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#yeehawing; gunshots

eyndr · 9 months

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Taking the dog out at night here feels like playing a FNAF game

I’ve got a flashlight i use to constantly sweep the area for fiends (coyotes and such) and there are many Noises and also at least one creature i need to keep an eye on the location of (doggy). There’s even the door to close if a fiend approaches (need to get doggy and myself through it first but still)

I am also, much like the security guards, not paid enough to fight off the fiends but i’ll do it anyways dgkhkdjg

#i should probably raise my rates #id do this job for free but also. groceries and gas expensive fjhkdjfdjg #its yeehaw county out here so sometimes the Noises are random gunshots. which is fun #my flashlight is a beeg boy club thing and i am at all times full of the bottled rage so i feel like i could handle some coyotes #dumbass with a gun tho. hmm #eyndr talks

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nerdycolorcupcake · 2 years

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Yoo, new followers and old ones that followed me but have no idea who tf i am

*bows* pleased to meet your acquaintance

I hope this help y'all know me a bit more :3

Any futher questions i may answer later, who knows, if i'm not drowning myself in business

#bunbunart #digital sketch #fursona #half bunny half wolf #yeehaw #bun sona #you see this is a trick nickname #you either call me that bc of my bunny half #or bc you checkin on my asscheeks- *gunshot*#artist on tumblr

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ellemj · 4 months

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Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Read parts 1 and 2 first if you haven't!

Summary: Bucky took a bullet for you and your ungrateful attitude is exactly what will help end his unwanted attraction to you, his new roommate. Or at least he thought it would help, until he found out how pretty you look on your knees.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mutual masturbation, hint of a size kink, blood, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: According to @littlemiss-yeehaw, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Idk if I agree but it's a lil tiny bit filthy. Sorry for the long wait but I did NOT want to risk half-assing this chapter when I was so focused on getting through the 12 Days of Smut in December. Hope you all enjoy!

Pissed. That’s what you are in this moment, beyond pissed. You’re in the backseat of Sam’s car as he drives you and Bucky through the city, heading back to your apartment complex. He should be heading toward the nearest hospital but of course, the stubborn ass super soldier who you now call your roommate adamantly refused to go to the hospital after being shot.

“If I see so much as one drop of blood on my leather seats...” Sam threatens coldly, shooting Bucky a side-eye from the driver’s seat. You don’t even have to see his face to know that Bucky’s returning the calloused look. You let out an annoyed sigh as you start unbuckling the strap of one of your heels, your shimmery body glitter reflecting the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming in from the windows. “And you,” Sam says, casting a glance in the rearview mirror and catching your gaze, “don’t get glitter all over my damn car.”

“I’d be getting glitter all over Elias Leveaux’s car right now if Bucky hadn’t inserted himself into my op.” You put extra emphasis on the word my, using the rearview mirror to look at Bucky’s stoic expression. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, refusing to dignify you with even a brief darting of his eyes in your direction. After kicking off your heels and stuffing them in your duffel bag, you reach behind yourself to start undoing the back of your lacey corset top. Though it looks hot as fuck on you, it’s also uncomfortable as fuck and you’re not wearing it for a moment longer than you have to. Your breasts are one more snap away from spilling out of the top when Sam catches Bucky’s gaze drifting to the rearview mirror so briefly that he’s surprised he even noticed it. Sam’s quick to reach a hand up and tilt the mirror to point at the ceiling, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He would’ve expected a man from Steve’s era to behave a little better than that. “What the hell were the three of you even doing there tonight? This was meant to be a solo op, I didn’t need any more backup than I already had.”

“Right, you’d be safely on your way to Leveaux’s house right now, wouldn’t you? Without a bullet wound in your head or your chest or wherever else?” Bucky seethes, growing more and more tired of your stubbornness. Do you not realize that it was a planned shooting? Someone knew Leveaux was going to be at the club tonight and they plotted it all ahead of time, aiming to either scare him into staying off of the streets of the city or maybe even aiming to kill him. It was going to happen regardless of how much backup you did or didn’t have tonight.

“You know, Bucky, you can’t say shit. You got yourself shot tonight. You should’ve stayed in the club.” As soon as the words leave your lips you feel a tinge of regret settling in the pit of your stomach. He got himself shot protecting you. He shielded you with his own body. He was observant of your surroundings, he saw the dark car slowly coming down the street with its windows halfway down, and his first move was to shove you against the wall and put his body between yours and the danger behind. He likely saved your life, yet you can’t find it within yourself to offer him even a measly thank you. He’s actually a little bit thankful for everything that happened after you left the stage earlier, because he was really starting to wonder how the hell he was going to find enough to dislike about you to keep his cock from getting hard every time you cross paths, which is way too often when you live together. But you acting like this? Acting like he did you a disservice by not only saving you from a hail of gunfire but also by saving you from going home with the most notorious arms dealer in the northern U.S? He thinks this ungrateful attitude of yours might cure him.

When the sound of your last corset fastener snapping open disturbs the short-lived silence in the car, Bucky clenches his teeth together. He wishes you would wait until you were home to change, but he also couldn’t stand knowing that you were sitting there in that fucking black lingerie set with nothing but another man’s coat covering your skin. Maybe he isn’t as cured as he thought.

“You should’ve called me Sam, you should’ve told me that you guys were going to be there tonight.” Your tone is a little softer as you slip on a black Calvin Klein bra and then pull your black sweater from earlier over it.

“Fury didn’t brief us until the last minute, I had no idea it was your op until it was too late to call you. You were already onsite.” Sam explains, trying to diffuse your anger a bit more. You sigh as you slide your black jeans over your legs and begin zipping and buttoning them closed.

