bouncing on his toes, he dances around the ring, his eyes wild and bright. Before him is a lanky man covered in freckles, sporting an electric blue buzzcut, and hissing at Bucky with unconcealed rage. Locking eyes with the man, Bucky casually wipes away the blood on his mouth and flicks it at him.

And then he grins. That cocky, wise-ass, bullshit smirk that is equal parts adorable and so infuriating even you want to punch him sometimes.

A piercing siren blares.

Blue Buzzcut launches himself at Bucky, fists swinging. Bucky ducks almost lazily, before returning a punishing gut punch and an elegant uppercut that lifts the man off his feet. He flies backward, hitting the ground with a heavy groan and Bucky keeps dancing in place, waiting for him to rise. The man crawls shakily to his knees, before collapsing with a groan.

Knockout. Less than 30 seconds.

The crowd goes ballistic.

The siren blares again and Bucky raises a victorious fist in the air, before sauntering off to his corner. Gulping down a bottle of water, he flexes his fingers, examining the bloody tape and ignoring the mob of voices chanting his name.

“Barnes! Barnes! Barnes! Barnes!”

Bucky jumps in place a few times, shakes out his arms and cracks his knuckles. He grabs another bottle of water and takes a long drink, before dumping the rest down the back of his neck. And because he tends to be excessively theatrical even on a normal day, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it behind him with all the flair of a professional stripper.

The crowd goes completely, utterly, and totally insane.

From your vantage point across the ring, you see the smallest curl of a smile, before he smothers it down with a snarl. Rolling his shoulders back, he sinks naturally into a fighting stance and waggles his fingers, beckoning the next fighter.

“Come on, big boy,” he calls. “Let’s see it!”

Gripping the rope, you watch a black haired giant slowly enter the ring. Covered in red and black tattoos and at least seven feet tall, he towers over Bucky. Wrapped around his hands, you see a wicked set of bloodstained brass knuckles.

“Okay, listen up you bunch of drunk degenerates!”

The snarky voice booms through the room and you turn your head to see a familiar figure perched in a chair high above the melee. Dressed in red and black spandex, his face covered by a mask, Wade Wilson sounds positively gleeful narrating the show.

“Here he is, straight from the cold ass fucking streets of Moscow, give a big round of applause to this badass motherfucker who goes by - wait, seriously? Dagger? Dude, that's the name you picked? What the fuck's wrong with you? Jesus Christ. Alright, well his name is real fucking stupid, but he looks like he could eat your fucking face, so anyway, Dagger's gonna give our boy Barnes here a run for his money. Fists up, you crazy assholes, these people came here to see some motherfucking blood and guts, so FIGHT!”

There’s the shriek of the siren and both men step forward, quick as lightning. Dagger starts with a flurry of short jabs, and Bucky knocks down every hit with nonchalant ease, the gold vines in his vibranium arm glittering under the neon lights. His grin grows wider.

Dagger keeps punching, his frustration growing with every missed hit. His swings get progressively wilder, until he overreaches and stumbles sideways. Bucky twists gracefully aside and begins to laugh, eyes dancing merrily as he glances toward the crowd.

And somehow in that crushing madness, with hundreds of screaming fans - his eyes land on you.

The laughter dies instantly. Shock flashes through his face, eyes growing wide and panicked. He freezes on the spot and in the middle of a bloody fight, that hesitation becomes a very painful problem.

Dagger swings again and this time, Bucky takes a brass-knuckled fist square in the face.

The momentum behind the punch sends him sprawling and he hits the floor hard, breath punched from his lungs. Rolling away, Bucky avoids a boot to the head, and scrambles back to his feet, backpedaling around the ring to where you stand. Dagger beats his chest and faces the screaming crowd with a triumphant roar.

Blood pouring from his nose, Bucky leans into the rope barrier, yelling above the noise.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I was looking for you!” You shout. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dagger turns back to face him, snorting and bellowing like a bull in a ring. Bucky grimaces.

“Ah fuck. Listen, can I just - can I finish this first and then we talk? I’ll make it fast, I swear.”

Throwing your hands in the air, you wave him away.

“Go! Just please try not to get your ass beaten!”

Relieved, Bucky nods frantically and dashes back into the fray.

With the knowledge of you waiting behind him, he spits a mouthful of blood at Dagger’s feet and barrels back into the fight with a vicious sneer. Whirling and ducking, he lands three quick hits in rapid succession, short and sharp to the belly, but it’s his right cross that seals the deal. Dagger spins away, blood spraying the crowd, and lands spreadeagled.

