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#decadeundertheinfluencechallenge
navybrat817 · 3 years
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Look Like Lies - Part 1
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: Bucky Barnes broke your heart, but Dean Winchester picked up the pieces. So what happens when Bucky needs your help? Chapter Summary: Dean welcomes you home. Word Count: Almost 3k Series Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, slight praise kink, thigh riding, angst, porn with feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and Dean Winchester in the same fic (yes, that's a warning!) Chapter Warnings: Thigh riding, angst. Bucky is not in this part. Only referenced and in flashback. A/N: Welcome to my Marvel / Supernatural crossover! This is for @cockslut-padalecki and her "A Decade Under the Influence” Challenge. Fic influence - “Your promises, they look like lies. Your honesty, like a back that hides a knife” - Attack: 30 Seconds To Mars. Congrats!!! Beta read by the wonderful @sparkledfirecracker, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly. Divider by @firefly-graphics​. Comments, likes, reblogs and asks are appreciated! Thank you!
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Falling in love as a hunter was a risk. There was always a chance that you wouldn't make it out of a hunt alive. Not many understood the life you lived or believed in the things you'd seen. You were content though because you were helping others. But Bucky Barnes walked into your life and everything changed.
You fell quicker and harder than expected, especially when he let down his walls. He had been through his own personal hell and worked hard to make amends. It was easy to imagine a life with him. A future. So when he asked you to be his girl, your bags were already packed.
Leaving your hunting days behind was easier than you thought, but saying goodbye was tough. Sam was happy for you. Hunting was in his blood, but so was the yearning for a quiet life. You were certain a part of him envied you, but he was too good to let it show. But Dean…
Dean Winchester was a lot of things. With his cocky attitude, sarcastic humor and charming smile, he left a trail of broken hearts behind him. And something always pulled him back into the hunt. You knew better than to get in too deep and never let your attraction go beyond friendship.
"When he breaks your heart, call me."
"The only heart that's breaking is yours because I'm getting out. He's the one."
"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
You should have known from the start that it was just a detour. What you didn't expect was for that journey to end with your heart in pieces. If life taught you anything though, it was that good things didn't last. Not for you. But Dean knew from the beginning.
He could be an asshole, but he was also caring and loyal. You proved your worth to him and Sam long ago and he made it clear that you would always have a place with them. Even when you walked away. So when you called the number that a very privileged few had, he didn't say "I told you so". He merely asked where you were and if he needed to get you.
No pleasantries were exchanged when Dean pulled up, driving away the moment you got into the car. You expected it to take a lot longer for him to arrive. He was either working a case nearby or he drove as fast as he could to get to you. You had one bag with you, opting to leave most of your stuff behind. Bucky seemed stunned when you told him to throw everything else out or donate it. You didn't want little reminders that you weren't good enough to be his best girl.
"Doll, I'm not throwing your stuff out."
"I'm not your doll anymore. And you don't want me, so why would I want any of this?"
Leaning back in the seat, you let the purr of the engine soothe you. You missed the Impala. You missed the boys, too. But how pathetic was it that you went crawling back after you swore you were done?
"Want to talk about it?" Dean asked after a few minutes.
"Long story," you replied, leaning up to turn on the radio.
"Guess you're not ready to tell me," he said, gripping the wheel a bit tighter.
You sighed, your chin wobbling as you relaxed again in the seat. It really was pitiful to be so broken up over Bucky. But… you thought the two of you would make it. Forever was a lie.
"But I love you, Bucky."
"Loving me won't keep you safe. I'm sorry."
The car slowed after what had to be hours, but it only felt like minutes. Dean being there made you feel at ease. "I thought we were going to the bunker," you said when you opened your eyes, the neon sign bright as he parked in front of a diner.
"I'm starving and they have the best burgers in a hundred miles," he told you, shutting off the car.
You stretched as you got out, following him inside. He went straight to an empty booth, motioning for you to sit. The place looked worn down, but you knew better than to judge a book by its cover. And if he liked it, it had to be good.
The waitress brought a couple of waters over almost immediately after you sat down. "Hi there. Take as much time as you need to look over the menu."
"Actually, I know what I'm having. Bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon," he said, looking at you as you shook your head. "And an extra plate of fries, please."
"Coming right up," the waitress smiled, going to put the order in.
"I didn't want anything," you told him, unwrapping the napkin from the silverware. You couldn't keep your hands still.
"You need to eat something and I'm not letting you steal my fries."
"Who said I want your fries?"
"Everyone wants them, sweetheart."
You laughed in spite of yourself, ignoring how your temples pounded. There was something comforting about sitting with him again. It felt natural to fall back into stride, like the two of you had just wrapped up a mission. No… a hunt. Not a mission. That was a Bucky thing.
Once again, he didn't push as you waited for your food. It didn't stop him from taking in your features. Did he see how tired you were? You avoided his gaze after a few minutes. Hiding felt easier, even if it was cowardly.
"Here we go," the waitress said cheerfully as she set the plates down, waiting until Dean checked his burger. Once he looked satisfied, she smiled more. "Let me know if you need anything else."
The grunting sound Dean made as he bit into his burger made you smile. "That good, huh?"
"You have no idea," he answered. "Okay. I let you stew long enough. Let's talk."
"No," you groaned, picking at your fries.
"How long are you staying?"
"I'm not sure," you said honestly. You didn't expect to ever come back.
"Do I need to worry about your boyfriend coming after me?"
"No. I don't have a boyfriend anymore."
"So, you two broke up," he said dismissively. "What was that guy's name again? Bonky? Binky?"
"Bucky. And he dumped me," you said, your voice thick with tears.
Dean set his burger down slowly as he finished his bite. His expression wasn't easy to read, but you saw anger in his eyes. "He dumped you? So, it wasn't a... mutual thing?"
"No, it wasn't," you said, trying to block out the memory of you begging Bucky not to let you go or give up on what you had. Because why should you have to beg someone to be with you? "Don't know why you're surprised. You said he was going to break my heart."
His jaw ticked as he grabbed his water and took a sip. "Did he say why?"
"Said it was to protect me," you answered, wiping your eyes before the tears could fall. You were not going to sob in some random diner.
"To protect you," he chuckled. The sound was almost bitter and you couldn't exactly place why. "That's a bullshit excuse."
"Sounds like some shit you would pull. You two should trade stories," you snapped, seeing his eyes flash when his gaze flickered your way. You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth, guilt written all over your face. "I'm sorry."
Dean could be an asshole, but he wasn't a bad man. With everything he had been through, he deserved a pass. You also knew it was a front, a suit of armor to protect himself. He didn't need you to be a bitch about it.
"You want to take cheap shots at me?" he offered, putting his arms out in a grand gesture. "Fine. Do it if it makes you feel better."
You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek. "It doesn't and you know I didn't mean it."
"Yeah, you did," he muttered as you looked back at him, watching as he downed the rest of his glass. "You and Sammy have a tendency to take things to heart. Always have."
"Yeah, well…" you sniffled. "Mine's broken right now, so forgive me for feeling sensitive. And you probably don't want to hear about my feelings and that's fine, but it hurts to have someone throw you away. It fucking hurts."
It was his turn to look guilty at the raw pain in your voice. "Look. I didn't mean-"
"I won't get in your way if that's what you're worried about,” you stated before he could finish. "And I won't be distracted. But if you don't want me hunting, I get it. I don't mind doing research. I just… I can't go back there right now."
"Still know how to shoot?" he asked after a moment.
You smirked as you nodded. "Can still give you a run for your money."
"We'll see about that," he smirked back. "And I know you don't want to hear this, but you'll get through it."
"So, you think I'll be okay."
"That's not what I said. I said you'll get through it.," he corrected you. "I never said anything about you being okay.”
"Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special," you said sarcastically, but there was a hint of a smile on your face.
"You are special," he winked before his gaze turned serious. "And honestly? I think he's going to regret that he let you go."
"How do you know that?"
Dean hesitated to answer, which wasn't like him. "I just know."
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Sam's gaze was one of concern when he looked up from his laptop, but he didn't look surprised to see you. Dean must have given him a head's up. "Hey. It's good to see you," the deep rumble of his voice held sympathy that you weren't ready for.
"You, too," you whispered as he stood up and walked around the table. You didn't protest as he pulled you in for a hug, but you shut your eyes tight in an effort to not burst into tears. "Please, don't say you're sorry. I… I can't handle that."
"Okay," he replied as he held you. "Can I say I missed you?"
"Sure," you said softly. You could deal with that. "I missed you, too."
"You're tired," he guessed. You wondered if he heard it in your voice or if he felt it in your body. "Your room is still set up if you want to rest. Dean hasn't let anyone else in."
"Really?" you asked, opening your eyes.
"Really."
"Liar."
"I mean it. He thought... Look, don't tell him I said so, but he really missed you, too."
"He did?" you asked. Why did that make you feel both better and worse?
"He did," Sam swore, finally letting you go. "I swear, I heard him go down to your room a few times to talk to you before he remembered you were gone."
"I missed him, too, Sam," you said, another crack forming in your heart. "I missed him, too."
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Days blended together as you began to hunt again and you proudly stopped keeping track of how long it had been since you came back. It gave you something to do instead of feeling wasteful. It was almost as if you never left. But things were different. Little things made you think of Bucky and you wondered if he was okay. You wondered if he thought of you.
You were flooded with warmth and comfort as you kicked your shoes off and stretched out on your bed. The room had been in pristine condition when you returned and Dean refused to admit that he kept it clean. Bringing the pillow to your chest and holding it, you closed your eyes. In a way, it really was like coming home.
"You know, you actually managed to impress me tonight," Dean said from the doorway, making you roll over as you opened your eyes. He had a bottle in one hand and glasses in another.
"So glad I managed that. Please, go away," you mumbled.
"Nope. No wallowing tonight. We're celebrating."
"Celebrating what?" you asked as you sat up.
"Youth. Life. Whatever," he answered, walking in and setting the glasses on the nightstand.
"Maybe I want to celebrate by wallowing and sleeping."
He chuckled as he poured the glasses. "Your sarcasm is noted and appreciated."
You snorted as he handed one over. "Did you just say 'noted'?"
"Drink and forget it," he said, clinking his glass with yours.
You didn't pay attention to what he poured, tossing the glass back. The sting almost made you cough, but it took a bit of the edge off as you handed it back to him. He chuckled and said something, but you couldn't hear him as an unwanted memory hit you full force.
"Slow down, doll," Bucky chuckled as you tossed your glass back.
"Why? Can't keep up?" you teased.
"That's not it at all," he smirked. "But I would rather you be sober when I make you come on my cock."
"You sound pretty confident that you're going to get laid, Mr. Barnes."
"I prefer being called Bucky or 'sir', but if Mr. Barnes is what does it…"
"You're lucky you're cute."
"I am lucky," he swore, taking your hand. "Because I have you."
"Hey, hey," Dean said to get your attention, placing his hands on your shoulders. His touch anchored you, which made you irrationally angry. You didn't want to depend on anyone and he had done more than enough for you. "Did I lose you?"
Tears swam in your eyes as you gazed at him, rage giving way to sadness. "I miss him."
"Of course, you do," he said. His tone wasn't condescending or harsh. It was something akin to sorrow and you suddenly felt the need to comfort him instead.
"It's pathetic. Why should I still care?"
"Because you loved him," he said with a slight shrug. "Hell, you probably still do. It doesn't make it pathetic."
"What does it make me then?"
"Human," he replied, leaning in. He was so close you could feel his breath against your lips. "I know it hurts. I know you're angry. Because you think you're fine and then you look at something that makes you think of him. You go down the hall to hear his voice, but he isn't there to talk to you. And you wonder why the fuck he let you go if he loved you so much."
A tear fell as he moved a fraction closer. His voice sounded rough, exposed.
"And all that is fine because guess what? He'll have to live with the fact that he let you walk away. That's on him. Not you."