“I’ve been waiting to get him alone for months.” You’re sulking. You put so much time and effort into tracking Leveaux’s every move, every hobby, every place he frequents. You know the man inside and out, and you knew this night was your only chance to get what you needed from him. You lift your right hand and massage your temples with your middle finger and thumb, feeling the start of a stress headache coming on.

“You’ll get another chance. He was pretty damn interested in you and what you had to offer.” Sam points out, fixing the rearview mirror back into its proper position and using it to make eye contact with you. He knows you work hard and that you’re good at your job, and he hates to see you so frustrated over one op being blown for reasons that were out of your control. As much as you want to blame Bucky, it wasn’t even his fault. However, you plan to hold a bit of a grudge regardless.

“Answer this one for me, when you were briefed, did Fury tell you that my cover name was the same as my real first name?” You ask, perking up in your seat a bit as you fish around in your bag for your socks. It’s freezing outside and you can barely feel your feet after wearing your heels out in such a low temperature.

“You really think I would’ve blown your cover unintentionally?” Bucky questions, his blue eyes boring into yours in the mirror. Clearly he takes offense at your insinuation. He might’ve inserted himself into your moment with Leveaux on a whim, but he isn’t reckless like you, he knew what he was doing outside the club. He was saving your ass. You stare right back at him, malice lighting your gaze on fire.

“You’re telling me you meant to do it on purpose?”

“Calm down, we knew your cover name was the same as your real name. Your cover wasn’t blown.” Sam interjects, trying his best to stomp out the flames of the fight that’s brewing between you and Bucky. His eyes leave the road for a moment as he casts a glance between the two of you, unable to ignore the growing tension in the car. “What the hell is up with you two? I’ve barely ever seen you guys interact, much less be at each other’s throats like you are right now. Am I missing something?”

“No.” You and Bucky speak the word in unison. The last few minutes of the car ride are taken in silence, no one daring to say another word as you and Bucky stew in your own anger and Sam focuses on avoiding patches of black ice in the road. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky’s been shot, until you get out of the car in the parking garage and see the sizable, dark red wet patch smeared across the fabric covering his torso. He’s keeping his flesh hand held tight over the area, in an attempt to abate the blood loss. It looks a lot worse than he’s been making it seem, but you’d expect no less from someone so damn stubborn.

It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to your floor of the complex, and as soon as the elevator doors begin sliding open to let you both out, you can feel that urge somewhere deep inside, tugging at your conscience. You’re going to end up breaking out your first aid kit and using it on him. You can’t even argue with yourself, it’s what’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. Fuck your medical background and inherent need to take care of everyone but yourself.

Bucky’s planning to shower the blood off of his skin and maybe throw a couple of bandages over the entrance and exit wounds that he knows he’s sporting. That’s the most that he thinks he’ll need. He’s barely ever needed any more than a little wound cleansing and maybe some gauze here and there, he heals so quickly that first aid always been an unnecessary comfort. As he trails behind you down the hallway, watching the way you fiddle with the set of keys in your right hand, he wonders what you’re thinking now. He imagines you’re probably picturing yourself leaving him standing on the curb as you ride off into the dark of night with Elias Leveaux. Would you really have made it all the way to Leveaux’s house and let him put his hands on you? Would you have let him have you? All for a little bit of intel that you could probably gain in a much safer way? God, Bucky can’t stand you or the way you operate in the field. The next time Fury calls him in on anything related to you, he’s waving a white flag of surrender and saying hell no. He isn’t going to be tasked with sitting on the sidelines to watch as you let some criminal touch your ass and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Fuck that.

You deftly slide your key into the lock, turning it to the right before pushing the door handle down. When the door swings open, the darkness of your apartment greets you, mingling with an eerie silence. That’s another thing that you and Bucky don’t have in common. You always leave a light on when you go out, whether it’s a table lamp or the light above the stovetop in the kitchen, you hate coming home to darkness. But Bucky never leaves a light on. It’s like he’s allergic to all things cozy and comforting. You’re acutely aware of his presence behind you as you step into the apartment and stop in your tracks when he shuts the door behind you both. It’s dark, too dark. Of course, when you freeze right in front of him, Bucky’s next step sends him crashing into your back, which sends you nearly sprawling to the floor. He reaches out with his vibranium hand and grabs you by the elbow, steadying you quickly before letting go. It only takes him a second to figure out why you’ve stopped short, and he turns around to feel along the wall by the door until he hears the way the scratchy sound of the rough painted wall gives way to the smooth plastic covering of the light switch panel under his metal fingers. When he flicks the living room light on, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Bucky watches as you cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, making a left turn into your bedroom with your duffel bag in tow. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees a trail of glitter and being sprinkled across the floor in your wake and cartoon-style steam billowing out of your ears. With you gone, he can finally think without a cloud of anger fogging up his thoughts. His first move is to turn on the lights in the kitchen and fish a cold beer out of the fridge. His second move is to lean back against the edge of the island and take a long sip of said beer as he gauges how much his gunshot wound hurts. Not that much. Listening to you give him shit over nothing was more painful than the bullet he took for you. God, you’re fucking infuriating. As much as he detests your presence here tonight, he still finds himself tuning an ear in your direction. He can hear you rummaging around in your room, presumably searching for something by the sounds of your sighs and various objects sliding across the carpet. For a second, his mind floats back to the first night you moved in. The soft moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth, quiet enough that he had to strain his ears to hear them but loud enough that he was able to fucking memorize them. His grip around the beer bottle tightens as he tries to focus on anything besides those sounds, anything besides the recurrent sighs traveling down the hall right now. What the hell are you even doing in there?

“Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds out from down the hall, reaching Bucky’s ears and making him do a doubletake.

“Last time you saw me without one you asked why I never wear one.” Bucky points out, now he’s really wondering what you’re doing in your bedroom. He hears your socked feet pattering against the floor of the hallway just before you turn the corner and step into the kitchen. His eyes lock onto yours first, but then they quickly dart down to the compact, army green tactical bag in your hands. He recognizes it in an instant. “I think if I got myself shot, I can handle the wound care on my own, sweetheart.” Bucky throws your earlier words right back in your face. You narrow your eyes at him as you step up to the island and set the first aid bag just a few inches to his right. You’re silent as you unzip it and start pulling out a few supplies you’re sure you’ll need.

“Just take off your shirt and sit your ass on the island.” Your tone is really starting to convey how fed up you are with his shit. He thinks about arguing a little more, but he’s as ready to be done with you tonight as you are with him. He figures the fastest way to get this over with is to let you take a look at his wound and see how fast he’s already healing, and then you’ll leave him alone and you can go your separate ways for the night. So, Bucky turns and sets his now half-empty beer bottle on the island next to the first aid kit before grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He drops it on the floor by your feet, watching with poorly masked amusement as your eyes rake over his toned shoulders, his chest, the rippled muscles of his abs, and then… “God, you should’ve gone to the hospital, Bucky.”

Though the lighting in the kitchen is pretty good, Bucky being so tall casts a shadow over his lower body, making it hard to get an illuminated view of the bullet’s exit wound. Your hand lands on his vibranium shoulder without hesitation and you tug him forward and to the side, urging him to turn around. He complies, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your palm and fingertips brushing over the scars where vibranium meets tortured skin. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, he finds himself annoyed at how soothing your touch feels. He wants this whole thing over with. You lean over to examine the entrance wound on the side of his lower back as Bucky runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the exit wound on his frontside, which is exactly what you’d expected. You don’t give Bucky any warning as you swipe a pre-soaked pad of iodine over his wound to clean it. You want to check for bullet fragments, to give him a few stitches and maybe even a shot of a local anesthetic, but you’re sure he’d rather take another bullet than let you do any of that. So, you simply clean the wound and fashion a secure, waterproof bandage over it. When you stand up again and tap his shoulder, he turns back around to face you, looking even more annoyed than before. He doesn’t make a move to sit on the island, so you let out a frustrated sigh as you do the only thing you can think to do, the thing that Bucky wishes you hadn’t done. You sink to your knees in front of him.

You notice the way he draws in a deep breath and casts a displeased glance down at you, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. You look up at him just for a moment, taking in his cold expression and everything below it…the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way both of his hands are gripping the edge of the countertop, his beer long forgotten with you now on your knees. If you could hear his thoughts, you’d be hearing a chorus of not now, not now, not now as Bucky attempts to rationalize with his already-hardening cock. Bucky decides to give you thirty seconds to finish whatever the hell it is that you’re about to do down there before he pulls you up by your fucking hair. As if you can sense his short fuse, you get to work. Swiping the iodine pad over the significantly messier exit wound and then tearing open a packet of gauze with your teeth. You press a couple of the soft white squares against his still oozing wound and they quickly soak up the fresh blood, soaking through to your fingertips. Bucky’s wondering why you didn’t put on any gloves, aren’t people usually worried about catching some bloodborne illness when they do shit like this? The fact that his blood turning your fingertips red doesn’t even seem to bother you almost turns him on more. God, this is starting to feel a little bit too twisted. Bucky’s flesh hand moves on autopilot, his fingers coming to rest over yours as he applies more pressure to the wound and lets out a soft grunt at the pain. You let him hold your fingers there for a moment and you make the mistake of looking up at him again. Fuck. He can’t handle this. Bucky screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back a little, making sure when he opens his eyes again his only view will be of the ceiling above and not of you on your knees in front of him.

“Are you almost done?” He asks harshly, removing his hand from the top of yours and gripping the edge of the counter once more. You start fashioning another bandage out of gauze and medical tape as soon as his hand leaves yours.

“I would be if you’d sat on the island like I asked you to, you wanted to do this the hard way.” You retort. You can’t seem to get the tape in a good enough position, not with the waistband of his tactical pants in the way, so you take the initiative and curl two fingertips into them before tugging them down an inch. That one inch is enough to reveal the beginning of a v-line and your breath hitches in your throat. You’re suddenly all-too-aware of the compromising position you’re in. Even more than that, you’re aware of something you’d been completely oblivious to just a moment before: Bucky’s hard-on outlined through the fabric of his pants.

You’re frozen for a second too long and when you come to your senses once more, you look up to find Bucky staring down at you, his gaze a little less cold but every bit as intense. You decide that making eye contact with the man that you’re currently non-sexually on your knees for might not be the smartest move, so you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the task at hand. You’re able to get the bandage in the right place just fine after tugging his pants down an inch, and as soon as the tape sticks to his skin you rise to your feet. You’re the only thing standing between Bucky and the short walk to his bedroom door. You’re ready to collect your first aid kit and leave him standing in the kitchen to steep in his anger, but your mind can’t seem to get past the fact that he has a hard-on. He saw you staring at it too, and he simply stood there looking down at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to it. God, who the hell does he think he is? Crashing your solo op, taking a bullet for you like he’s some all-American hero, and then getting turned on by what? You giving him shit for it all?