Out cold.

The siren blares one more time and the crowd howls their delight, stomping and clapping as another 'W' is added on the bracket next to BARNES.

Snatching up a towel, Bucky wipes his face and waves at the announcer stand.

“I’m done Wade, I’m out! Pull me off!”

“What?! God dammit Barnes, you cocksucking piece of shit, I dumped all my fucking money on you!”

Ignoring Wade’s furious shrieking, Bucky flips him off and jogs back toward you, hopping over the rope barricade. He lands at your side and you grab hold of his sweat slick arm.

“Bucky, what in the world -“

“Hang on,” he interrupts. Curving an arm tight around your waist, he steers you through the crush of people. All around, unknown hands slap his back, his shoulder, his arm, shouting congratulations and insults and even a few marriage proposals, but he ignores everything. Guiding you to a dimly lit hallway, he shoves open a heavy door, pulling you inside a small bathroom before flipping the lock. The noise is instantly muffled.

He moves to the sink and flips the facet full blast, splashing icy water on his face, rubbing away drying blood from rapidly healing wounds. He squints at his reflection in the dirty mirror and sighs irritably at his now crooked nose. Placing three fingers on either nostril, he snaps the bones back in place with a pained grunt. Drying his hands on his jeans, he takes a deep breath and turns back to you, eyes on the floor. There’s a long moment of silence, before he finds the courage to look up.

“Okay, let me have it.”

But of course you can’t. Not when you know why he’s in this club, shoulders slumped, shame in his eyes.

“Buck. I’m not mad at all. You just had me worried, since I had no idea this was something you did…I had to come make sure you were okay.”

Bucky softens at that confession. Longing fills him up, to take away your sadness and never distress you again.

“Thank you for being worried,” he says. “But I’m okay, I promise.”

Gesturing at the cuts and bruises littering his skin, you shake your head. “Are you though? Sam said you had other reasons for coming here. Stuff from your past.”

Taking tentative steps closer, Bucky watches your reaction. You can smell the faint scent of his deodorant, under the tang of sweat and blood.

“I really am okay, sweetheart. But I’m sorry you found out like this, I should've come clean a long time ago.” Bucky frowns, gathering his thoughts. "It all started years ago when I was still with Hydra. There was one handler who had all these - side jobs, I guess. Ways to make money under the table. One night, after this shitty mission in Detroit, he met me at the rendezvous point and I was all over the place. Could barely see straight, the whole thing had set me off. And this guy, he takes one look at me, tells me to get my ass in the car, and he drives to an old warehouse outside the city. I honestly thought he was taking me somewhere to kill me off. Like maybe he figured I wasn’t worth the effort or something. It scared the shit outta me, but I also felt kinda relieved. You know?”

The ghost of a smile flickers. It bruises your heart.

“Buck - “

He shrugs. “Nah, it’s okay. So we get in this rusty elevator and when the doors open, we’re in a basement and it’s just - it’s full of people. Lights and music and shouting. In the middle of the room, there was an area roped off like a boxing ring and these two men were beating the shit out of each other. Punching, kicking, biting. Fucking brutal. There was a bookie taking bets and the handler gave them my name and threw all his money down on me. I won every single round I fought. That was my first fight club, but it wasn’t the last.”

The way Bucky describes it, the Soldier terrified he was about to be executed, only to be thrown into another fight, it sets your blood boiling.

“He made you fight people? Why?”

Bucky smiles at your angry indignation. He adores these little moments when you get protective of him. It makes him feel bright and shiny. Like someone worth protecting.

“Guess he knew I was a sure thing. No one was gonna beat me, no one ever came close. We never went to the same place twice, and I always wore a mask and gloves, so no one knew who I was. I’d blow off some steam and he’d make some money. It was a win-win. And after, I actually felt better. Like I could breathe again. Most of those missions were fucking horrifying, and I'd just - I’d come out of them so jacked up on adrenaline. Once I got in there and worked it off, I felt better.” Bucky grimaces. “I hated going back on ice when I was anxious. It made the nightmares worse. Anyway, then later on there was another new guy, so I suggested a club and it sort of became a ritual I guess.”

“Are you -“ you hesitate, but Bucky nods encouragingly. “Are you angry? Is that why you want to fight?”