You weren't sure what compelled you to move forward. Maybe it was the loneliness or the emotion behind his words. It could have been to hide your pain. Hell, maybe you just wanted to feel wanted. No matter the reason, your lips were on his and you couldn't take it back.
His arm wrapped around you before you could pull away and apologize, his mouth hot and demanding as he took control of yours. He dragged you closer as you swung a leg over. Instead of landing in his lap, you ended up straddling his thigh. The feel of it pressed against you made you moan. It felt good to be touched again, even though it was a line you swore to never cross with him.
His mouth moved to your neck when he broke the kiss, making you suck in a deep breath as a hand moved to grip your ass. You whined as you rolled your hips, feeling his gentle squeeze. "I'm not fucking you tonight," he declared against your skin.
"Dean," you whined as his other hand tightened on your hip.
"No," he growled, rocking you forward. "One day, I'll fuck you. You'll beg for it… but not tonight. You're not ready for that."
Your hips bucked as you tried to argue, but you only moaned again. You clutched at his hair and shirt, your head spinning as your body moved on its own accord. He was right. If he fucked you tonight, you would fall to pieces. You were close to doing so anyway.
"Fuck, can't wait to watch you really ride me. Or maybe I'll pin you down and spread those pretty legs wide open."
You whimpered, unable to stop the sounds from falling from your lips. The image of him pressing you into your sheets as he speared you open made you shudder. Guilt glimmered because you still loved another man. But weren't you allowed to live your life?
"It's okay, sweetheart," he soothed when you whined again. "I know you're soaked. I know you need to let go. Let's get you off. Keep fucking yourself on my thigh. That's it."
You shook as you thrust down, desire dominating and pushing away your sanity. It didn't feel wrong in the moment to take, especially as he guided you through it. Something told you he was getting off on this and you almost stopped to question how long he wanted this… wanted you.
"It's okay to break, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss against your pulse. "We all do, but I've got you."
Your mouth went dry as you catapulted over the edge, hearing him grunt out "good girl" as your body practically vibrated. You closed your eyes as your chest heaved, colors swirling behind your lids. Shockingly, you didn't feel empty as you clenched around nothing. You let yourself go for the first time in a long time. And it felt good.
But feeling Dean kiss back to your lips made you go still. "Fuck, you're gorgeous when you come."
What the fuck did you just do?
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bluemusickid · 3 years
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Are You Mine?
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem! Reader
Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of cheating (it's Ransom, come on) pretty/very dark (atleast by my standards lol), angst, orgasm denial, slight degradation kink, bondage, Dom/sub dynamics, slight dubcon, mentions of blood, knives, dark!Reader, DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT. MINORS DNI.
A/N: I am SUPER late on this. Like really, really late. But there were simply no ideas, WHOOPS. Anyways, I wrote this for @cockslut-padalecki 's challenge and omg it was a whirlwind of emotions! Congratulations, sweetie, you deserve each and every single one of your followers!! I hope this is a good read, I was not so sure of it, tbvh. It took 10 drafts to get it to this point. Whew. Hopefully it has paid off, and hopefully it follows the prompt. 😅
Check out my masterlist for more stories and drabbles and such! I am slowly phasing out taglists, if you wish to read my latest work, you can follow my other blog @lexiscyberlibrary ! Make sure to keep the notifications on! Thank you!!
18+ blog, Minors not welcome, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Not beta'ed, any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise are all mine. I post my stuff only on Tumblr and AO3, nowhere else. I do not give anyone permission to reproduce, copy or translate my work. Dividers by the wonderful @whimsicalrogers 💓 Likes are welcome, reblogs are much appreciated!
Prompt: “I'm not gonna hear your reasons and ‘please-just-take-me-backs.’ We never were right. Don't waste your breath” - How You Love Me Now: Hey Monday
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You couldn't believe how naïve you were sometimes. Years of meditation, self control, mind healing classes, all gone to shit. What was this terrible coping mechanism?
You saw Ransom that night. You saw him with a girl. It shouldn't matter to you and yet, it did. It made your heart hurt.
You remembered all the good times you had with him. He was like a beacon of light in your life, making you come alive. But you were insecure, and you knew it. He was always with you, and yet, some part of you always felt that he wasn't. Like he was holding himself back, not divulging his truth. You gave him the benefit of the doubt many times. Home late three days in a row? C'mon, babe, you know it was an hectic and nerve racking time at Blood Like Wine, what with the deal with Netflix coming through. He said this with a flourish, kissing you with ardent passion. You believed him, your senses in a disarray as he worked your body into exhaustion with his ardent and zealous loving; if it could be equated with the feeling.
The next time, his shirt collar was stained with lipstick. You questioned him, yet again, with the answer being prompt. "Babe, you left that mark, remember? On our trip to Concord?" Not giving you time to think, he'd bent you over the table promptly, pulling up your skirt to leave a smack on your plump bottom, fingers ghosting over your clothed pussy.
"You're always so hungry for my cock, kitten. How can you forget all the marks you leave on me, as I fuck this pretty pussy? Looks like i'm gonna have to refresh your memory." He rasped, tearing your panties down and plunging into you, the feel of him being buried to the hilt wiping all your previous thoughts clean. There was no way he'd cheat on you. He loved you too much, you thought, feeling his fingers tighten around your neck as he neared his end.
How naïve of you. How very naïve.
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You worst fears came true, the blood in your veins turning to ice. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took in the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes.
It was honestly so cliché, the whole in flagrante delicto thing. But what more could you expect from him? And it was your fault, honestly. You should've trusted your gut instinct, the deeper parts of your brain screaming at you to keep a check on this two-faced monster you called a boyfriend.
You walked out of the house as silently as you could, tears running down your face. You almost felt sorry for the girl he was fucking, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he took her from behind. Jesus. She'd be a bigger fool if she actually believed his lies.
You sat in car and drove, drove, drove, to god knows where. You stopped at a little nook, switched off your phone and cried. Cried for a few minutes, hours, honestly, who knew? Time evaded you as you sat there, numb. You remembered all the good times, all the vacations and trips, all the memories. All tainted simply because he couldn't get his dick wet enough. You scoffed. You were a bigger fool than that broad. Atleast she was in it only for the sex. You, you were in deeper. You were in it for love, for marriage, for a future with Ransom. It hurt because after so long, his words actually meant something to you. He was the ideal man for you. Yes, he had his vices, but who didn't? You had promised yourself that you could change him, heal him from his past traumas. You would make him better and spend a lifetime together. But now, he'd gone and blown the whole goddamn boat.
You wiped your eyes, taking deep, cleansing breaths, like your therapist had taught you. You knew what you had to do. You just didn't know if you were strong enough to do it.
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Ransom walked into your house, ready to fuck you into the mattress. He'd come to enjoy his routine a lot. Spend the day at work, meet a few girls and fuck their brains out and come home to you. Poor, unsuspecting you, who was too stupid for her own good. He felt pity for the naïve, little girl that you were, cleaning after him and always making sure that he'd always had a hot meal to eat. He'd been bored at first, trying to woo you, the prick tease that you were. But those doe-eyes of yours, which looked at him like he was the best thing in this world? Fuck, he'd be lying if he said those didn't get him hard.
He walked in, half expecting you to be cooking dinner, ever the 1950s dame. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks, because what he saw wasn't a cute little mousy creature. It was the subject of his wet dreams. You were in the slinkiest red teddy, with thigh highs, and Louboutins which accentuated the curve of your ass really well. Ransom could already feel himself getting hard, at the mere thought of throwing you to the ground at that instant and fucking you into oblivion.
"You're home early." You said, the sultry undertone to your voice a surprise.
"...Yes. I..I thought I would surprise you but I guess.. I'm the one who's ended up being surprised." He murmured, his voice breaking as he adjusted himself. You saw the movement and smirked, proud of yourself. He wanted you.
"I thought you might like it. I bought as a gift for you. You've been working so hard at the office, and I thought you deserve a lil' reward for all the work that you've been doing."
And so you let the little satin robe slip off your shoulders, watching his eyes darken as the garment floated to the ground.
Time to crank it up a notch.
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You half-gasped, half moaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue ever so slightly touching yours. Pulling free, you let your tongue caress his lips, the soft, pillowy feel driving you nuts. Running it over his lower lip, you sucked on it, slowly allowing your teeth to clamp down. The skin broke and a drop of blood adorned his lip; your tongue darting out and relishing the metallic tang of the liquid. He growled, partly out of pain, but mostly out of arousal. This was a completely different side to his otherwise meek kitten. Was it even her, or a cleverly programmed sex-clone?
He didn't have time to dwell on his questions as you moved your lips, leaving featherlight kisses on his neck. You skimmed your lacy core over the tent formed over his crotch, earning a groan from him; your lips reattaching to his yet again. But this kiss wasn't gentle. The basis of this kiss was pure, unadulterated lust for each other. It was messy, but you didn't pull free, attacking his lips with a ferocity which could only be described as raw animalistic need. Tongues meshed, teeth clashed, you hadn't an inch of space between the two of you and yet it felt like you were miles apart. He grasped your ass tightly, pulling you against him, grinding on his hard-on with all your might. You could feel him hurtling towards completion as his hands gripped your head tightly, his lips becoming even more insistent.
No. This was not how it was meant to go. You pulled away from his lips, standing up suddenly and made your way to the kitchen, rather unsteadily, hearing the faint voice of his, cussing out loudly.
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"What the fuck was that, kitten? Why'd you leave me hanging like that?"
"Oh, babe. I put in all this effort for you and you're not even gonna get to taste it? Tsk tsk. Not fair." Moving around, acting like you were prepping for dinner, you continued, "You can do whatever you like to me after we've had this delicious dinner that i've been slaving away on for hours."
"Please, kitten." He gasped, his voice hoarse with arousal.
You jumped slightly as you felt him grip your hips, grinding his unclothed erection on your satin-clad behind. Smirking to yourself, you jut your ass out a little, reveling in the power you held over him at the moment. You'd never seen this side of him before. Of course, it was partly owing to your timid demeanour and partly due to him calling the shots.
He ground into you, gaining speed, his grunts become louder and louder. "Fuck, you have the best ass, kitten. I'm gonna fuck it so hard one day. But today, I'm gonna fuck you till you can't walk, 'til you're begging me for mercy. Will you let me, kitten? Will you let me inside? Will you let me fill you with my cum?" He whispered in your ear, his fingers toying with your clit.
"No."
Pushing away his wandering hands, you turned around and faced him, seemingly displeased. He barely masked his annoyance, caging you between him and the counter. You caught his gaze, folding your arms in defiance.
"Show me how much you want me, Hugh."
He stared at you for a long time, trying to decipher your words. You knew how much he hated you calling him by his first name and yet, you did it. To push his buttons, of course. His façade started cracking, bit by bit as moments passed; not a word said between the two of you.
Pressing himself against you, he whispered, "please, baby. I need you." His lips ghosted over your neck, as he undulated, the feel of him rocking against your stomach going straight to your core. He whimpered, afraid of the way he was feeling and behaving. It was truly unheard of for him to beg; and yet, he did. For you. "Please, kitten. Please let me fuck you." He murmured, hissing as you ran a fingernail along the thick vein of his shaft.
Grasping his hand in yours, you pulled him to your room, glancing back to look at him. He followed you, as if in a daze, his eyes wide and pupils wide, in lust.
This was it. This was the moment you were waiting for.
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You surveyed your creation. There he was, completely at your mercy. You don't know what exactly was turning you on more, him on the bed tied up like that, or the power that you wielded over him. It was truly heady, and you were ready for what would unfold next.
Climbing over him, you kissed him soundly, your tongue melding with his, moaning as you felt him shift underneath you. He was hot and heavy against your ass, his hips moving against you fervently, hoping for some sort of relief.