Bucky’s waiting a bit impatiently for you to take your leave, for you to gather your medical supplies back into the little tactical bag and disappear into your bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving a trail of body glitter all over the kitchen and hallway. But instead of leaving, you’re standing in front of him, your eyes analyzing every twitch of the muscles along his jaw, every little move he makes with his eyes as he stares right back at you. Your boldness seems to intensify as you stand there taking in the sight of your roommate. You want the last word, and you want it to be something he’ll remember, so he doesn’t go screwing up your hard work ever again.

Leaning into Bucky’s space, you’re met with his intoxicatingly pleasant scent, he smells so uniquely like him. There isn’t any other way to describe it, it’s just Bucky. You brace your hands on the edge of the island on either side of him, your arms brushing against each of his as you rise up on your toes and position your lips so close to his ear that you could stick your tongue out and taste him if you wanted to. Fuck, you kind of want to. The thought only graces your mind for the briefest moment before you let your eyes flutter closed and focus on the anger you still feel bubbling up in your chest.

“Stay the fuck away from my solo ops.” You whisper softly but pointedly. Your bottom lip just barely grazes the shell of his ear as the last word leaves your mouth. That tiny, brief point of physical connection between the two of you is seemingly nothing, yet it sends a spark of electricity from your bottom lip all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s form is rigid, trapped between you and the island, simultaneously hating and loving the position he’s been placed in. He wishes he only hated it. He wishes he could fist his hand in your hair and angle your head back until your neck is exposed to him like a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark. He wishes you would’ve locked yourself in your bedroom the moment you both got to the apartment, not even bothering to fish out your first aid kit and clean up his wounds. He wishes he’d never given you the idea to switch apartments with Vision, and yet, in this moment, his cock is harder than it’s ever been. That’s why when you let go of the island and turn away from Bucky, leaving your first aid kit on the countertop as you take the first step to leave the kitchen, Bucky reaches out and curls his hand tightly around your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks before using his grip to turn you back around to face him. In one swift motion, he tightens his hold even more and pulls you in until your chest is pressed against his and his warm breath is fanning across your face as he looks down at your widened eyes.

“I don’t take orders from people who don’t give a shit if they live or die.” Bucky spits, holding you against him for just a second after he’s spoken his piece, before dropping his hold on your arm and letting you stumble one step back. He expects you to maybe mutter something under your breath before stomping off to your room, annoyed that he didn’t let you have the last word, but you’re every bit as stubborn as he is. Every bit as stubborn and feeling like you have a leg up in the situation since you know what’s currently fighting to escape the confines of his tactical pants. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes flit from his icy expression down to his waistband that sits right above the outline of his hard-on, and then back up to his eyes once more.

“Right, it’s probably bad form to take professional orders from someone you wanna fuck anyway.” When you say the word fuck, you let your eyes drift down to the front of his pants one final time, ensuring that he knows what led you to your choice of words. Now Bucky returns your smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s all adrenaline, sweetheart, nothing else.” His denial is both enraging and laughable. You tsk, closing the distance between the two of you one more time before reaching out with your right hand and letting the tips of your fingers, still tinged red with his blood, tap lightly over the center of his chest. He’s looking down at you, completely unable to force himself to look anywhere else, as you drag those fingers down his bare torso, so lightly that he feels goosebumps forming across the expanse of his skin. Your hand travels lower and lower, over the hills and valleys of his abs, ghosting over his navel, and down the thin trail of hair that leads straight to the thing you can’t stop thinking about. You let your fingertips skim over the fabric of his waistband just barely, just enough to really piss him off, and that’s when Bucky snatches your wrist away, his grip so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

“Watch it.” He warns, with his eyes dark and narrowed as he casts you a disapproving yet sinful glance. You feel your bloodflow splitting in two directions, half of it rushing up to color your cheeks and the other have rushing down to pool low in your stomach, sending heat swirling between your legs. You swallow thickly. What the hell? Your body is clearly loving the way he’s talking to you and it’s pissing you off. You’re learning that you’re attracted to men with the unhealthiest of attitudes, and Bucky’s currently rising to the top of the unhealthy-attitude-yet-hot-as-fuck mental list that you’re keeping. He’s actually the only person on it. He just invented the list for you, in this moment, when he told you to watch it.

“I think I heard a button snap there, soldier.” You tease, letting your eyes flit down to the waistband of his pants again. Bucky’s jaw ticks as he flicks your wrist away from him and tries to ignore the new nickname you’ve decided to test out. How do you make such a common, simple title sound so damn filthy? Bucky thinks you could’ve actually heard the button of his tactical pants snap open, considering the way his cock has been twitching every time you open your mouth. He decides the only way for him to get out of this is to let you have the last word, so he stands there in silence as you study his tense face. He so badly wants to say something back, to anger you every bit as much as you’ve angered him tonight, but he knows how stubborn you are and every word he breathes will only keep you here in front of him longer. His tactic works like a charm and he watches with bated breath as you step away from him and take a few steps toward the hallway. You stop short right before disappearing behind the wall, looking over your shoulder and making eye contact with Bucky one final time.

“Let me know if you need any help with all of that uh…” You wave your hand around in the air as you refer to Bucky’s hard-on, with a near-permanent smirk plastered on your face. “Adrenaline. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen at last. He thought he’d feel instant relief once you left, but he doesn’t. He feels like he has a damn loaded gun tucked in the front of his pants. Let me know if you need any help? It’s the least I can do? Bucky has no doubt that you were simply being a sarcastic pain in his ass, but still. Your words were laced with innuendo and the sexual tension in the room was so thick that he could barely breathe. He is so beyond fucked.