“No, no, no, not at all. It isn’t anger, I’m not mad. It’s honestly just stress relief. I work off the energy and then I feel better and go to sleep.”

Relieved, you finally relax. And you start to think.

Bucky stays quiet and nervously chews his thumbnail while you mull over his story. Finally, you reach for the waist of his jeans, hooking a finger in the band and tugging him in. He goes easily.

“Thank you for telling me, Buck. I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, I just felt…stupid. Here you are, this smart, gorgeous, insanely talented woman, and here I am, some dumbass picking illegal fights in a warehouse in the middle of the night.” He grins ruefully. “I didn’t need to remind you that you’re crazy for being with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, you are a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

“I love it when you sweet talk me,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

Even amid all his anxiety and adrenaline, the kiss is slow, his mouth moving leisurely against yours.

Behind you, the door suddenly rattles, startling you apart. Someone starts kicking it , yelling for you to hurry. Bucky slams his fist against the door in retaliation, yelling right back.

“It’s occupied! Fuck off!”

The angry snarl disappears the moment he looks back at you. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he breathes in your ear, voice full of that sweetness he reserves for you alone. He peppers small kisses along your jawline, the corner of your mouth, your nose, your eyelids, before he lands on your lips again. You sink into the delicious pressure once more, before coyly pulling away.

“You know Buck, if you needed to work off your energy, you could've just asked me for help.”

Bucky looks aghast. “Hell no, I'm not asking you. I’ve told you, our wrestling stays in the bedroom. I’m not sparring with you, I’d never forgive myself if something happened.”

Trailing your fingers lightly down his chest, your nails click invitingly when they reach his belt buckle.

“I didn’t mean sparring. There are other ways to work off energy you know.” Fiddling with the belt loops, your hands slide lower, teasing fingers cupping his cock. He sucks in a startled breath when you squeeze. “Did you ever think about that?”

The gears crank in his brain while he attempts to work out your question. Unhelpfully, all the blood in his head rushes south.

“What do you - "

Oh.

Sex. You mean sex.

Sex can burn off energy. Instead of sneaking into illegal clubs, goading enormous rage fueled men into fistfights, and scrubbing dried blood from under his fingernails, he could have been at home. With you. Sweaty and naked. Fucking.

“I never thought about it," he breathes. "Holy shit, I’m a moron.”

Curling a hand behind his neck, you tug him closer.

“I don’t like you fighting Bucky, you do enough of that in the real world. If this is something that makes you feel better, I’ll support it.” Nuzzling against his jaw, you lick a slow path up his neck. He shivers. “But I’d rather you use all your energy on me. Doesn’t that sound like more fun?”

When you nip his ear, he swallows a groan, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Oh god,” he sighs. “Yeah, that’s a better idea. So much better.”

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, Bucky chases your lips, drunk on this new thought. His sweaty body stretches against yours and you can feel him, hard and heavy between your legs. An irresistible idea pops into your head.

“Are you still buzzing now?”

“I am, yeah,” he admits, voice rough. “But now it's 'cause I'm thinking about your sexy ass. Makes me wanna fuck you right here.”

“Then do it. Take the edge off. Then I’ll take you home and finish the job.”

Bucky gapes at the request.

“Wha - here? In here? Are you serious?”

Reaching under your skirt, your fingers hook on the silky band of your underwear, and you slide them down. Tucking them into Bucky’s back-pocket, you slap his ass.

“Your move, Barnes.”

He stares at you, every muscle tense. A dark gleam appears in his eyes and he licks his lips, still unsure. But then he feels you grinding against his cock, whispering for him to touch you, and in the next breath, his mouth slants over yours.

The kiss is wild, tongue and teeth, salt and danger. Delicious.

Breaking away, he sinks to his knees, eager hands sliding up your calves, squeezing your thighs. He shoves your skirt up and pins your hips back against the door, and then his dark head is between your legs. Vibranium fingers tickle up your belly, a firm hand holding you still as he flattens his tongue and licks long, slow strokes up your pussy.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you moan. Shaking hands grab handfuls of his hair, tangling in the damp strands. He growls at the feel.

“Keep pulling my hair, baby. Just like that.”

He nudges your legs wider, sliding a hand up to rub against your core. His tongue tickles your clit, sucking it between his lips and you can’t stop the cry when he pushes two fingers inside your cunt. He thrusts up again and again, driving you onto your toes until you're seeing stars. Grasping his shoulders for leverage, you feel hard muscles straining beneath his flame hot skin.