Moving down, you trailed your tongue down his torso, stopping only to lave his nipples, his groan travelling straight to your core. You took his shaft in your mouth, determined to make him cum in your mouth. Bobbing your head, you left no stone unturned, your tongue moving along his entire length, as you took him in inch by inch, relishing the feel of it's weight. You gave it your all, taking a page out of the book of that bitch he was with. Whoever said you learn a lot from a cheating partner was right. Ransom was completely lost, fervently tugging against the restraints, resigned to his fate. His hips moved of their own volition as he thrust inside your mouth, groaning at the sight of your face; mascara running down your cheeks, spit and precum on your chin. You decided to show him who's in charge, swallowing him whole and staying there, trying not to gag. With a shout, he thrust upwards, his hot cum flooding your mouth. You gratefully pulled back, taking a deep breath and after a beat, opening your mouth to show him the result of yoir actions, swallowing his seed. Both breathing heavily, you enjoyed his darkening gaze; the fact that he was devouring you with his eyes. He panted, his mouth slack, eyes hungry.
"Kitten, that was...amazing. I've never felt anything this intense. Untie me now, please. I need to fuck you. Need to feel your sweet pussy clenching around me as I fuck you to heaven and back. C'mon, honey."
Your breath quickened, his words volatile to your already aroused self. Giving him a small smile, you reached over to the drawer, pulling out a ball gag. Holding it up, you saw him eye it warily, his arms trying to pull on his restraints.
"What's..that, babe? I..I don't think-"
"Ransom, do you trust me?" You asked softly, your fingers softly tracing his lips. He visibly gulped, squirming a bit, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
"O..of course, kitten. You should know that by now." He murmured, his voice laced with uncertainty.
"Good. Because I want you to know that I trust you wholeheartedly, with every pore of my being. I trust you with my love, my life, my soul. I know that you would never do anything to hurt me, and that you would always keep my best interests at heart. And I wished for it to be this way forever, till death do us part."
The words tumbled out of your mouth, as the images of him and girl flashed in front of your eyes, in a loop. You could see him get uncomfortable; a guilty look masking the lust from earlier. Fitting the ball gag in his mouth, you slid down till you reached his crotch, ignoring his soft, muffled protests. Grinding against him till you felt him get hard again, you rubbed him against your wet pussy, juices intermingling and creating a mess.
With a single move, you lowered yourself onto him, burying him inside you, the raw fullness threatening to engulf your senses. His muffled groan turned you on like nothing else as you sped up your actions, losing yourself to the rhythm; till you felt yourself reach your crescendo, and with it bringing him to a finish, as he painted your walls with his spend.
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Nighttime soothed you. It calmed you down. There was nothing like a long drive in the dark, with only the streetlights keeping you company as the wind blew against your face.
The events of the night kept playing in your head. You hated how it all ended. You'd actually fallen deeply in love with Ransom. But he never would've learnt, would he? No, he would go back to his philandering ways again. Plunging that knife deep into his heart as he was coming down from his high, from his throes of passion; it broke you. His screams still echoed in your ear, haunting and chilling as they were. The sight of blood oozing out of him, akin to a river, and with it, his life, was a troubling scene; the sound of him choking, weeping and begging you for mercy being the final nail to the coffin. But it had to be done. Repentance, penitence, was a necessity. In a way, you'd liberated him of all his sins and evils. Atleast him and the bitch would be together now.
The radio crooned in the background, the punk rock song playing, a true irony to your predicament.
I'm not gonna hear
Your reasons and "Please, just take me backs"
We never were right
Don't waste your breath
You smiled bitterly, realising how the future had changed in an instant. How he had changed it in an instant. You wished he hadn't cheated. You wished he hadn't been an asshole. Most of all, you wished that your final memories of him wouldn't be the sight of his beautiful blue eyes, filled with fear and unshed tears. But that was his fault. All of it.
Softly caressing your belly, you silently made a vow; to raise your son to be a better man than his late father ever was, or even would be. If only he were a better man, he would've been there to witness his child grow up.
Oh well. Third time would be a charm. Hopefully.
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543 notes · View notes
avintagekiss24 · 3 years
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—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes
pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader
word count: 4049
warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder
challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”
request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial
author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!
inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts
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The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.
There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.
Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.
His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.
You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.
Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.
You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.
Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.
You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.
“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”
A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”
You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”
Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.
The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.
You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.
Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.
With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.
You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.
His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.
You sigh, oh well.
The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.
Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.
God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.
“Come ‘ere.”
An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.
His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.
Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.
Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...
You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.
“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.
You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”
You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.
Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.
An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
A blink is all you get.
“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”
He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”
Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.
Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.
A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”
The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.
It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.
“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”
When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”
“You’re insane.” You hiss.
He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”
The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.
He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.
You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.
Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.
Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.
“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”
He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.
“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”
Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.
Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.
“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”
A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.
“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”
You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.
He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”
Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.
Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.
Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.
Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.
That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.
His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.
“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”
Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.
Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.
He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.
“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”
He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”
“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”
You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”
Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.
Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.
Or not.
Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.
The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”
“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”
“Fuck you!”
He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.
You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.
Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”
“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.
He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”
Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.
“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”
Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.
“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”
“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”
Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”
***
If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.
Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”
“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.
You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”
771 notes · View notes
holylulusworld · 3 years
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What mothers do (1)
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Summary: Your old life comes for you…
Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Characters: Sam Winchester, OFC Robert Alexander, unnamed teacher
Warnings: angst, language, Dean being an ass, mentions of break-up, mentions of cheating, almost violence (a slap), scared reader, tears, mafia business, arguments, fluff
Words: 2,4 k
A/N: This is my entry to @cockslut-padalecki​‘s A decade under the influence writing challenge with the lyric #36: “I lived through the damage from the heart you took from me” - Line In The Sand: Bleeding Through.
Divider by @firefly-graphics​​
What mothers do masterlist
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That night he not only broke your heart but also turned the love you felt for him into hatred. Everything you planned turned to ashes and got carried away by the wind he sowed the moment he decided to push you out of his life.
Your heart broke, shattered on the ground when you ran out of your shared bedroom, the images of your man with another woman burned into your mind.
It’s been five years since Dean Winchester took his love away from you and turned his attention toward someone else. Someone better if you want to believe the rumors.
It was hard to move on. Well, how do you move on from the love of your love after he told you to get lost and never come back? 
Is there a trick to get over your childhood sweetheart? I don’t think so…
People tend to talk about broken hearts and lost love, but they never tell you that you can still live without a functional heart beating in your chest.
You get up. Eat. Go to work. Breathe. Cry a little. Curl into a ball. Go to sleep.
Repeat.
You had to move on, so you did. If not for you, but the growing life in your belly. Cause, that’s what mothers do – right? Put their child first, ignoring the rest.
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“Mommy?” your son cries, running toward you, showing you his bleeding knee. “Mommy, I fell!”
“Aw, baby boy,” you coo, falling back into your role. It’s easier to pretend your heart isn’t still broken when you can take care of your son. “Let’s go to the bathroom, shall we?” 
“YEAH! Can we watch cartoons later?” he asks, glancing up at you. He’s a child, but somehow your son knows today is a bad day for you. “Mommy, are you sad?
“No, baby boy,” you lie easily; pretend you didn’t think of his father, the man who doesn’t know his son exists. “I’m just a little bit tired.”
You tickles his sides and Bobby beings to laugh, squeal and you can’t help it and join his laughter. “Mommy, I love you!”
“I love you too, baby. Now let’s go to the bathroom and mommy will help you, okay,” your son nods eagerly, knowing you will put a Scooby-Doo plaster onto his knee and kiss it better.
Whilst you climb up the stairs to the bathroom, you ignore the aching in your chest. Today would be your tenth anniversary, if not for Dean’s infidelity. 
“Mommy, I saw a cool car today. My friend said it’s a classic car,” your son excitedly tells you about his day. From the new toy, his friend got for his birthday to the new girl at his class in the kindergarten. “It was black and loud.”
“Old cars can be loud,” you laugh when your son tells you he wants to drive a cool car one day too. “We will talk about driving cars when you turn sixteen, young man.”
“But I want a cool car, mommy. I can drive you around and we can go for ice cream,” he grins while trying to convince you to buy him a car at the age of five. 
“No cars for you, Robert Alexander,” using your mommy voice you smirk at your son. “Now let’s clean your knee and we can watch more Scooby-Doo. It’s Friday and we have all weekend to catch up with your favorite dog.”
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You carefully place your son on the closed toilet lid to inspect his bleeding knee. 
“Mommy, I know you forbid me to talk to strangers, but the man with the cool car wanted to know my name,” your heart beats a mile in a minute, your mouth runs dry and your hands begin to tremble. 
“Baby boy, what did you do?” voice cracking you look up at your son. “Bobby bear, what did you do?”
“I ran, and told my teacher that the man talked to me,” he says, proudly puffing his chest. “He had a cool car, but he’s a stranger.”
“What did the man do?” you question while carefully cleaning your son’s knee. “Did the man follow you or ask you about your name again?”
“No,” shaking his head your son smirks. “I bet he got scared and ran away. He was tall, but I’m braver.”
“You did well,” you decided there and then to call the kindergarten first thing on Monday morning. They promised you a safe place and that no one can enter the area but the teachers and parents. No entry without a key card, that’s what they said. “I’m proud of you, Bobby.”
“I remembered what you said about people I do not know, mommy,” Bobby watches you put a plaster onto his knee before you press a soft kiss to it. 
“All done, baby. So, how about you sit on the sofa, and I’ll make us popcorn,” you ask. “Do you want sweet or salty popcorn?”
“Sweet,” Bobby hops off the toilet lit, his bloody knee-long forgotten. “I’ll switch the TV on mommy.”
“Thank you, sweet—” you bite your tongue, shuddering at the pet name. 'Fuck, no you won’t sneak your way into my thoughts tonight.’
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“Popcorn, Scooby-Doo, and apple spritzer,” you laugh when your son sleepily rests his head on your lap.
“Mommy, will you stroke my hair?” he asks, and your heart melts. 
He reminds you of Dean so much it hurts your heart. And it pains you that the man you used to love will never know what he lost the day he turned his back on you.
“Of course, baby. How about you tell me more about your day and the toys Jaiden got for a birthday,” you gently run your hand over his head, listening to your son’s explanation. 
“Mommy, why does my dad never call me? Jaiden said his daddy always calls him for a birthday or comes to visit him,” Bobby sniffs and your heart breaks for your little son. “Does he not want to see me?”
“No, Bobby. Your dad and I didn’t like each other anymore. That was before you were born, baby. We are living in different worlds now, and your dad is always busy,” it’s only half a lie. “Maybe he will be less busy one day and call.”
“OH-okay,” Bobby believes your lie, but he still dreams of the day his father calls when he slowly drifts into sleep. 
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“I don’t understand! You told me no one can enter the kindergarten but parents and teachers. Now a stranger talked to my son on your watch,” panting heavily you glare at the woman who tried to calm you.
“Ms. Y/L/N, the man said he’s Bobby’s father. We didn’t know you are divorced. You never told us about your son’s father,” she argues, not wanting to give away the stranger paid her well to get close to your son.
“My relationship status is none of your fucking business,” you step into her personal space, try to intimidate the woman just like Dean taught you years ago. “It was your job to keep my son safe, just like the other kids. We pay you a lot to do so.”
“He—he,” she stammers, looking over your shoulder into familiar green eyes. “He said you wouldn’t understand he’s back. Maybe you can talk to him yourself and keep me out of your fight?”
Your body goes stiff. It’s like you can feel his presence before you hear his voice. A dark cloud and his warmth envelop you at the same time when he touches your shoulder.
You flinch away, not turning around to face the man threatening your happiness once again. “No—” is all you say before you grab your bag. “My son will not come back here.”
“Sweetheart don’t do this,” he smiles, but his eyes tell you to not disobey the dangerous man he became. “Let’s talk about a few things. Like the fact that I am a father for five years!”
“You are nothing, that’s what you are to me and my son,” you slam the door in his face, and start to run toward your car. Your only way out is to grab a few things, your son, and run for the hills.