---

The softest, sweetest little hum escapes your lips as your right hand moves of its own volition. The back of your hand feels the fabric of your cotton panties, which are a little bit damp even after you showered and changed into a fresh pair. The pads of your fingers are sliding back and forth along your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, dragging closer and closer to your entrance with each downward sweep. When you let the tip of your middle finger dip down and inward, just barely entering where you’ve been feeling an empty sort of ache for the past hour, the steady string of hums and soft pants that were leaving your lips before become whispered moans. This is exactly what you needed.

Bucky’s fist is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock as he gives it torturously slow strokes from the base to the tip, prolonging his pleasure as long as he possibly can. He closes his eyes and instantly recalls the mental image of you on your knees at his feet, gazing up at him like you being in that position for him wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly, speeding up the work of his right hand as his head presses back harder into his pillow. It’s burned into his eyelids, the image of you on your knees. It’s burned into his eyelids and he fears he’ll never be able to forget it. His brain takes the image and adds to it, evolving it to include your hands sliding up the fronts of his thighs and adding a flash of hunger behind your eyes. He gets far too close to finishing himself off too soon when he imagines you tugging on the waistband of his pants just like you did earlier, but enough to free his cock right there in front of you. God, he knows he’s well-endowed, but he can just picture how much bigger his dick would look if your hand was wrapped around it instead of his own. Another groan rumbles past his lips, louder this time, as he starts to lose a little bit of his self-control.

Bucky. His name is swirling around your mind for two reasons now. The first being that you’re touching yourself because of him. Because of the way he looked at you, talked to you, because of the way he pissed you off. You slowly pull two fingers out of your pussy and drag them upwards until you reach your clit, beginning to stimulate it a little too excitedly as the second reason presents itself again. He groans. Bucky Barnes groans for the second time. The first time that you heard it a few seconds ago you assumed he was rolling over in bed or maybe he accidentally laid in a way that aggravated his wounds from earlier tonight. But the second time you heard it you had no doubt about what he was doing. It has to be exactly what you’re doing, and you’re fucking thrilled. You know it isn’t the most honest or decent way to reach an orgasm, but hell, if he’s going to be so damn vocal with such thin walls, how can you resist? So, you rub circles against your clit, letting hushed pants and moans fall freely from your lips now, sure that Bucky’s too engaged in his own arousal to hear you.

You sound like a fucking goddess. Bucky doesn’t even take a moment to feel guilty, no, he only picks up the speed with which he’s desperately tugging on his cock to get to his release. A thin sheen of sweat has formed across his brow and his chest is burning with a mix of desire and near-hyperventilation as he touches himself and listens to the sinful sounds coming from across the hall. All cares have been thrown aside as yet another loud curse is torn out of him, and then an equally loud, provocative moan is returned from your room. That’s when Bucky’s eyes snap open and his thumb glides over the slit of his cock where precum has been steadily leaking out since your dangerous kitchen encounter earlier. If he’s being honest with himself, his dick has been leaking precum since you took the stage at the club earlier tonight. As the two of you exchange moans and broken swears through the walls, neither of you using an ounce of rational thinking, you race toward your separate releases simultaneously. When Bucky finally feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching against the palm of his tiring hand, his release comes at the sound of your final audible sentence of the night.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.”

You always get the last word.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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pompadourks · 3 months

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*Horse whinnying*

YOURE LISTENING TO

*Gunshots*

104.5

*Hooves pounding*

COWBOY FM

*Revolver cylinder spinning into place*

WHERE WE PLAY NOTHING BUT COUNTRY, COUNTRY AND MORE COUNTRY

*YEEHAW*

THIS AINT YOUR MEEMAW’S STATION

*Imagine Dragons- Radioactive starts playing*

#rdr2

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thesconesyard · 8 months

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Yeehaw!

When the Cactus Blooms

29. Mighty Fine Shootin'

At the sound of a gunshot McCoy stiffened and felt Scotty do the same behind him. They had been tied together back to back. McCoy had a single chair, a small table, his bed and a dresser, so they hadn’t even been sat down before Marcus had the rope started around them.

McCoy forced himself to breath slowly and bite back his panic. No other shots followed so perhaps it had simply been a warning shot, or a shot to announce Harri— no, Khan’s presence. He wondered how many people he had with him.

Marcus had left after tying them up, leaving them in the care of another. A sallow faced man, he had given them one look then ignored them. His hand held his gun and McCoy certainly didn’t want that pointing their way.

“It’ll be ok lad,” Scotty whispered to him. “Jim’ll sort it all out.”

“We have to get out of here,” McCoy whispered back. Can you get your hands free?”

Scotty’s back moved against McCoy’s and he could nearly swear Scotty was holding back a laugh.

“Say the word Len.”

McCoy could hear the grin in his voice. Carefully they turned until Scotty was hidden from the guard. After a few minutes McCoy felt the ropes loosen around himself.

“Ok,” Scotty whispered, sounding pleased. “Let’s get this guy taken care of, then I'll finish getting your ropes off.”

“Hey!” McCoy said loudly to the guard. “Khan pay well for this?”

The guard looked at him.

“No, probably not. Ugly fella like you probably has to pay him to be in his gang,” McCoy continued. “Probably why you get stuck with guarding us. What are we going to do? I’m a doctor.”

“Shut up!” the guard snarled.

“Oh, we must be getting close to home,” McCoy grinned. “Not good enough for anything else, so you have to guard a doctor.” McCoy guffawed.