“Bucky,” you whimper, weak against the onslaught. “Oh god that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, I’m gonna come, Bucky please - “

He moves his hand faster, fingers fucking into you harder. Even with the music blaring outside, you can hear the slick, wet sounds of desire. He answers your desperate plea with one of his own.

“Go on, give it to me. Come on, cum for me.”

That does it, the throaty vibration of his deep voice rumbling against you and suddenly you snap. Knees shaking, you squeeze his head tight between your thighs, yanking a fistful of his hair as you gasp out your orgasm. Bucky growls happily at the feel, his thick fingers gently stroking inside you, while you shiver through the aftershocks.

Breathing hard, you brush the hair back from his forehead. He gazes up at you, that cocky smirk on his lips.

“I thought we were working off your energy, not mine,” you pant.

Bucky turns his face against your thigh and laughs, the brush of stubble along his jaw scratching your skin.

“Couldn’t help myself, I know how good you taste. Been thinking about it all week.”

“You're ridiculous. Now get up here and fuck me,” you urge, cupping his chin. “I want this to be about you. Whatever you need, take it. I’m all yours.”

His face lights up and he pops to his feet, belt buckle clinking, shaky hands fumbling with his zipper. Glancing around the bathroom, he shimmies his pants halfway down his thighs and then grips your thighs, lifting you off your feet. His heavy body presses you tight against the door.

“Don’t touch anything, it’s fucking filthy in here,” he rasps in your ear. “Hang onto me, I won’t let you go.”

He maneuvers your body just right, staring down between you to watch the blunt head of his cock slide teasingly through your slick folds, lubing himself up. Desire crawls up your spine as you watch his expression turn dark and hungry.

“Bucky, please -”

The order fades to a startled gasp when he yanks your hips down, burying himself deep inside.

“Oh god,” he groans, a ragged sigh of pleasure. His mouth searches for a bare space of skin on your neck and he sucks, grounding himself. Clenching your thighs for leverage, he thrusts up. The metal belt buckle slaps your thighs with every sharp jerk of his hips, echoing off the walls. Each thrust is followed by a warm exhalation, a quiet grunt that sends shivers rippling through you.

“You feel good Bucky, you feel so good.” Eyes drift closed and you give yourself up to the feel of Bucky using your body, taking what he needs from the soft, wet heat.

He breaks from mouthing at that comforting space on your neck, licking along your jaw until he takes your mouth in a rough kiss. He bites your lip as he pulls back.

“Look at me,” he pants, hips rolling faster. “Open your eyes. Watch me.”

It’s a herculean effort to drag your eyes open, but the sight of Bucky’s bright blue keeps you locked in place. He watches you intently, his expression a blend of sweet adoration and fierce lust. Pressing his forehead against yours, he thrusts harder, driving his cock deeper. Every slap of his hips jolts your body against the door, tightening the coil in your belly. He brings you right up to the edge, as you drink in the image of this bloodied, bruised, beautiful man.

He has a spectacular bruise blooming down the side of his face, blood still smeared on his cheek, sweat slicking the back of his neck. Beneath your palms, you feel scorching hot skin and taut muscles shifting with every sensuous roll of his body. In that moment, he’s never looked sexier than he does tonight, fucking you in this dingy bathroom with graffiti painting the walls and the neon glow of blue and purple lights illuminating the sharp angles of his body.

This time, the orgasm catches you off guard. Eyes rolling back, you scream out his name and Bucky feels your cunt gripping him, squeezing tight.

“Fuck baby, that’s it,” he grits out. Rough hands grind into your skin harder, harsh thrusts moving faster, as he chases his own pleasure. You feel his heavy cock filling and stretching your aching core, until he chokes out a strangled groan and buries his face against your neck.

In the silence of the bathroom, you can hear the sink dripping, and the buzzing crackle of the fluorescent light. Breathing heavily, Bucky relaxes against you. It takes a minute before he can speak.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says hoarsely. “You’re fucking amazing. God damn.”

He lowers you carefully to your feet, zipping himself up before hurrying to grab a handful of paper towels for you. Reluctantly, he pulls your panties from his back-pocket and returns them.

“Here, you might want these until we get home. But then I want them back later, okay? They're my trophy tonight.”

Laughing, you brush the wrinkles from your skirts.