You can never let Dean Winchester be part of your life again…never…
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“Bobby, hurry up,” you run upstairs to grab more things. Dean being in your town can only mean one thing, he’s looking for an heir, and you will be damned to let him repeat history. 
“Where are we going? What about kindergarten tomorrow?” your son asks. “Mommy? Bobby seems to be confused about your sudden departure. “Mom?”
“We are going to—” honestly, you don’t have a plan. You never thought Dean would look for you. It was him chasing you away. Why would he come for you after five years. “I thought it would be fun to go on vacation for a week.”
“Vacation?” Bobby jumps up and down. You haven’t been on vacation since Christmas and the little boy can’t wait to see new places. “Why now, mommy?”
“I just—” you run back downstairs; think of anything you will need to start a new life somewhere else. 
“Mommy, there’s someone at the door,” your son calls for you while you look around the kitchen for his favorite mug. “Shall I open the door?”
“No,” you stumble out of the kitchen, Bobby’s mug pressed to your chest. The person outside your door becomes impatient, knocks a little louder this time. “Bobby, go to your room and look for your favorite plushie and pillow. We will need to leave soon.”
“Okay, mommy,” Bobby walks upstairs whilst you try to tame your racing heart. 
“Open the door, Y/N,” your hands begin to tremble as you step toward the door. Only the door parts you from your past and it scares the hell out of you to open it. “Sweetheart, I can break the door if I must.”
“Just leave us alone,” you press your forehead against the door, silently praying Dean will just leave. “You wanted me gone, Dean. Why do you come here after five years?”
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR Y/N,” he rams his fist into the door, calling your name. “Now.”
“Stop being so loud,” whispering the words you unlock your door. “You will scare Bobby.”
“Then let me inside,” Dean pushes against the door, forces his way into your house, the home you created for you and your son. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
“Not so hard?” you huff, clearly frustrated. “You come here and demand entry to my house, my life, my son. Do you have the slightest idea what hard means?”
“Look at you,” he says, eyes drinking you in after five years. “As beautiful as ever.” 
Dean’s closeness makes you dizzy. You can smell his cologne, his eyes and smile seem to taunt you and the worst is, it feels too familiar for you to ignore when he steps closer again to cup your cheek.
“Hands off,” at least you find the strength to push his hand away. “Never touch me again. I don’t know what you came for, but you won’t find it here.”
“I came for you, and my son,” he huffs when you flinch away. “I must admit, you are hard to find. It took me five fucking years to find my family, sweetheart. 
“You are delusional,” you shake your head, stepping backward as Dean shrugs his coat off. “Get out of my house, Winchester.”
“I never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart," Dean takes a step toward you, “I know it was a mistake to sleep with her. I was mad at my father, got drunk and then…it just happened.”
“One mistake, huh?” you say, voice bitter. “Maybe I could’ve forgiven you one drunken mistake but you—” jabbing your finger into his chest you glare up at Dean, “told me to leave our home and never come back when I tried to talk to you. You fucked that skank in our bed and dared to blame me.”
“You seemed to do just fine without me,” he looks around your living room, admiring you built a home for you and your son. “I guess you didn’t miss me at all.”
“Don’t you dare!” he never sees the hand slapping his face coming. “I lived through the damage from the heart you took from me. It’s still gone, and I miss it every day but, I had to be strong for my baby.”
“So, you moved on from me without shedding a tear,” Dean asks, looking at the pictures on the walls. “Is there a new love of your life? Do you feed him the same lies?”
“As a mother, you can't wallow in pain when the man you believed loves you breaks your heart,” you are just done explaining yourself, so you decide to put Dean in his place. “You break down, get back up, and take care of your baby boy, 'cause that's what mothers do," you quip, straightening your back. “Now get the fuck out of my house, my life, and never dare to even think about coming back. If you do, all your dirty little secrets will get revealed.”
“This isn’t over, Y/N,” Dean is unsure how to react to your behavior. He only remembered the shy and devoted girl you used to be, not the self-confident and fiery woman you became. “Damn me, you have changed…and I like it.”
“Like it all you want, but don’t come back,” he gives in, for now. Dean turns to leave, not without glancing at the pictures of his son one last time.
“I must say when I came here to check if you need help,  I never imagined you would do so well,” Dean smirks when you make a face. “I will come back for you and my son, sweetheart.”
“Save it,” you growl, crossing your arms over your chest. “Now get lost, Winchester…”
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“We found her. What now, Dean?” his younger brother glances at your house while Dean starts the engine of the Impala. “Dean, did you tell her what happened back then?”
“Not yet,” Dean smirks, chuckling lightly. “She got a wild side now, and I’d love to tame her.”
“You should tell her why you chased her away,” Sam says, “If you want to get to know your son, you need to tell her someone spread lies about her.”
“Soon, Sammy. Soon…”
>> Part 2
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Text
Red
Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 3680
Warnings: Kink and trauma. You know, in case you forgot whose blog you were on! Night terrors. Non-graphic flashbacks to violence, very graphic smut. Bucky’s head is just not a very fun place? References to brainwashing and torture. Kink discovery, including some hitting/slapping during sex and some power/control fantasies, all within the context of a very happy relationship. It goes down dark but there’s a distinctly soft aftertaste. 
A/N: For @cockslut-padalecki and her Decade Under The Influence challenge. My prompt was “The Crimson” by Atreyu. Thanks for always hosting the absolute best challenges, and congrats on the milestone! 
Pre-reads by @thoughtslikeaminefield @mskathywriteswords and @fangirlxwritesx67​. Inspiration from that scene where Sebastian Stan gets slapped. You know the one I mean. 
The companion fic to this will be coming soon! It’s significantly darker and way outside my wheelhouse, but please let me know if you want a tag. 
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The Soldier stalks silently down the hallway to the bedroom, scanning the shadows. 
The closet. 
Something itches, deep under the ice: knowledge that closets are for hiding — 
— a small girl, giggling in the back corner of the closet — 
— ready or not, here I come — 
— but those frozen things don’t belong to the Soldier. 
He opens the door and finds the woman on the floor, trying to hide in the darkness. He picks her up by the throat. Moonlight from the open window glints off her wide eyes and the Soldier’s metal hand. She fights back, clawing at his arm uselessly. 
He waits for her to stop struggling. They always do. 
Bucky opens his eyes and bolts upright, gritting his teeth against the sweaty, shivery wave of nausea. 
It takes a moment for the numbing chill of the Soldier’s memory to fade. 
He knows it’s a memory. He lost so many things in the deep emptiness of cryo-sleep, but he couldn’t bury them forever, and now they claw their way out while he dreams. The darkness gives him back his life, one nightmare at a time. 
Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Sometimes he wakes up convinced that the bed under him is soaked with blood, and it takes a few awful seconds to realize that he just sweated through the sheets. Other times he’s paralyzed in the darkness, convinced he’s back in the cryo chamber, and he wants to punch and claw and fight his way out, wants to see the sun again, but he tried that one too many times — he learned his lesson about wanting things. 
At least he didn’t wake her this time. She makes a breathy sound as she stirs, but she’s still sound asleep, and when he inspects his hands in the glow of her night light, there’s no trace of red. 
She got the light about two months ago, when he started sleeping over. She didn’t ask him, didn’t mention it — he would’ve been embarrassed, if she asked, but it helps. She helps. 
He’s goddamn crazy about her. It hasn’t been long, but he knows this is it for him. 
Bucky curls up facing her. Her hair is a mess, and there’s a damp patch of drool on the pillow under her slack mouth, and she’s beautiful. It’s amazing that she trusts him enough to fall asleep next to him. 
He closes his eyes. This time he doesn’t dream.
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The end credits of the movie start to scroll down the screen, and she makes a grumbling noise that means she doesn’t want to get up and turn the TV off. Her little apartment is full of the rich smell of whatever she’s got in the oven, and the day has been so sweetly domestic that Bucky wonders when everything will start to twist and distort and go bloody. He must be hallucinating. 
But the hallucinations always had a sort of airbrushed quality to them when they started, an inhuman perfection that felt easy, like he was floating. Right now his stomach is growling, and when she shifts, her elbow digs into his side, and she’s a heavy comforting warmth on top of him. 
The hallucinations were the product of his own brain, which might be why they came back all too quickly when he started to recover his memories. Even when he couldn’t remember his sisters’ faces, he remembered the drug-fueled torture that took place behind his closed eyelids, scenes that started like fantasies and ended like nightmares. 
Most memories from before the fall are weak and hazy, sepia-toned afterimages that overlay the living world like ghosts. Other things bleed through the decades, making it hard to keep track of whose memories he’s seeing. The Soldier’s memories are always sharp and cold, and they’re the hardest to shake off. Sometimes they’re triggered by the present, and it’s always a surprise; he’s stepping into a crosswalk and the past is washing over him like — 
The water from the hose is freezing cold as the handler rinses off the blood — 
— and he’s still staring down at the slushy puddle, but — 
— the Soldier keeps his eyes down, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, watching the red swirl over the cold cracked tile and disappear down the drain, and — 
Bucky has to fight to hold on to the honking taxis and the Brooklyn stink, because the cryo chamber is quiet like a coffin in the last few seconds before he’s frozen into unconsciousness, and — 
— and sometimes he feels frozen even when the dreams dissolve, even when he knows they’re only dreams. 
The frigid paralysis was mental more than physical, for the Soldier, and that’s a hard thing to shake. The raw human parts of him iced over, head and heart numb while his body carried on following orders. 
She sits up and stretches, making her shirt ride up, and he notices bruises on her hips, wrapping around the side. 
“Did I do that?” he asks, voice thin. 
She looks down like she didn’t notice. “Probably.” 
He tugs the waistband of her yoga pants down a little and finds the shape of a handprint, stained purple. She twists to show him a matching set on the other side. They’re more defined on the side he was gripping with his metal hand last night. He feels cold all over. 
“Sorry.” 
“No biggie.” 
He’s too scared to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 
“What if I asked you to?” she tosses back, playful and easy. 
Bucky doesn’t know how to react to that. He can’t let her see how badly he wants that, so he just freezes like a deer in headlights, forcing himself to go still, to shut down, to say nothing.  
“Whoa, hey, don’t do that,” she says, and she moves into his space slowly, deliberately, giving him time to tell her to stop. He blinks at her, and she smiles, soothing. 
He spent the first month of their relationship waiting for her to turn and run. It’s gotten better, but… 
“Why the hell do you trust me?” he blurts out. 
She frowns, and hesitates, and he wants to reach up and smooth out the little frown line that forms between her eyebrows, but he doesn’t. She curls up against him and kisses his jaw. 
“Would you ever choose to hurt me?” she asks. 
“No.” 
“There you go.” He feels the movement when she shrugs, as if it’s that easy. “You control your choices. That’s it.” 
“But I —” 
“No buts,” she interrupts, and her voice is firm. “I choose to trust you and you don’t get to talk me out of it.” 
Bucky lets out a huff of not-quite-laughter at that. She’s stubborn as hell when she wants to be, and he knows better than to argue. 
“Okay,” he says, and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. She settles closer, her breath a warm damp tickle against the side of his neck. 
His body used to be a weapon. 
“You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” she mumbles, as if she heard him. 
He takes a deep breath and says it again: “Okay.” 
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He can see her reflection in the mirror; she bites her lip, teeth white against her bright red lipstick, trying to hold back, but the whimpers are getting louder by the second as he fucks her harder. She’s bracing herself with her forearms on the sink, her entire body shaking with each sharp thrust. 
“Shhhh,” Bucky says, half-laughing, but he doesn’t slow down. 
He’s pretty sure this was her plan all along. They barely made it an hour into the party before she tugged him into the bathroom, and usually he would protest, but he’s been half-hard since he first saw her in that damn outfit. 
She opened the door earlier looking like a pinup, complete with glossy curls and red lips and this dress: flared skirt, nipped-in waist, curves threatening to spill over the scooped-low neckline. He had just stuttered for a few seconds as a wisp of memory cast a sepia glow over her pleased smile. 