The guard’s face turned red and he stalked over to McCoy, gun lifting as he pointed at the middle of McCoy’s forehead.

“Shut up!” he demanded.

Before the gun could touch his skin, Scotty struck, hitting the man across the forearm. The hit was hard and the gun dropped. A few tense minutes followed as Scotty and the guard both tried to win the gun. With a loud crack noise, the guard lay still.

McCoy lifted his hands for Scotty to untie.

“Now what?” Scotty asked. McCoy stood rubbing his wrists as Scotty tied the guard’s hands behind his back.

“We’ve got to help.” McCoy turned to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer. He lifted out his gun belt with an unhappy face. “I’ll get to the stables and get Pepper. She’s fastest. I’ll get Pike.”

“No,” Scotty said, grabbing his arm. “I’ll go for Pike. You may be needed here if things take a turn.”

McCoy hesitated, but he heard in his mind again the gunshot and what had sounded like a scream. He took in a deep breath, before reluctantly nodding.

He had crept to the stables with Scotty, but they couldn’t hide the sound of hoof steps as Pepper flew through the open doors. Then Scotty was gone, racing down the drive and away for the sheriff. McCoy could hear voices calling commands as he crept through the shadows to the back door of the house. He didn’t see anyone, so he took that to mean everyone, including Khan’s people were in the front.

He opened the door silently, and made his way through the house. From the front door he could see something was wrong. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he could see his medical bag sitting next to someone lying on the porch.

The gunshot they had heard! It had been at someone!

McCoy rushed forward and out the front door. Jim was lying on his back, unconscious, and Christine was working feverishly at a dark, wet spot on Jim’s shoulder.

“Leo!” Christine looked at him wide eyed as he dropped next to her.

“Did it go through?” he asked, snapping into a tone of voice he had not used for many years. He pushed a hand underneath Jim. Christine shook her head.

“Hmm, Dr. McCoy. And how did you escape? I take it that was Scotty on the horse?” Khan’s tone was mocking.

“Shut up!” McCoy yelled at him, not even looking up from Jim. He needed to work fast. His hands were flying, Christine handing him what he needed before he could ask.

“Uhura, go get some water and clean towels,” McCoy ordered.

“No.” Khan’s voice was cold and Uhura stopped moving, halfway out of her chair.

“Dammit man! I’m not letting my friend die!” McCoy yelled. Jim’s shirt was a loss. McCoy ripped it out of his way.

“I suppose that would be a black mark on my new ownership,” Khan conceded. “And it will be so much more delightful knowing James T. Kirk is out there somewhere, loathing me.”

“Go Uhura!” McCoy ordered again. This time the woman ran into the house.

A piece of metal clanged on the porch as McCoy dug the bullet from Jim. McCoy let out a breath of relief, then fell back to working on saving Jim. Christine had been quick with putting pressure on the place after the shot. McCoy shot her a grim smile, and began stitching.

“What happened?”

Jim’s voice was groggy, but to McCoy it was music after sitting with the wounded man for two nights.

“Here, drink first.” McCoy slid a hand behind Jim and helped him sit up carefully. Then he passed him a cup.

Jim drank slowly, looking around as he did. McCoy rubbed a hand across his chin self consciously; he hadn’t shaved the past few days, too caught up putting Jim on the mend.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” McCoy asked, as he pulled the cup gently from Jim.

Jim’s face scrunched with thinking.

“Spock heard someone in the dark.”

“That was two days ago kid,” McCoy said gently. “Khan— John Harrison, tried to take the ranch. He shot you.”

Jim’s head quickly turned here and there to see what the injury was.

“Stop that,” McCoy said, exasperated. “It was your shoulder. You had a bit of fever, but there’s no infection. Luckily it was an excellent shot and didn’t hurt anything major,” McCoy continued as Jim ran the fingers from his other hand across the injured spot.

“And Khan took the ranch?” Jim sounded sad. “Of course.”

“No,” McCoy answered. “It’s still yours. Khan’s locked up, waiting to be sent to the city.”

“How in the hell did we win?” Jim asked, mouth hanging open.

McCoy’s smile spread slowly on his face.

“Scotty rode for Pike, he brought back his deputies and others came to help when they heard what was happening to us.”

“I’ll be damned,” Jim said in surprise.

“I’ll get you some lunch,” McCoy said. “You need to eat, get your strength built back up. And Jim?” McCoy stopped at the door.

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad you made it.”

“I remember something else,” Jim said.

“Yes?” McCoy turned his whole body to face Jim.

“Yeah. Sulu says you and Scotty are too loud at night, so could you try to keep it down?

McCoy’s face must have instantly turned red, because Jim grinned.

“I saved your life, you know!”

“And I’m very grateful. Thank you Bones.”

#yeehawgust #day 29 mighty fine shootin #star trek #leonard mccoy #montgomery scott #james t kirk #there may me more errors in this one #please let me know #I’m falling asleep while writing it

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theboysfromaustin · 1 month

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This textbook implies that Texas has its own parameters for how physics works.

"In THIS LONE STAR STATE, where a massive chunk of our elected officials DON'T BELIEVE IN SCIENCE, we're not gonna listen to any of you pansy-ass other states and ESPECIALLY not to any FOREIGNERS. WE will decide OUR OWN principles and parameters for physics! 38TH IN EDUCATION! WOOOO! YEEHAW!" *gunshots, trucks revving, beer cans being crushed*

(I've lived in Texas since 1992, I'm more than qualified and allowed to mock this dumpster fire of a state)

#science #physics #texas

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 months

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catsitting the largest man in the world

#i have GOT to remember to take a tape measure over tonight #yeehawing; gunshots #bartholomeow

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tozettastone · 9 months

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I've been watching Wynonna Earp! The first season was fun, second season... uh, it's going. The jury's still out on whether I think it's as coherent.