“Weirdo.”

“Yup.”

With just these few minutes together, he already seems calmer, more peaceful. Rubbing his arm, you tentatively ask.

“So you feel better? That helped?”

“Hell yeah,” he says softly. “Feel much better. It’s different than normal, but like - a nice different.”

“Good,” you say, tenderly kissing his still semi-crooked, swollen nose. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. “For being here, for doing this. For being you.”

“Anytime, Buck.”

Turning toward the door, you straighten your dress and steel yourself for the frenetic crush of people still raging outside, but a question pops in your head. You stop, turning back to him with a serious expression.

“What’s up?”

“Do you think Sam might let us have some of his bubble bath? The cotton candy one? I think we need a detox after - well, after this.” You wave your hands vaguely around the dirty bathroom with a grimace.

Bucky wraps an arm around you and laughs.

“I actually bought myself one too, Sam ain't the only one who likes bubble baths. Let’s go get naked.”

*****

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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a hotter touch, a better…| b.b

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warning(s): Possessive/Jealous Bucky, smut - dirty talk, semi-public

Summary: Bucky and the reader are friends with benefits. After a rooftop party, the reader confronts Bucky about ending their relationship. He does not take it well. Honestly just an excuse to write 2k+ of finger-fucking

Notes: For @valuedabovehoardedgold; the generated prompts were friends with benefits, rooftop, and hate sex (that I changed to be jealous sex). REPOST FROM OLD ACCOUNT.

(gif credit: @coporolight)

Manhattan comes alive at night.

A living, breathing urban jungle stretches far and wide, skyline full of concrete giants reaching for the clouds. Seeing it on high is absolutely breathtaking. The twinkling lights set against the black backdrop of the sky are a stark contrast that catches and calls to the eye.

The steady heartbeat pulses through the streets, echoing in the hearts of everyone who calls the city that never sleeps home. Just look and you’ll find a place for everyone. Even those that are everywhere but from nowhere; wanderers drifting with the tide of life.

After everything that’s happened in the world, Y/N can’t fade back into anonymity like they can. She will never be another civilian. She doesn’t have a ‘regular’ life to go back to. The powers she possesses set her apart. Belonging to something greater, something that can make a real difference in the world. Becoming an Avenger has irrevocably changed some basic, primal part of her being. Standing atop the Tower, gazing down on the city and its people she’s sworn to protect, she knows with a bone-deep certainty that she’ll never get used to a sight like this no matter how long she calls New York home. Its beauty isn’t apparent to everyone but to her, she’s never seen anything quite so magnificent.

“Enjoying the view, doll?”

Hiding her smile, she doesn’t look away from the nightlife. She leans her forearms against the railing circling the rooftop. “Hey Bucky,” she says softly. “Some party, huh?”

“I’ll say.” The super soldier snorts inelegantly, rooting around his jacket for a lighter, a cigarette cushioned between his lips. “Was all of this really necessary?”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Come on now, it’s Stark.” Glancing at her companion, she notes the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the slight quirk of his mouth. “You can’t tell me you didn’t expect something like this?”

Wincing, Bucky shrugs a shoulder and takes a long drag of his cigarette, saying, “That’s a valid point. This is Tony we’re talking about.”

Ruffling a hand through his hair, Bucky tucks some of the locks behind his ear, side-eyeing her. “So…you’ve been acting a bit strange. Anything on your mind that you wanna talk about, Darlin’?”

Of course, he’d notice.

Keep reading

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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Grabbing someone’s chin to call their attention is so powerful. I could dislocate your jaw if I got the right torque. I could slide my hand down and choke you to death. I could snap your neck. It would be so easy. Your head controls your entire body and I control your head.

But I’m not evil, so I would never do any of these things.

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callme-sarge · 3 years ago

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NSFW will be tagged as #lemon sorta NSFW is #Lime Weird fet shit/ extreme NSFW is #orange reblog to spread awareness that we’re back on the citrus scale

291K notes · View notes

callme-sarge · 4 years ago

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Imagine Geralt shaving your legs 🌸SMUT🌸

Word Count: 3,003

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT! 18+, please. Oral, fem receiving, sex, unprotected sex.

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia X FemaleReader

“I felt as though we’d never make it to this blasted Inn.” You mumbled throwing your pack and bow onto the floor as you entered the room, Geralt in tow.