He used to have a dog-eared print of one of those calendar girls, and it was tame compared to some that were carried to war, but there was something warm in her smile that made him hold onto it. He used to daydream about her waiting at home, welcoming him at the door, when everything else was heavy and grey. He used to look at her smile when he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, knowing he’d only see blood. They took it when he was captured, of course, but he used to imagine — 
— this, he used to imagine this, the way the skirt is rucked up around her hips and she’s bent at the waist, the way she stretches open around the shiny-wet length of his cock. 
He has a flash of certainty that this is just a fantasy, something he’s imagining desperately as he fucks his own fist and tries not to make a sound, pressing his other palm to his mouth to muffle his labored breathing. He’s picturing this so vividly that when he opens his eyes and sees the stars, framed by the caved-in ceiling of another bombed-out shell of a building, he’ll have to fight back tears of disappointment. 
The sight of her face in the mirror is utterly pornographic, threatening to send him over the edge too soon, but when he looks down, he can see the way her ass bounces and jiggles as she shoves herself back to meet each thrust, and that’s goddamn obscene too. Bucky’s imagination has never been this good. 
She’s so close, too close to stay silent, and just as she lets out a high-pitched, keening moan, there are footsteps right outside the door. 
He reacts instinctively, before he can think better of it; he slaps his hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against his palm — the metal one, he realizes, a split-second too late. 
Their eyes meet in the mirror for one wild heartbeat. Her skin looks dangerously soft under silver fingers that could so easily break the fragile jawbone they grip. 
Then her eyes roll back in her head, and her orgasm blindsides both of them with its intensity. If he wasn’t silencing her, she would’ve shouted, he’s pretty sure; she spasms violently against his grip, writhing like she’s trying to shake him off, and — 
— he imagines her struggling, fighting back, until he pins her against the wall and — 
— it hits him like a gut-punch. He doubles over, curling himself around her as he comes with a rough shocked grunt, and the white-out lightning-bolt electroshock feel of it is so incredible he forgets, for a few seconds; he just buries his face in those curls and kisses the nape of her neck. 
He straightens up and realizes her lipstick is smeared over the metal hand, deep crimson red. 
“God, we’re a mess,” she laughs breathlessly. She turns to kiss him, eyes sparkling, and then they have to clean up, put themselves back together, and he brushes it off. 
It was probably a memory, a ghost whose features he confused with hers in one fevered second. Unwanted memories — 
— dreams — flashbacks — fantasies — hallucinations — 
— invade his reality every day. 
It didn’t feel like a memory, though. 
She smiles, and there’s no doubt in his mind that the smile is real, so Bucky swallows his guilt and smiles back. Her hand is warm in his. 
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There’s a knife in his hand and blood on the floor. 
It’s messy, but those were his orders. Easier to frame the mistress this way. At least the carving knife was sharp. Red drips down the blade onto the metal fingers.  
He’s about to place it next to the corpse when he hears the gasp. The mistress had been asleep four minutes ago, but people are unpredictable that way. 
Messy. 
The Soldier pivots, finds her standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She’s paralyzed by fear, like a deer in headlights as he stalks closer. Usually they run. Sometimes they fight back. This one just stares. 
“I won’t say anything,” she whispers. “I didn’t see —” He grabs her wrist, and she shrieks, trying to twist away, until he pins her against the wall and holds her in place. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. “No, please, I’ll do anything you want — just don’t kill me! You can — anything, I promise, I won’t struggle! Do you want —” 
“Want” is buried deep under the ice. “Want” is for bodies that are warm and soft and human. The Soldier is a weapon.
He presses the knife into her hand and forces her fingers to close around the handle. She was supposed to be asleep. 
She’ll be blamed, one way or another, but maybe it’s better this way. Cleaner. 
No witnesses. It’s an order. 
Bucky wakes up. He’s trembling, sitting up with his hands twisted in the sheets, but it’s not as bad as it could be. She’s sitting up next to him, one gentle hand on his chest as she watches with wide sad eyes. 
“Sorry,” he chokes out. “Fuck, I hate waking you up.” 
“Almost time anyway,” she says, which is when he realizes that it’s morning. Sunlight is streaming in through the sheer curtains. He settles back against the headboard, taking it in. They’re both naked, with her big downy comforter around their waists, and the residual chill of memory thaws immediately in the cozy warmth of her bed. 
She leans in hesitantly and brushes her lips against his. He can read the worry plain on her face — she doesn’t know what he needs right now — but he tugs her onto his lap, tilts his head back, mouth opening easily under hers for slow lazy kisses that stretch like taffy and then turn deep and dirty. She swears like a sailor as she sinks down slowly onto his cock. 
Christ, she’s gorgeous. 
It must be real. He could never hallucinate something so flawed and incredible as the way she looks naked, the stretch marks under his palms, the calluses on her fingers when she cups his jaw, the way she moans when he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into her. 
She’s flushed and dewy with sweat, moaning in the sharp bitten-off way that means he found just the right angle, and her thighs are shaking hard enough that he has to grip her hips and hold her steady. He can feel her starting to get close, clenching and flooded around him, when her alarm goes off. 
“Cocksucking motherfucker,” she snarls. 
They both look helplessly at the phone, just out of easy reach on the nightstand. Bucky’s tempted to just ignore it, but she’s already leaning over. She twists at the waist but doesn’t stop rocking her hips down against him, squeezing in little pulses like she can’t help herself, so he settles her more firmly on his lap, holding her weight and anchoring her as she reaches for it. He works his right hand down between them, an awkward angle that’s totally worth it when he can rub her clit with the pad of his thumb and feel her spasm around his cock. 
“Five more minutes,” he suggests breathlessly. 
“Not gonna need that long if you keep doing that.” She trembles and almost collapses before finally grabbing the phone, and she hits the snooze button immediately. 
He’s already rolling his hips, grinding in deep, and he must hit something just right at the same moment she starts to straighten up; it makes her twitch, jerking uncontrollably against him as she moves, and her elbow cracks across his jaw, snapping his head to the side hard enough to rattle his teeth. 
“Shit!” she hisses, and then: “I’m so sorry, I — are you —” 
But the rough throb of pain hit like a swell of heat in Bucky’s gut, making him jerk up into her and shudder with pleasure. He lets his head loll, taking a deep heaving breath and letting it out as a moan. 
It’s not until he tilts his head back to look at her stunned face that he realizes what just happened. His cheeks burn but she doesn’t look disgusted; her eyes go all heavy-lidded and she bites her lip as she starts to ride him again, swiveling her hips. 
He’s opening his mouth to make some excuse, to deny it, when she leans in for a bruising kiss: teeth scraping his lower lip, a whimper rough in her throat, cunt silky-hot and soaked, so good his head is spinning. 
Then she asks raggedly, “Do you want me to do that again?” 
Without even thinking about it, he blurts out, “Yes.” 
Her palm connects with his cheek, a sharp sting that draws a guttural sound from deep in his chest. He moves on pure primal instinct, gripping her hips to slam her down on his cock. 
From there it’s rough and frantic and desperate. He’s only dimly aware of the way she moans, bucking against him, the way they’re moving against each other like animals, the way she bites his lip so hard he tastes copper and then he’s gone, coming so hard his vision goes white with the first intense pulses of it. She shudders as she follows him, riding out the shocks of pleasure with her forehead pressed to his and her hands in his hair. 
He shivers against her, breath hitching as reality washes in like ice water. 
“I can feel you freaking out,” she mumbles. “What, they didn’t have kink in the thirties?”
It surprises Bucky enough that he lets out a huff of laughter. “No. Not exactly.” 
“Why is this freaking you out?” 
He stutters for a second before he manages, “What’s wrong with me?” 
She sits up and looks at him intently. “Fucking nothing.” 
“That should be the last thing I want,” Bucky mutters, cheeks burning. 
“That’s not how it works,” she snaps. “Sex isn’t — it doesn’t always make sense. It’s messy.” 
“I’ve had enough of hurting people for a fuckin’ lifetime.” 
There’s something vulnerable in her sheepish half-smile. “Sometimes your body likes shit it shouldn’t. You can’t control what gets you off. Believe me, sweetheart.” 
He blinks, ready to question that, and she leans in for a quick kiss. As if on cue, her alarm goes off again. 
“Fuck.” 
“I gotta go,” she says reluctantly. “But later — later we’re going to talk about some things. Okay?” 
He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks it very clearly in that moment: I love you. 
“Okay.” 
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The Soldier pins her brutally against the wall, one hand around her wrists, the other around her throat. He doesn’t squeeze, not yet, just holds her there and savors the thrill; she’s writhing and lashing out at him like a caged animal, but he’s got her and she knows it. 
It’s beautiful, the way she snarls and tries to struggle. 
He wants —
 — so this must be a normal dream, not a memory, but — 
— he wants to fuck her just like this, up against the wall, and —
— his hips jerk and his cock throbs, and — 
— fuck, he wants her. 
“Baby?” Her voice comes out as a sleep-slurred moan. 
He tries to blink away the dream, but instead he’s rolling over and pinning her, rocking his hips down before he can stop himself. She sucks in a breath, spreading her legs to meet the next slow thrust, and she blinks dazedly up at him, mouth dropping open as they rut against each other. 
“What was it?” she asks, raspy and heated. 
He lets out a pained sound and drops his head, hunching to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’s so goddamn hard, so close, all over a fucked-up dream, and — 
“I was holding you — up against the wall. Your wrists.” 
“Yeah?” she says, voice smoky and eager. “Remember what we talked about?” 
“Traffic lights. Red if you want me to stop.” 
“Do it.”  
Oh. 
“Are you sure?” 
“Fuck yes.” 
He snatches her wrists and crosses them over her head, watching the way her lashes flutter at the touch of metal, the way she bites her lip. She shifts under him, squirming until the length of him is slotted up against her slickness and her legs are up around his hips. 
He slides in slow, relishing every inch, her body welcoming him with living dripping heat. She arches up, and he adjusts his grip on her wrists, squeezing slightly as he braces himself. All he wants in the entire damn universe is to drive into her, piston his hips until she’s screaming, but he starts to fuck her with steady even thrusts, holding back, trying to let go of the last lingering doubts. 
“Doesn’t this scare you?” Bucky asks hoarsely. “That you’re trapped.” 
She lets out a moan that sure as hell doesn’t sound like fear. This isn’t a dream any more, but it still feels surreal. 
“Yellow,” she says.  
“Shit. What’s wrong?” He tries to pull away, but she’s got her ankles hooked, keeping him in place with her legs. He lets go of her wrists, at least, and hauls in a deep breath, trying to make sense of that fierce expression on her face. 
“Nothing. I just wanted you to see that you’re in control. You chose to stop.” 
He swallows hard. “Yeah. I did.” 
“Stop punishing your body for wanting this,” she says. 
His breath catches, and for a moment all he can do is stare. She gives him a smile so soft it threatens to rip him open.
Then he curls his fingers around her wrists again — they’re still crossed, right where he left them. He waits for her nod. 
“Green.” 
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Companion fic is here. 
359 notes · View notes
sofreddie · 3 years
Text
'Til Death Do Us Part
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Summary: The happiest day of their lives. At least, it was supposed to be.
Characters: Dean x Female!Reader, Sam, Cas
Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Blood, Major Character Death
Word Count: 1,112
Decade Under The Influence Challenge - Prompt: “A cloud hangs over and mutes my happiness. A thousand ships couldn’t sail me back from distress” - Anna Molly: Incubus @cockslut-padalecki
Diva's Writing Challenge - Prompt: “There’ll be plenty more before this is over.” - @flamencodiva
DEAN BINGO: FREE SPACE (@spndeanbingo)
AU BINGO: FREE SPACE (@spnaubingo)
A/N: 1) Decade Under The Influence prompt used as inspiration for the story. 2) Diva prompt quoted in the story (bold). 3) Please, remember you love me. : )
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"You ready?" Sam asked his older brother.