Thoughts, with only very mild spoilers for s1:

I feel like, although this show is Americana, it's somehow the direct opposite of Supernatural's Americana. Supernatural has the vibe of like, misty trees, glowing vacancy lights, free-refills-and-cherry-pie, winding roads, classic rock on the radio Americana; Wynonna Earp is like, you know, whiskey at the only saloon in town at noon on tuesday, country town, gunshot gunshot YEEHAW Americana.

They are both definitely Americana though. I don't care that they're both, you know, made in Canada. This is a vibes based assessment.

I like that the main character is a woman who's clearly a massive fuckup, although I could wish she was canonically about ten or fifteen years older. Shows aren't brave enough to give us many forty year old woman fuck ups as main characters yet, and that's a shame. Cowards. But I do like a fuck up and at least she's not a teenager. Thank you, Wynonna.

I think Katherine Barrell is very cute as Nicole Haught! No notes, she's adorable.

I'm also kind of liking seeing the Waverly/Nicole relationship played straight (no pun intended). I am often kind of dubious about token gay shit on screen because, like, yaaaawn, but I'm into s2 now and I think I am satisfied that their relationship does actually have like, a level of care and attention taken in its depiction? Even if everything is shit from here on out, I can be satisfied, like, "yeah, they did try, actually," and that's a nice feeling sometimes.

Lastly, I enjoy Doc Holliday's character but I sincerely hope I never get the desire to write a fic about him because, oh my god, that dialect would kill me. I looked up some fanfic and I am getting the sense that either it changes a lot over the next few seasons, or otherwise that even the US Americans in the audience haven't figured out how to replicate the idiomatic expressions and rhythm. Oof.

#(I did see what they did there when s1 hospitalised Nicole told Nedley her pet cat doesn't like men though. Cheap. Funny. But cheap.)#tozette.txt

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house-of-mirrors · 10 months

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i live in yeehaw county, USA please help me endure the fireworks this weekend

they've already started and they're soooooo loud... i have personal reasons to dislike sounds that mimic gunshots can we don't

#from the desk of r

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battbunny13 · 4 months

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All of these truths can exist at once and be both correct and incorrect in multiple different ways. And at the end of the day, no one’s wrong. Well. Except the guy yeehawing behind them. Fuck THAT guy.

Gets charged from behind : at the same time gunshots go off , just as close as the person who then lunges for his weapon : hears more gunshots : but also he just shot someone but he’s clearly not sure who’s doing what (especially with those shots around him he’s not firing) but it certainly looks bad on Kyle’s end because he just shot someone, but no one’s aware that some others, including JR, the person he first shot, genuinely acted real dangerous towards him right beforehand.

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ssreeder · 1 year

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guess ;) who’s ;) back ;)

imagine drugging someone to the brink of death and then beating the shit out of them and then being “slightly irritated” about their health condition.

veeeeeeery interesting that quon made the distinction between shen being a prisoner and zuko being a teenager 👀 (or maybe it means nothing idk)

OMG WILL JEE RASU AND TOPH ENCOUNTER ZUKO AND SHEN PLS PLS PLS

fuckinf long feng and the fuckinf dai li and the fucking letters being intercepted you’re so smart sreedie

oh swag general how is not bad WHICH IS WHY IM SO MAD THAT HES BEING OUSTED BY THE DAI LI UGH

loving suki hours everybody <333 (you’re really doing justice to her sreedie)

penis fingers, penis advice T-T

OMG SLAY GENERAL HOW I CANT BELIEVE WE ARE ACTUALLY WITNESSING A COMPETENT MILITARY LEADER OUTSIDE OF THE SWT THIS IS HISTORICAL EVENT SREEDIE

lmao except they actually have TWO dragons in their city right now and zuko is not the one they should be concerned about

oh bestie I am panicking (also right as I read the dai li pov section my sister walked past my room saying “yeehaw” which really ruined the mood)

jee’s heebie jeebie senses are tingling frfr

jee is actually so funny ilh

lol I love them playing happy families on the fly

jee in dad mode to protect the children :3 but also the slave trade is horrific and it sucks that it exists and he has to shield toph from it

well now I have the heebie jeebies something bad is gonna happen to jee

FUCK YEAH ZUKO OHMYGOD JEE

OHMYGODOHMYGOD

OHMYGOOHMTHGOD

jee is the real hero of this story his self control is insane bUT HE ALSO NEEDS TO PUT IROH ON A GODDAMN LEASH JESUS

OMG REHO COMEBACK I love reho

CHANG IS APPROACHING HELL YEAH

pls tell me we get hakoda pov when he arrives omg

I. need to Process this chapter. but like. with a meat grinder bc there’s so much emotional turmoil I’ve gotta smush into manageable pieces.

ANYWAYS LOVE YOU LOTS CANT WAIT FOR THE REUNION SENDING SOUP YOUR WAY TO GIVE YOU THE STRENGTH TO FINISH THE NEXT CHAPTER <33

Quon: *punches a hole in the wall because he mad*

“Wow, this place is a dump - look, there are even holes in the walls.”