You flopped down onto the bed. Head resting on the feather pillow. Your back, legs, hell every inch ached. You’d been on the road for weeks. Sleeping on the hard earth. The nights we’re getting longer, and colder. Thankfully your wolf kept you warm and safe.

Your eyes opened slightly as you heard Geralt walk around the room, instead of laying next to you for the well-deserved nap you had been waiting for. He has headed for the door again.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry dove, just getting some water.”

You smiled softly and closed your eyes as the door closed behind him. The door soon opened closed again signaling he was back. You peeled your tired eyes open.

He carried the large barrel of water with ease to the tub in the corner of the room, he dumped the chilled water into the basin before hovering his hand over it. You watched the flames fall from the tips of his finger, warming the water instantly. His hands dug into his rut sack, pulling out a pack of dried herbs he dumped into the water. The beautiful aroma filled the room. He also set a box and small tin onto the table next to the bed before walking over to you.

“Geralt what are you on? We’ve been traveling for weeks don’t you just want to sleep?” You all but whined.

“I do want to sleep, but I doubt I’ll be able to with how horrible you smell.” His lips turned into a sly smirk as your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me, I know I bathe more than you do. And you’re the one who smells like onions.” His hands wrapped around your waist, hoisting you onto your feet in a quick move. Causing you to squeal slightly.

“I never said I didn’t stink too, dove. But I know how much you enjoy your baths figured I’d let you have the clean water first.” Your heart swelled at his sweetness. He may be rough and mean, but with you, he was soft and kind. Your hands gently cupped his jaw as you peppered his hairy skin with kisses while his hands worked at undressing you.

Once you were bare he guided you into the hot water. Fully submerged you let out a long sigh, your head lying back against the tub. Geralt pulled a stool to the end of the tub by your feet, placed a cloth on his legs before reaching for the box and tin.

“What are you doing love?” You questioned, eyes half-closed as you enjoy the almost scorching hot water.

“You mentioned a few times how much you wanted a straight blade to shave your legs. I bought one. Figured I’d do it for you.” Your eyes opened fully as you looked at him. He had the blade open as he gave it a quick sharpen before pulling out a bar of soap. He dipped his hands and soap into the water by your legs, before pulling your left leg completely out of the water.

“Oh Geralt, you don’t have to do this.” You mumbled as he gently started to scrub and massage your leg. Focusing on your claves, knowing those bothered you more than anything.

“I know dove, you take care of me so well on the road. I just wanted to pay you back in more than food and sex.” You giggled softly.

He gently pushed your foot down so your toes were arched to the floor, making your skin taught. You felt the cold metal of the blade slip down your skin softly. You did desperately need a shave. As did he.

“Is food and sex still going to happen even with the extra pampering?” I asked as you watched his concentrated face. His brows softened gently as he smirked, licking his lips. The blade slides down the side of your calf to your ankle. He was very efficient, nearly done with the first half of your leg.

“Of course they’ll still happen, baby.” His voice was lower than normal, hands touching your leg a little more sensually as he felt for any missed hair.

He gently placed your leg back into the tub, grabbed the other one, and repeated his actions. The room was silent, in the best way. It was a silence you could both enjoy. Apart from the fire cracking, silence. This silence was best because you know he wasn’t worried. His shoulder was relaxed, his face held concentration to shaving your legs perfectly, not a concentration for monsters. He wasn’t stressed, he looked peacefully beautiful.

“You’re staring at me, baby.” He whispered as he finished your right leg, gently sliding it back into the water handing you the bar of soap. He dipped his hands into the water gently running them up and down your now soft and silky legs. The hair never bothered him, he didn’t care what you looked like or smelled like. He couldn’t view you as anything but perfect. But he did miss the silly feeling of your legs.

“I’m just enjoying my view Geralt. Nothing wrong with that.” You quipped. He smiled, his hands leaving your legs much to your dismay.

“Why don’t you join me, love? There’s plenty of room. The water is still hot.” You bit your lip softly, looking him up and down. Undressing him with your eyes.

It had been at least a week since you’d had sex. Note that neither of you meant for it to be so long, but life on the road tended to make it harder. Especially if Geralt had a hunt. He was always too tired and so were you most nights. As soon as you both lay down it’s minutes before you’re asleep.

He stood from the stool and began undressing, a bit too slow for your liking. He started with his tunic unbuttoning it ever so slowly. Before it was finally discarded and you could see his scar-covered chest and torso. His pants clung to his thick legs as he undid those buttons.