"Yeah." Dean released a long breath and nodded to his sibling.
Sam nodded in return, turning to the door and grasping the handle. He cast a glance over his shoulder to Dean, looking him over a final time, before opening the door wide.
Dean closed his eyes, taking another deep breath and releasing it, before following behind Sam, his mind swimming.
Sam took a sharp right into a large room. Dean's eyes rapidly scanned the room as his heartbeat rose. Familiar faces dotted every seat in the room, everything else covered in an abundance of simple and tasteful décor.
Trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, Dean hastily followed Sam to the front of the room.
"You got this," Sam encouraged his brother with a pat on the shoulder.
Dean nodded in response, but it was mostly automatic as he continued his breathing exercises and tried to quell his rising nerves and rapidly beating heart.
The doors at the far end of the room opened once more. Everything went silent, frozen in time, and tuned out as his vision tunneled and fixed on the approaching figure.
"Fuck," Dean breathed out in awe, his eyes wide and roaming, taking in every minute detail.
He already knew her by heart, inside and out. But the sight of her in the ivory dress she wore - striding towards him with a broad grin and a lustful gleam as she devoured him with her eyes - was an image sure to be branded in his brain for all eternity.
Dean extended his hand when she was within reach, gently guiding her the last few steps to stand toe-to-toe, intimate inches between them. They turned as one towards their friend and family, Castiel.
The Angel readily agreed to lend his hand in bonding the two of them in a ceremony that went far beyond mere paper declarations. Two lives, lived side-by-side for so long, intertwining into one.
Dean never thought he'd have this - a wedding and a wife. His life, consumed by darkness and pain, made him believe it wasn't possible. But she, the light in the darkness, made him believe it was. They'd fought through so much together and come out the other side hand-in-hand. They could survive anything, as long as they were together.
Their voices cracked and their eyes welled as they spoke their promises to one another. Their hands shook as they slid rings onto fingers. Their lips tingled in anticipation of completing the ceremony.
They shared a kiss of restrained passion and open emotion, a promise itself. They smiled warmly at one another as the many witnesses clapped and cheered. Dean could feel Sam patting him on the back, but his eyes were glued to his bride, his wife.
Her eyes were shining with love and happiness, tears of joy welling and threatening to fall, her smile bright and just for him. He couldn't resist, leaning down to steal another kiss. His arms brought her tight against his body, keeping her close and cherishing the moment.
As she gasped into the kiss, Dean loosened his hold, worried he had hurt her in his eagerness. Pulling from the kiss his eyes met hers.
They were wide, the pure joy from before erased as a single tear made its way down her cheek. A piercing scream from somewhere in the room, followed by shouting and rapid movements, snapped Dean from his bubble.
Dean's eyes scanned the room. People were everywhere. Sam was running towards the doors, other attendees following as a fight broke out.
"D-De-"
Y/N's voice drew his attention back to her. As he looked down between them, he could see the dark and vibrant red stain growing across the bodice of her once pristine dress.
Was he having a nightmare?
Everything felt so real. He took a shuddering breath as she grew weak in his arms. He quickly lowered her to the ground, looking her over and finding a large, gaping wound.
Everything rapidly sped up as Dean's mind caught up with what was happening.
"SAM?!" Dean shouted into the void, as he tried to stem the bleeding.
"Demons," Sam growled as he slid up beside his brother, taking over wound care as Dean focused his attention on Y/N.
Dean took Y/N's hand into his, her breathing stuttered and harsh.
"Stay with me, Baby," Dean urged her as he caressed the side of her face.
"Cas-," Sam harshly whispered, drawing the Angel to them, "-heal her."
Cas knelt beside her, Sam and Dean watching as he lowered his hand above the wound. His hand lit up but had no effect on the wound. He cast a glance at the brothers, before closing his eyes and trying once again. The light grew brighter, Cas's eyes opening to reveal they too were glowing.
Still, nothing happened.
"They've done something," Cas explained, "It's not working."
"What?" Sam protested, "No - Cas - she's gonna die if you don't-"
"What part of 'it isn't working' escapes you?" Cas growled back, growing increasingly frustrated.
Dean's eyes were wide as he looked down at Y/N, the tears freely falling down his face.
"No...please," Dean sobbed, shifting to hold her, pressing his forehead to hers like so many times before.
Y/N reached up, her hand on Dean's cheek. He covered her hand with his own.
"I love you. So much," she breathed with her last as her eyes closed and she went limp in his arms.
"Y/N? No!!" Dean cried, not caring who saw.
Hours later, after most everyone had left, Sam and Cas came back to Dean, who hadn't moved from his position on the floor and hadn't released his hold on his bride.
He was out of tears, but far from numb.
Dean stood, with Y/N securely in his hold. Both Sam and Cas offered to take her but retreated with Dean's threatening growl.
"It was demons," Cas helpfully supplied.
"Crowley's?" Dean asked, stopping in his tracks and turning to the others with fire in his eyes.
"Most likely," Sam admitted, "But the last one said something before we killed him."
"He said, 'There'll be plenty more before this is over'," Cas added ominously.
"We're giving her a hunter's funeral," Dean explained in a strained tone as he slid into the backseat of the Impala with Y/N in his lap.
"Of course," Sam agreed, taking up the driver's seat without a word.
"Then what?" Cas asked as he took up the passenger's side, looking over the seat at Dean.
"Then I'm killing every last demon I get my hands on until there are no more."
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Forevers:
@sis-tafics
@lyarr24
@calaofnoldor
@hobby27
@spnbaby-67
@fangirlxwritesx67
@jarpad24
@flamencodiva
@flashxspn
@donnaintx
Dean Winchester:
@akshi8278
@jerkbitchidjitassbutt
@slamminmine
@idreamofdeanie
@charred-angelwings
@deandreamernp
@laycblack
@siospins
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Pain
AN: My humble submission for @cockslut-padalecki A Decade Under the Influence writing challenge. Here’s to another decade enjoying our hobbies 💜🖤. My song was Pain by Three Days Grace. I interpreted the song as a toxic relationship and honestly the first person who came to mind was Ranson Drysdale 🤷🏿‍♀️. The lyrics will be italicized. 
Warnings: toxic relationship, domestic abuse (emotional and physical w/ injuries), infidelity, non-con/dub-con (tagging both just in case), destruction of property, somnophilia, I’m not joking yall, heed the warnings this is TOXIC
Word Count: 1,569
I do not own the rights to the song nor the lyrics of the song
Pain without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Sitting on the side of the bed, you survey the damage. A hole in the wall. Shattered lamp near the nightstand. A bloody hand print on the pillow to your right. It draws your attention as you try to figure out whose blood it is. Doesn't matter, you're both bleeding. A cough to your left in the corner of the room makes you wince; he'll never admit it but this fight took a lot out of him. His breathing is labored and you wonder if you may have broken a rib. Good. 
You sigh as you rack your memory to figure out how you got here. They say no relationship is perfect but yours was pretty close. In the beginning, Ransom Drysdale was a perfect gentleman; always held the door open for you, brought you flowers and even watched that TV show with you that you knew he didn’t particularly care for. The first year was a dream. But then things started to go downhill. Fights with his family would result to him coming to your apartment and taking his frustrations out on you. You allowed it then; thinking you’d be a good outlet for him. But soon his ranting and raving turned into him degrading you. When his grandfather passed, the flood gates opened and your head was on a spindle, waiting for his next mood swing. Still you stayed even if you knew it was no longer a healthy relationship. Naively you continued to stand by his side telling yourself that at least he was physical with you and that had to mean he cared for you even if he could’t expression himself in a loving manner.
Then came the cheating. Openly flaunting his conquests in your mutual circles. At first you didn't want to believe it. You trusted him and he reciprocated your trust or so you assumed. But the pitied stares and crude whispers at your expense began to chip away at you. You'd confront him and at first, he denied it. You were the only one for him he had proclaimed and like a love sick puppy, you were his again. But when videos and photos were sent to your phone, hard evidence of his betrayal, he didn't even bother to come up with a good lie. He knew you loved him and used that to his advantage. But there was only so much you could take. So much you would take.
This life is filled with hurt
When happiness doesn't work
Trust me, and take my hand
When the lights go out, you'll understand
Another cough and a groan. He was attempting to stand up. Curses left his lips as he stands on wobbly legs, no doubt as dizzy as you are. You stare straight ahead, hoping that he wouldn’t want to continue the fight and leave you alone. He mutters to himself before he spits, blood and saliva landing on the tile next to your foot. You see his foot for a split second before he moves away from you and to the bathroom door. 
“Fucking bitch.” he quite literally spits. You want to retort, a scathing insult on your tongue but the throbbing in your head is too distracting to care. The door slams and you close your eyes, the exhaustion settling in your bones. And soul. 
"So, what? It's over? Give me a break." He laughed incredulously at you. The smirk that you had once found so handsome now was the bane of your existence. "Like you can find someone better, sweetheart."
"I can and I will!" You rant, pacing back and forth. He's perched on your counter-top, legs swing as he regards you with a humorous expression that only pisses you off more. 
"Yeah sure. Good luck with that."
You're sick of feeling numb
You're not the only one
I'll take you by the hand
And I'll show you a world that you can understand
The running water brings you back to the present and your heart breaks at the memory. He was right. No matter how many dates you went on, how many you invited into your bed. No one could compare. As much as you hated him, you loved him. Love him. 
You weren't expecting to see him sitting on your bed after your date. It was lackluster at best and you honestly just wanted to lay down and forget the whole ordeal. You sat your purse on the dresser and crossed your arms waiting for his tirade but when the silence stretched longer than you were comfortable with, you moved to go to the bathroom. He was on you in seconds, left hand secured firmly around your throat. "Really? You replaced me with that tool?" 
Anger and agony are better than misery
Trust me, I've got a plan
When the lights go up, you'll understand
You couldn't ignore the thrill that went through you at his anger. Serves him right. Too many nights you sat up and cried over his infidelity, his cruelty. About time he felt even an iota of the pain he put you through. Your eyes meet his as you stared him down. You knew he wanted an answer and your defiance would be the response. 
"You're such a cunt, you know that? Pathetic. I fucking hate you." You strike him before you know it. The slap resounded around the room. His hand leaves your throat as he grabs his face, eyes wide in shock. You didn't mean to hit him but your body moved faster than your brain, his audacity triggering your fight or flight. He lunged at you quicker than you thought he could and gave you a hard smack in return. His hand found your throat again and he shoved you against the wall, the back of your head smacking it loudly. 
"So you wanna be tough now, huh? Finally fight back?" He snarled too close to your face. You tried to shove him off but he was stronger and leaned his body in towards you. Your vision began to wane, either from the lack of oxygen or the hit against the wall you weren't sure. He was speaking, that much you were certain of but his words were lost in your determination to breathe. Grabbing at his wrist, you dropped your body weight and pulled him down with you. You both hit the floor and as soon as he released you, you crawled away from him and hit the nightstand causing the lamp to rock on the floor. He was on his feet quicker than you had expected and you grabbed the lamp and swung, the metal connecting to his side. 
"I hate you too, asshole." 
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
That you're wounded
(You know, you know, you know, you know)
That I'm here to save you
(You know, you know, you know, you know)
I'm always here for you
(I know, I know, I know, I know)
That you'll thank me later
Hot air suffocated you and a heaviness settled over you so forcefully that you found it hard to draw a breath. The throbbing in your head had dulled but was present and you groaned. You tried to move away from the weight but you were pinned, unable to wiggle away. Consciousness ebbed and flowed but a sharp jolt on your lower body forced you towards awareness. A soft moan above you made you frown as another sharp thrust to your groin made you open your eyes. It was dark but you could see Ransom, lips parted and face contorted in pain or pleasure, you weren't sure. His face hovered close to yours and for a moment, a wave of panic washed over you at the thought he might kill you. Another thrust made you gasp and your fuzzy brain fought to catch up. 