Me: introduces decent character

Also me: rips Zuko away from him and give him to the worst character >:) :D

Jee is the MVP of this chapter & everyone should bring him snacks he deserves a break (& not the leg breaking type) (but maybe we can amputate - *gunshots* 1 author dead)

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philtstone · 2 years

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Sam, 46

#46 -- on the other side of the door i was gonna use this to write more of the agatha christie au but then i had this idea and it was like. supposed to be Better than this but i am writing these with vibes only and not braincells so yeehaw. basically i wrote this w the main goal of zainab reading a Concept i was too tired to explain over texts and i guess now all of you can read it too

Sam watches the angry dent appear in the middle of the cell door, shoulder-shaped enough that he has it in him to wince.

He's not too banged up, just bone-exhausted. He's pretty sure these assholes are just holding him here to say they can; it's almost insulting how little damage he's taken, given how easily he was overpowered, but that's part of the job, he guesses. Part of his non-superpowered, regular-old-dude job, pulling the rug out from under his legs fast enough that his wings don't open in time for him not to hit the floor.

Or something. Poetry and metaphor have never been his strong suit and Sam's been leaning his bruised temple against this cell door for a good seventy-two hours, and it has been seventy-two hours of dull grey monotony and the uncertainty of Bad Guys Over There In That Other Room Probably to keep him company, until like, two seconds ago, when Bucky tried to rhinoceros his way through five inches of titanium. At least the dent gives the place some character.

"Hm," comes Buck's voice, muffled from the other side of the block.

"She ain't budging, huh," says Sam.

"I'm gonna have to get creative."

Bucky's voice, which he had somehow convinced himself he was not going to hear anytime soon. It's flat and sardonic and comin' out like nothing in the world is wrong. Down-to-business, punch-our-way-through-problems, can't-crack-a-smile-at-one-of-Sam's-most-excellent-jokes Bucky Barnes materialized with a sudden whispered Sam? after seventy-two miserable hours where Sam had to reflect on his own mortality, reflect, also, on the fact that he followed this lead without telling anyone like a dumbass because Walters was concerned about press, worry about the definite human trafficking that probably is going on in places exactly like this that he was not successful at thwarting, and have little to no way of contacting his family or his professional work partner to let them know he was alive.

Sam is definitely too exhausted to cry, but he thinks maybe in another version of these events, he would have.

"Creative," says Sam, out loud. His voice sounds reedy 'cause he hasn't used it in like three days. Which is another point against these guys; Sam's got a great voice, thank you very much. Mrs. Landry from his parents' church used to say he should do choir in school.

He didn't, but like, still.

"Not your strong suit," Bucky agrees, which Sam disagrees with on principle. There's some vague grunting, and a muttered swear word. Sam wonders if Bucky's trying to pry his literal fingers under the whateverthefuckton door; it wouldn't be the first time. A gunshot sounds, coming from far away.

"Bucky --" Sam starts.

"If you're having a hard time with your memory, I'll gladly point out how me and AJ kicked your ass in Pictionary last month."

"You need leverage," says Sam.

"I know I need leverage."

"What if you punched the grate out? You can do titanium, right?"

More muffled noises, then Bucky says, "Nope. Had to give them the arm."

"What?" A very tame way of expressing Sam's actual sentiment, which is the mental equivalent of that rhino running right into him, personally.

"It's fine. Firewalled anyway."

"Firewalled?!"

"And Yelena's getting it back. With Ayo's help."

Sam pushes himself against the corner of the cell, "What the hell is that supposed to mean!"

There's a small grated window, smooth titanium also, that peaks in and out of the cell; Bucky's face appears in this now. Another two gunshots sound.

"Hi," he says,

"Bucky --"

"It's fine. Just Yelena. Is it load bearing?"

Sam gapes. "The wall?"

"The door, yes," Bucky says, a bit impatiently. Sam can't really see much of him; just a pair of thick frowny eyebrows hovering in blank space. "Yelena can bench more than most, but the expression is usually --"

"Are you seriously asking this after you tried to knock it down?"

Bucky ignores this, "Follow up question --"

"Bucky!"

"Gimme your belt, I wanna try something."

The urgency of the situation is not lost on Sam; he takes his suit's utility belt off, very strategically devoid of all its weaponry and with the vibranium glittering in its mesh weave, and shoves it through the crack between those grated bars. He watches it appear again, looped around one of the bars -- then, to the continued echoes of skirmish above them, hears a low, built-up creaking noise.

It's satisfying in the way things you've come to expect are. Life just doesn't quite feel right when Bucky can't shoulder his way through situations involving dungeon-tier bad guys and guns . Sam feels the relief well up inside his gut, and almost forgets to lift his arms up over his head at the last second.

The door warps, caves, rips away with a metal scream.

He has a self-deprecating quip on the tip of his tongue, more vinegar than he's got any right to be but also Sam is tired, worn out, pissed off with himself. It tangles up and doesn't get nowhere. Bucky is, very suddenly, in front of him. He is wide-eyed and bruised on the jaw, bloodied at the collar of his shirt like he's just got out of a scrap fight, missing his fucking arm in a way his tone didn't give for a second, and before Sam can open his mouth he is being pulled into a very rough, very sudden, bone crushing hug.

Seventy-two hours, Sam's brain supplies belatedly. And there's been some weird shit going on recently.

Three mississippis pass in the dark of the dungeon. Sam works through his exhaustion to process, and with very minutely trembling arms hugs Bucky back.

#aaaah i forgot how liberating dashes and commas can be when u have literally no brain in your head #but are still determined to create things instead of wallowing #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme #hopefully this suits zainabs sensibilities as it was written for her #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sambucky #the implication here is that bucky called in favours from both yelena and ayo bc sam is Important #but that's just a convoluted explanation for the real reason. which is that i think theyre neat.#marvel

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