He tutted softly at you, smirking as he watched your desperate eyes.

“Oh hush up Geralt and get in.” You snapped, eyes in a glare that made him chuckle.

“Whatever you want, princess.” Princess. I word you both hated and loved. You ran from your royal title many years prior. Meeting Geralt and the pesky bard on your travels. No one called you princess, except for Geralt. And only when he was about to fuck you ruthlessly.

He discarded his pants revealing his semi-hard cock, making your cunt pulse. He moved behind you, setting your body between his legs. His own breath of relief fanned the back of your neck. His arms wound themselves around your waist, holding you desperately close to him.

“You make me feel safe princess.” He mumbled, his hands gently squeezing you. Your hands gently stroked up and down his arms, head leaning back into him more.

“You make me feel safe Geralt.” You whispered, turning your head so you were looking at him.

His face was damp from the steam from the bath. The water was now getting dirtier. His lips curled into a smile. A smile you would pay as much money as he wanted, to see. Your finger grazed his hairy jaw as you studied his face up close. Your eyes eventually landed on his.

You stayed like that for a while, just looking at one another, fingers roaming and grazing each other’s bodies. But only to remind yourselves of each other. Your fingers danced along with his many scars across his shoulders and arms, your body now completely turned to him. Your legs around his waist, groins pressed together but in a way that just made your bodies melt. Your hands were covered in soap suds as you washed his body, taking special care of him as he had you.

“You should let me shave your face, love.” You whispered as you washed away the suds from his chest. He chuckled softly, rubbing his hairy chin into your neck making you giggle and cringe away from him slightly, not too far before he pulled you back in close to him.

“Don’t like the facial hair, princess.” He asked.

“Not that I don’t like it, but common Ger. It’s getting a bit out of control.” You said with a small laugh.

“After dinner and sex?” He asked eyebrow cocked.

Gently wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your lips to his, softly grinding your hips into his, causing his shaft to slip between your lips. Earning you a soft grunt.

“Sex first?” The words had barely been spoken before you were hoisted out of the water, legs wrapped around his strong waist. He effortlessly carried you to the bed. He stood back from you, eyes dancing around your body.

“Gods you are so beautiful.” He mumbled, his hands sliding up your legs, to your hips, and up your side to your breasts.

His lips peppered kisses along your jaw, to your neck, and down to your breasts. His hands continued their work, kneading and groping two of his favorite things. Your eyes fluttered shut as he admired your body, kissing and licking down your chest till he got to your left nipple. He gently kissed around the bud before engulfing your breasts into his mouth, sucking and biting it.

“Oh Geralt...” you whimpered, hands going to his damp hair, eyes closing. You could feel him smile on your breast. He got the reaction he wanted.

His lips were warm and soft as he continued kissing and nibbling your breasts and nipples. Your chest would be completely marked by the end no doubt. He continued kissing down your body to your navel, and down further to the place you wanted him most.

His hands gently spread your legs apart wider, hooked under your thighs as he knelt to the floor face level with your now glistening wet pussy. His eyes moved to your eyes as he licked his lip.

“My favorite meal if I’m honest.” He growled, kissing and nipping your inner thighs. Moving closer and closer. Your hands gripped onto the blanket below you, knowing he was about to take your breath away.

You moaned loudly as his tongue licked a stripe up your wet cunt to your clit. “F-fuck Geralt.”

He chuckled deeply as he devoured you. You couldn’t make a sound as he started, the feeling being nearly enough to tip you over the edge right there. You closed your eyes, arching your back as you whimpered small curse words trying your best to surpass the growing climax you felt in the pit of your stomach. He could tell you were getting closer, he could hear your heart beating faster and the smell of your womanhood changed when you were close. Something only he would ever notice.

“Cum for me princess.” His words of encouragement and skilled tongue were all you needed.

With a string of curse words and his name coming from your mouth with whines and pathetic moans you desperately tried to, contain not wanting others to hear, you came into his mouth. He gladly licked and swallowed what he could of your juices. Loving the sounds you made and the way you curled your fingers into his hair. He continued his licking and lapping through your climax and didn’t stop until your grip on his hair got looser.

He lifted his face, his hairy chin covered in your wetness, his eyes gleaming like two balls of fire. You were his favorite meal. He kissed his way back up your body, positioning himself between your legs. His lips met yours in a fiery, lustful kiss.