"Don't fight it." He whispered almost uncharacteristically gentle as his hips rolled into yours. Gritting your teeth, you attempt to move away from him but he has your arms pinned to your sides. His lips find yours and the stunning pain of the cut makes you whimper. Another thrust and your legs part on their own accord and you writhe under him, the feeling of him inside of you a cruel comfort. He takes it as your submission and speeds up as he trails kisses from your jaw to your neck where he buries his face. Your head swims as you once again try to figure out just how you got here. He moans your name and bites into your neck, the small spark triggering your orgasm unexpectedly. His pace falters at the feel of you clenching around him and it isn’t long before he comes with a broken hiss of your name. 
“I love you.” his soft admission barely heard over his labored breathing. Tears sting your eyes as he nuzzles against you and wraps his arms across your torso. You don’t know who you hate more, him or yourself. As the tears fall into your hairline and his breathing evens out, you realize that the answer is yourself because you know the truth and can do nothing about it. 
“I love you too.”
Rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain...
I’m not tagging a lot of people because I don’t want to offend: @avintagekiss24 @sapphirescrolls @cockslut-padalecki 
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Bathe in Sin
Summary: A stubborn Sam leaves the bunker and Lacey goes with him. After days of trying to get through to him, she decides on a different approach to help him blow off steam. 
Created for: @cockslut-padalecki​‘s Decade Under the Influence Challenge
Prompt: “Dressed to kill, you look so right. I am drunk with lust tonight. Your wounds are opening wide, and they might be just my size” - Side Walk When She Walks by Alexisonfire
Pairing: Sam x OC
Warnings: 18+ PLUS ONLY!! Angst, unprotected sex, rough, my unstoppable obsession with how large Sam is shining through here and there
Word count: 2.9K
A/N: This is my first time posting an explicit smut fic. I tried to do the lyrics and the vibes of the song justice. Let me know what you think! Feedback is the best fuel for every writer <3
Beta: @princessmisery666​
|| JJ’s Masterlist ||
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It was the first night in their third motel since leaving the bunker. Lacey wasn’t sure if Sam was looking for a hunt, or maybe he didn’t want Dean to find them. She doubted Dean would be looking for them. Neither brother was going to concede anytime soon. 
Knuckleheads.
Lacey could smack herself for not having realized sooner how serious their falling out was. She wondered, if she had only stepped in a little bit earlier, things wouldn’t be the way they were now. They would have been home, where they belonged. She would be sitting around the table with the two brothers, rolling her eyes at one of Dean’s stupid jokes while Sam looked at her with that peaceful smile he only got when it was just them. 
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why Sam was upset. Dean had lied to him. Again. He said he did it to protect his little brother. Again. Sam got angry with Dean. Also, not new. But this time he had packed a bag and bolted out the door. Lacey had barely had any time to grab her own duffle and follow him.
It hadn’t been her choice to leave home, but if it meant she at least got to be with Sam while he figured this out, she would bite her tongue and get through it with him. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t support Sam. She would die for him without a second thought. The problem with this situation was that it was a waste of time. Lacey knew the brothers would come to their senses and make up eventually anyway. She just wished she knew when so she didn’t have to wonder when she’d sleep in her own comfortable bed again, or get to use a shower of which the water stayed warm for longer than three minutes.
Sam was stubborn. Lacey had figured that out soon enough when she got to know him. Despite that, she fell in love with the man. Maybe even a little bit because of it. She knew he could handle all this. He just needed some time.
She had brief text-exchanges with Dean to let him know they were all right, but the brothers hadn’t spoken since their argument. That was over two weeks ago.
Sam had been on edge from the moment he hightailed out of the bunker. Lacey tried to talk some sense into him multiple times. During the long car rides, Sam would turn the radio volume up to end the conversation. At night in bed, he would say he was tired and turn off the light. The few times she did manage to get him to say something, Sam would tell her Dean was the one she should be trying to talk to. In the texts from the older Winchester, she got the same response about Sam.
Lacey wanted to grab both brothers’ pride and stick it where the sun couldn’t reach. She was usually a pretty patient person, but when she saw the people she cared about hurting because of something so stupid, something they could fix so easily, she got frustrated.
One night, Lacey had pushed Sam a little too far and he snapped at her, telling her to get lost. She hadn’t even been able to turn around to leave before he was in front of her, grabbing her hand and looking at her with regret deep in his eyes. She’d stayed. And Sam apologized a dozen different times that night, in a dozen different ways.
Following that night, Sam seemed to have realized he had to be more careful who he directed his frustration toward. He wasn’t angry with Lacey, he was angry with Dean. And, Lacey knew, with himself, but that was a conversation he definitely wasn’t ready to have yet.
Day after day, Lacey was hyper-aware of how tense Sam was. She had exhausted most methods to get him to talk about it and face the problem. She had to come up with a new plan. Maybe what Sam needed was a distraction, a way to forget for a moment. Lacey knew just the thing to help him blow off steam.
Sam needed to get lost in something other than his frustration. She wanted him to get lost in her.
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Lacey was still in the bathroom when Sam came back from his supply run that night. When she came out, he was putting away the last of the food in the small motel room fridge. Lacey walked into the room barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Sam’s large shirts over her underwear.
Upon hearing her approaching, Sam glanced over his shoulder. He frowned and looked at the clock on the wall, before looking back at Lacey. “You’re going to bed already?” he asked. “It’s only nine. I thought we could go into town, catch a movie.” 
Ever since he’d snapped at her, Sam had been trying to find ways to make being away from home more enjoyable for her. Lacey knew he felt guilty, and she appreciated the effort, but tonight she had other plans.
“I thought we’d stay in tonight,” she said. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
Sam took in a sharp breath before slowly closing the fridge and standing up straight. Though there was a few feet left between them, he was still towering over her. A disapproving look shone in his eyes.
“Lace, I told you, I don’t want to talk a-”
“It’s not about that,” she quickly cut him off. Lacey’s lips pulled into a conniving little smile. Her finger caught a lock of her hair and started twirling it. “I was just wondering…”
As her voice trailed off, Sam’s eyebrows raised. She could tell he was slowly catching on to her mood, and so she continued.
Her hands disappeared underneath the shirt she was wearing. “I was just wondering…” she said again as she swiftly pulled down the pair of panties that had been hidden by the shirt’s fabric. She bent forward to guide the piece of lingerie down her bare legs. “What you think of these.” When she righted again, it was dangling from her outstretched index finger. “I bought them new the other day.”
Sam took in the laced fabric. It had always been her favorite style of lingerie to wear, and his favorite to see on her. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.
Lacey noticed Sam’s eyes had darkened to that familiar shade of lust. She rubbed the insides of her thighs together. Sam still hadn’t said anything, so she continued.
“It’s a matching set,” she innocently informed him as she let the panties drop on the floor. Sam’s eyes didn’t follow them down, they stayed right on her. They watched her pull the straps of her bra down her arms, and through the sleeves of his shirt. They took in the way she reached behind her back and unclasped the second piece of the set.
This time she didn’t hold it up for him to look at. She just gave the bra a quick tuck and let it fall from beneath the shirt, onto the floor at her feet.
A new form of tension hung in the air between them. Lacey let Sam evaluate the situation in silence for a moment. Let him look at her, standing in front of him, knowing she was fully naked underneath his shirt.
She averted her gaze, looked down at her bare feet and started drawing circles into the carpet. After listening to a few deep heavy breaths from Sam, Lacey glanced up at him through her lashes and asked, “Well? Do you like it?”
Sam tilted his head to one side, then the other, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his neck. His eyes moved down from her face to her chest. Lacey knew what he was looking at. Her nipples had gotten hard and were now prominently standing out through the fabric of the shirt. Sam’s fervid eyes took in the sight.
Then he finally moved closer to her. He crossed the distance between them in barely two strides. His hands found her hips and pulled her in. Lacey wrapped her arms around his neck and Sam dipped his head down.
“I think,” he hummed in his low voice, his lips brushing her ear, sending shivers down her back, “you look good in anything.” Bending his knees slightly, he easily lifted her up, guiding her legs around his waist. The shirt rode up her thighs, revealing her bare ass. When Sam hoisted her up a little higher, her cunt rubbed against the rough fabric of the waistband of his jeans. The friction caused a soft whimper to escape her lips.
The build-up had heightened all of Lacey’s senses. She could feel how wet she’d gotten solely from the way Sam had been eyeing her.
“However,” he continued as he started walking forward, “I think you look best trapped between me and the closest wall I can press your pert little ass up against.” As Sam finished his filthy thought out loud, Lacey was pressed tight between Sam’s hard chest and the motel room wall. He put his hands against it on either side of her head and leveled his forehead with hers to look into her eyes rather sternly. “You wanna play, huh?” he said, sounding askew.
Lacey nodded, looking deep into his eyes.
“Use your words,” he chastised her, his voice hard.
“Yes.” She licked her lips feverishly. “I want to play, Sam. Please?” Her hips bucked against his, desperately looking for more friction.
Sam smirked at her politeness. “How could I ever say no to that?” he mused. “Look at you, so eager for me.”
“Sam,” Lacey whined. She continued grinding against him. There was now an obvious bulge in his pants and she could feel it against her needy heath every time she moved.
She reached for his belt, but Sam was faster. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and effortlessly pinned them over her head against the wall. His other hand grabbed her chin firmly and tilted her head back to expose her neck.
His mouth was on her instantly, ravaging her skin, breath hot and teeth scraping. “I heard you last night when you were in the shower,” he grunted between bruising kisses. “You didn’t really think you could keep quiet for me, did you? I could make out those sweet noises of yours anywhere.” He pulled his hand from Lacey’s chin and it disappeared beneath the shirt of his she was still wearing. “Or maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.” His rough fingers found one of her hardened nipples and gave it a nasty pinch.
Lacey let out a sharp moan of surprise. It never failed to amaze her how well Sam knew her. It was true she hadn’t tried to hide her little play time in the shower the night before. She had wanted to give him something to think about. Something to stay on his mind throughout the entirety of the next day, to build up to this very moment. It pleased her to find out it had worked out exactly as planned.
“We better get you what you want,” Sam continued, his hand now brazenly groping her tits underneath his shirt. “You look like you’re about to break open,” she didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking, “and I haven’t even filled you up yet.”
Lacey didn’t doubt his words. She sure felt like it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she had lost all control of her hips. They just kept bucking against Sam’s body, grinding to find some form of release for the desperate want inside of her.
When Sam let go of her wrists, she climbed a little higher up his impossibly large body to allow him to pull his pants and boxers down just far enough. His cock sprung free and Lacey could feel it probing her ass.
Sam’s hands were gentle yet resolute as he pushed Lacey away from his body. It gave him enough room to pull the shirt off her and reveal in all her beautiful, naked glory what she had been teasing to him during her little show from before.
Before the shirt had even landed on the floor, his hand was pulling his hard length up between their bodies. The tip left some of its precum on Lacey’s lower stomach. Sam didn’t miss a beat and wiped it off with his large thumb before moving his hand up to her face.
Lacey parted her lips without a second thought. In response, Sam’s smirk grew and his eyes darkened further. “Good girl,” he spoke huskily as she sucked his finger clean eagerly.
The salty taste subsided after seconds but Sam didn’t pull out his thumb and Lacey kept her plump lips around him. She never broke eye contact, looking at him with the same lust in her eyes that she saw mirrored in his.
He didn’t need any more verbal communication to know what she wanted, and she didn’t need to ask to know he was about to give it to her.
Their bodies moved in sync. Lacey moved her hips back and Sam positioned himself at her entrance. Her body jerked up when he slammed into her, easily filling her up all at once because of how wet she was. He let out a low breathy sound of approval when he watched her breasts bounce from the movement.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, baby?” he cooed in her ear when he leaned closer.
Lacey’s head was leaning back against the wall and all she could get out was a frustrated, “Yuh.” Her hands reached for Sam, blindly finding his long hair and tugging at it.
Sam’s low growl sent a shiver down to her core. Another tug and his teeth were scraping her neck again. One more and he was finally moving inside her.
She could feel him sliding in and out with ease, giving a few lazy thrusts before he started picking up the pace. She had to move her hands from his hair onto his shoulders to grab on tight when he really started pounding into her.
His movements were ruthless, stretching her open wide for him and no doubt leaving her bruised; just the way she liked it. The sounds falling from her lips spurred him on and he somehow began moving even faster.
Lacey wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck tightly, pulling her entire body against him. Her hands slid underneath the collar of his shirt, allowing her nails to dig into his shoulder blades. Sam let out a hiss at the stinging scratches she left behind. She could feel his wicked grin against the tender skin of her throat. He was still sucking, leaving it raw and sensitive.
She let him release all his frustrations, liberate his grievances. And she let him do it all with her. Every movement felt so right. They were both drunk on desire, grunting and panting while their bodies felt like they were on fire.
One of Sam’s hands sneaked its way between them and down Lacey’s front. His large fingers found her clit. He wasted no time starting to circle the bundle of nerves, sending a jolt of deliciously excruciating pleasure straight up to her core.
“Sam,” Lacey moaned into his shoulder, “Baby, I…”
“It’s okay,” he breathed. “Let go.” His hips snapped sharply.
Somewhere far in the back of her mind, Lacey was aware that that was exactly what she was supposed to be saying to him. Then Sam hoisted her up just a little higher and she lost all sense of thought when he hit her from a different angle. Even if she’d still been to her full senses, Lacey wouldn’t have been able to stop herself snapping from the pressure.
“Let go,” she heard Sam say again. Her hips bucked and her body shook as she came. With her walls squeezing around him, Sam’s body tightened against her. She could feel him emptying his load inside of her.
Her name and his praises fell off his lips in the same sloppy rhythm he kept thrusting into her, riding them both through their climax. Lacey’s lips found Sam’s and their deep kiss smothered their moans.
When they pulled apart, Sam caught his breath. He stepped back from the wall and carried Lacey through the room. He didn’t pull out of her until she was hovering over the bed. Then he gently placed her on the mattress. Lacey pulled the blanket over herself as she watched Sam pull his pants the rest of the way down. He took off the rest of his clothes before joining her.
“Feel better?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his beautiful face. The darkness in his eyes had gone but Lacey could still spot a hint of lust remaining.
She nodded, letting out a soft sigh. Then her eyebrows pulled into a slight frown when she thought of how that had hardly been the point of all this. “Yes, but-”
“Me too,” he interrupted her, as if he knew exactly what she was going to say. She realized he probably did.
His hand was on her knee, snaking up her thigh until it reached her core, feeling up the wreckage he’d left behind. “But I bet I can make you feel even better.” And with that same grin still on his lips, Sam fully disappeared under the covers.
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Let me know if you want to be added to any of my taglists!
Team Game Face (Everything tags) @princessmisery666​ || @lyarr24​ || @mishkatelwarriorgoddess​
​Team Bitch Face (Sam tags) @samfreakingwinchester​
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princessmisery666 · 3 years
Text
Soft Gooey Center
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Summary: The clue is in the title🤣. Bucky’s soft gooey center gets the better of him.
Warnings: fluff, a smidge of angst, mentions of animal neglect (not described), more fluff.
W/C: 1.7k
Challenge: @cockslut-padalecki - A Decade Under The Influence Prompt: “I need to hear your voice to talk me back into existence” - The Only One: The Mile After - I tweaked it a little but it’s bolded.
Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (Tori), a puppy. 
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Tori)
Notes: This is a follow on of sorts to Lone Wolf but can be read as a stand-alone fic.
Betas: @petitgateau911 // @pinknerdpanda // all mistakes are my own. 
A/N: I know I only posted the other day but if I didn’t post this I’d be second guessing it. 
Special Mention: @sweeterthanthis offered some feedback in the early stages so thank you.
Dividers: @firefly-graphics
Master Lists: Marvel // Bucky Barnes
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The apartment Bucky shared with Tori wasn’t big but it was enough for the two of them, and he loved every square inch of it because it was theirs. They’d been living together - just the two of them - for three months. It had taken some getting used to, learning each other’s habits and quirks, but they set some ground rules early on and it had been smooth sailing from there on in.
But today, he paced the length of the hallway nervously. He had technically broken one of the rules. He’d made a decision that affected them both, without first discussing it with her. She had warned him that his soft gooey center would get the better of him but he’d brushed off the comment without further thought. 
Today proved she’d been right. His soft gooey center had, in fact, taken the reins and now he was nervously pacing his apartment waiting for Tori to get home. He planned to intercept her arrival and butter her up as best he could before she discovered his rule-breaking on her own.
He heard her keys jingle outside the door and he rushed to open it before she could insert it into the lock.
“Wooooo,” Tori said, smirking at his abrupt appearance, “where’s the fire?”
“No fire,” he confirmed, ushering her inside.
She eyed him suspiciously but crossed the threshold and placed a kiss on his lips. “You look nervous.” 
He shrugged but didn’t comment further as he closed the door. He rushed to pass her as she removed her jacket and toed off her shoes. “How was your day?” he asked when he heard her follow him toward the kitchen.
“Busy and frustrating,” she sighed, taking a seat on a high stool at the breakfast bar.
“The GRC still making life difficult?” he asked, pouring a glass of her favorite wine (that he’d purposely picked up on the way home.)
She took the glass from him and took a small sip while she nodded. “Enough about my day, yours was way more important,” Tori said, perking up. “Did it all go through?” 
“Without a hitch,” Bucky smiled broadly, taking a seat beside her.
After his official pardon, Bucky hadn’t been ready to jump back into avenging or being a soldier or whatever he was. He needed to figure out who he was when there was no fight that needed to be fought. He was putting in the work with Doctor Raynor and she’d suggested he do some volunteer work. 
Tori had the idea that he could help out at the local animal shelter. He’d been amazing at helping Socks, the injured wolf, and Bucky was strong enough to literally do any heavy lifting and help subdue larger dogs if required. He’d been volunteering three days a week for a month and a half and he loved it. He found it to be fulfilling and for every case of neglect there was always a case of hope to counteract it. And today he’d played a role in getting a senior dog adopted. 
“Congratulations. I’m so proud of you, your first official adoption.” She beamed just as brightly as him, clinking her glass to his.
While they drank, he opened his legs wide and dragged her stool closer to him to better lean in for a kiss.
He let the kiss escalate. Perhaps she’d be more receptive if she were in a post-orgasmic haze. Once she’d clumsily set her glass on the countertop her hands roamed his torso. He gripped her thighs and she slipped off her stool to stand between his legs.
Every time he kissed her, his stomach fluttered, like a giddy teenager, falling in love for the first time. He felt ridiculous but adored every second of it too. He was in love with her, had known for a while, but he hadn’t been brave enough to say it aloud. Their relationship was still relatively new, he worried telling her how deeply she affected him may scare her off.
He pondered for a moment that telling her how he felt could help his current situation. Or would that be manipulative? Perhaps making his feelings known would make her see that he hadn’t made the decision on a whim. Though to anyone on the outside looking in it would probably seem that way. 
He understood the responsibility he was taking on, knew that what he was asking of Tori was not a small matter. However, after helping him with Socks, the injured wolf, she had made a point of showing him she meant every word she’d said. She didn’t care how deep his wounds were, or how long it would take him to open up about his past and his trepidation for the future, she had been by his side. Maybe his fears were unwarranted after all. Even if she hadn’t said she loved him either, she had shown him in a million different ways.
Distracted from his thoughts, he moaned as Tori raked her nails down his abs. As if on cue a pitiful cry emitted from the bedroom and he only hoped he had been loud enough to drown it out.
She pulled back and eyed him suspiciously, “did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he feigned innocence and buried his head in her neck, placing gentle kisses on her throat. 
“Bucky.” 
“Uh-huh.”
“How many dogs are in the bedroom?” 
Bucky admitted defeat and straightened up to look her in the eye. “One.”
“Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t bring any of them home?” she asked, stepping away from him to make her way to the bedroom.
“Wait,” Bucky said, quickly grabbing her wrist before she could get too far. “Let me go first.”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her down the short corridor. He stopped outside their bedroom and turned to face her. “Don’t go falling in love with him,” he smirked, “we’re just fostering him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr Soft Gooey Center, just open the door.” 
He opened the door slowly and Tori followed him inside. A fluffy, brown and white ball of fur, with a red collar, was pressed tightly between the nightstand and the wall. Bucky gently lowered himself to the floor directly across from him and Tori followed his lead. 
The puppy whimpered and tried shrinking further back against the wall. “It’s okay buddy,” Bucky whispered, “you just take your time.”
“What’s his story?” Tori whispered just as Bucky had. 
“He’s only a pup, a husky mix of some kind, we think about nine months old,” Bucky explained, keeping his voice quiet. “He was found on the street. He was so scared in the shelter, T, worse than he is now, he just cowered in the corner, shaking so hard I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”
She exhaled sadly and Bucky knew she felt the same deep empathy for the animal that he did. Bucky rested his head on the wall behind him and watched the young dog but Tori turned only her head to look at him. “Should we leave him alone?” she asked and he heard the control it took to keep her voice from breaking. 
He softly shook his head. “I’d made some progress before you came home, he’d come over to sniff my boots and he walked around the room, checking some stuff out. But now he doesn’t exist in this room again, he’s lost someplace else, in a void of fear. He needs to know we’re here, that we’re nothing to fear. I know he needs to hear our voices to talk him back into existence.” 
“How?” she questioned, slipping her hand into his. “How do you know that’s what he needs?”
“Cause that’s what I needed,” he said, turning the upper half of his body to better look in her eyes. “After everybody came back, I was lost in that same void. Fear of who I was, the things I’d done, who I was supposed to become, scared of what would happen to me now. I didn’t exist, I was just existing. Then you followed me that morning to help Socks. Everything you said...everything you’ve done since then,” he paused to find the right words. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I needed to hear that... to hear you talk me back in existence.” He caressed her cheek and drew her mouth to his to kiss her softly. Resting his forehead against hers he confirmed, “That’s how I know.” 
There was a heartbeat of silence before her whispered confession danced over his lips, “I love you.”
As soon as the last syllable left her mouth he felt her tense under his hand that still rested on her cheek. He pulled back slightly to see her eyes squeezed shut and her biting her bottom lip. A jolt of panic shot through him and his heart clenched that perhaps the expression she wore was one of regret, that she hadn’t meant it, that it had been a slip of the tongue.
She kept her eyes practically glued shut. “You don’t have to say it back and I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m sorry, this wasn’t…”
He kissed her, firmly, and it succeeded in shutting her up. “Tori, look at me,” he coaxed and waited until she granted his wish. “I love you too.” 
Before he could kiss her again movement caught his eyes and he cautiously turned his head to see the puppy sniffing his outstretched leg. Tori gasped and then quickly held her breath to not scare him away again.
“So what do you say?” Bucky asked, watching the dog gradually move to sniff Tori’s leg. “Can we foster him?” 
She let a small laugh out, “I think it might be time to look for a bigger place for the three of us and whoever else your soft gooey center can’t resist.” 
The smile that spread across his face actually hurt his cheeks but he shrugged nonchalantly. “Hey, at least you won your bet with Sam.” 
Sam had bet Tori fifty bucks that Bucky would take home a dog he felt sorry for in his first month of volunteering. As part of his master plan to win, Sam hadn’t been very subtle in encouraging Bucky to adopt one. It took Bucky all of five seconds of listening to Sam’s ‘reasoning’ to figure it out.
“What? You knew about that?”
Bucky’s forehead crinkled as if it were obvious. “Why do you think I waited an extra two weeks?”
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