“Taste how sweet you are princess?” He asked as he pulled away slightly, your lips only centimeters apart. You blushed softly and nodded arms wrapping around his neck.

He gently lifted your legs off the bed and positioned himself below you, you could feel the tip of his cock pressing at your entrance. Geralt put his hands on your thighs and pushed them up slightly, making you arch your back giving him a better angle. Your calves rested softly on his shoulders.

He spits in his hand, running it along the length of his hardened cock before rubbing the tip along your wet folds up to your clit and back down.

“Tell me what you want, princess.” He whispered and smiled devilishly at you. He knew words were never your strength in bed. Most nights he left you struggling to even breathe let alone be able to formulate sentences.

“Geralt please.” You groaned, grinding your hips but his hands grabbed them and forced you to be still.

“Use your words for me princess, I know you can do it.” He leaned down, your legs still on his shoulders as he kissed your neck, up to your ear. He softly bit your ear lobe.

“Please princess, let me hear your voice.” His lips were so close to your ear you could hear him in your soul. You knew you had to give him what you wanted if you wanted to have him in you.

“I want you inside me Geralt, please fuck me, my love.” You whimpered into his ear. It was all he needed.

In a simple rut of his hips, his cock was deep inside you, filling you so deliciously well. Your eyes rolled back as your back arched.

You felt every inch of him, he fit inside you perfectly. You could feel every vein as he slowly began to push in and out. His own breathing was harsh and raged his grip on your thighs becoming tight, you knew he’d leave bruises. His head rested on your shoulder as he continued his slow steady thrusts. His hot breath on your neck makes the pleasure intensify. You both were having a hard time keeping it together. After a couple of minutes of him getting used to your cunt again, he began to slam his hips into you harder.

He got up on his knees, your legs still on his shoulders and he began thrusting into you with a power and force you hadn’t felt him have before. You felt his tip so deep inside you scrapping a spot so well your toes were curling and you were breathless already. Your back arched off the bed as you moan louder and louder. No longer caring if anyone heard you. This was different than the times before. The energy was alive like it never had been. You felt every inch of him up to your ears. All you could smell was him, the taste of his tongue was still on your lips, his warm hands held your shaking legs. His deep moans and groans, breathy curses of your name, were the only things you could hear. Even when your eyes closed all you could see was him. His eyes, his smile. He was intoxicating. Your hands reached for him you didn’t know what part of him you wanted, but you needed something.

He saw you reaching for him and moving your legs to the side so he could bend down. Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. He never stopped his thrusts. The sound of his cock slamming into your wet cunt and your moans was all he could hear. His lips met yours again as you held onto him his hands on either side of your head so he wouldn’t crush you.

“Fuck I love you.” He groaned into your mouth. Your heartbeat soared, your body shaking as you saw stars. Those three little words pushed you to the edge. The first time he ever said them.

He felt your cum spill around him, your wall contracting so hard around him it nearly push his cock out “Fucking christ-” he gasped. His lips continued their assault on your own, his tongue invaded your mouth as he tasted all of you. Every inch of you he tried to engulf, he wanted to have every part of your body imprinted in his mind forever.

“Fuckkkkkk Y/N, fuckkkkkk!” He yelled with heavy thrusts as he spilled his warm load deep inside you, mixing with your own it leaked out around him, down onto the blanket. Your hands held his shoulders tightly as you cling to him. His bodyweight now crashing down on you as he fought his own breath.

After a while, he rolled off you, but not far from you. His arm draped over your body as you both lay on your backs staring at the ceiling. Your chest rising and falling heavily.

“I love you Geralt.” You finally said once you found your voice again.

Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle at how horse your voice sounded. He rolled onto his side so he was facing you, his hand now rubbing up and down your body softly. His face was soft, content. He looked peaceful. His eyes were on your face as he studied your tiered expression. He leaned over and softly kissed you, his hand coping your face softly.

“I’m only sorry it took me so long to say it.” He mumbled into your lips. You smiled and put your hands on his cheeks. Kissing his face all over made him laugh softly. You were his kryptonite.

Both your stomachs rumble as you lay next to one another. “How about dinner?” He asked kissing your nose.

“Sounds lovely, but I may need assistance getting down the stairs.” You said with a laugh. Geralt smiled and stood grabbing your pack.

“I’d Cary you to the ends of the earth if I had to my love. Down to the tavern shouldn’t be too hard.”

#fic rec

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