#nothing is up yet besides a temp muse list but

[satoureaper]

For the time being I'm moving Atsushi over to my newly made multi @dragonflyhouse !!!!

With the BS going on in my life recently I just gotta make things easier for myself. He might come back to his own blog eventually but for now vaguely gestures.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.  

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

--

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

--

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

--

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

--

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).  

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.  

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -  

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.  

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”  

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.   

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.  

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.  

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.  

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.  

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

[mblay-and-company]

It’s Self Indulgent FanFiction time, ya’ll!!!

So I came across this Prompt List by @palettes-and-prompts and IMMEDIATELY became intrigued by the very first dialogue prompt, and since a certain Hotel in Hell with a certain Radio Demon has became my Hyperfixation for the time being, I have decided to indulge myself.

When I started, I really struggled to decide if I wanted to directly insert myself into this or make it a Reader Fic.  I decided fuck it, this is for me!  And then I struggled to decide which name to use for myself, bc most of my OC’s are named after me in some degree and it’s very awkward... :I

So, without further ado, have a FanFic featuring a human me hanging out in the Hotel and having been foolish enough to have made SOME deals with Alastor, but not stupid enough to sell my Soul to him.  Misadventures of Michaela the Hell Temp, go!

"C'mon, toots, ya gotta tell me what yer kink is!"

Michaela let out a hard sigh, looking at the Effeminate Spider Demon with an exhausted glare.

"I don't need to tell you anything, Angel-"

"But I gotta know what freaky shit Smiles is into!  You two clearly are into something!"

After Angel Dust learned about the "bizarre Deal" she admitted to have with Alastor, along with what she described as a light crush, he immediately started making assumptions.  Honestly, it felt like he had been drilling her for hours for the "deets," even though it was probably only a few minutes at best.

"Angel, do you not understand how being Ace works-"

"Is it a Foot Fetish?!  Are ya two into suckin' toes?!" He almost let out a cheer when he watched her react, but quickly realized she was recoiling in disgust.

"Angel, that's fucking gross!  Do ya even know how much DEAD SKIN there is between toes???" She gagged out, her nose scrunched up.

"And why are we wondering about dead skin cells?" The two quickly turned to see a curious Alastor, quietly drinking a cup of coffee.  He could hear the sounds of their argument halfway across the Hotel, and it finally piqued his interest.

"Al, you really don't wanna be a part of this-" She tried to warn him, only to get shoved out of the way by Angel.

"Smiles!  What kinky shit do you two do during sex???" He practically screamed out with excitement.  Alastor let out a sudden cough, choking on his coffee.

"I beg your PARDON?!" He sputtered out, his grin pulled tight and twitching in the corners.  The static that emanated off of him seemed to intensify in agitation.  With another hard sigh, Michaela gave Angel a harsh check to his side, knocking him to the ground.

"This idiot is CONVINCED that we must have sex together just because we do business with each other.  He's been trying to delve into this nonexistant sex life for WAY too long, and I can feel a migrain coming on because of it." She scowled, rubbing her temples.  Alastor made a cough to clear his throat out, looking over at Angel.

"I fear you have forgotten that not everyone is in the Prostitution Business, my effeminate fellow!  And besides, I believe it is in your best interest to know that your little pet has squeezed himself under the oven, and our Charming Demon Belle can't coax him out.  I offered my assistance, but she doesn't seem to trust me with the pig's safety!"  He cried out in feigned offence, dramatically putting his hand over his heart in a swoon.  Upon being told his beloved pet was potentially in danger, Angel let out a distressed gasp.

"Fat Nuggets, hold on, Daddy's coming for ya!!!"  He cried out, sprinting down the hall at full speed.  Michaela let out a hard sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping down.

"I thought he would never leave..." She muttered, before looking up at Alastor.  "Is Nugs really stuck?"

"It would seem so..." He hummed thoughtfully.  "I wasn't planning on telling Angel about it, but it certainly became a much needed means to remove him from the room!"

"It seems we both conveniently benefit from this..." She mused, rubbing her temples again.  She was trying to think of ways to politely thank him without incurring a higher "tab" of debt with him.  The dealings she already had with him were careful, but she knew full well that he was much more cunning than she was, and he was VERY good at pulling the "favor" card.

"Most certainly, my dear!" He laughed heartily.  "I couldn't leave you in such a distressing state!  Not when I would find myself just as uncomfortable!"

"Thanks for that..." She let out a soft sigh.  Perhaps finding situations that were mutually beneficial really was the way to go?

"However..."

And there it was.  She couldn't help but cringe as she watched him tap his chin thoughtfully, his eyes focused entirely on her.

"I can't help but think that our business dealings isn't the ONLY reason that spider was so insistent on believing we had a... Less than professional relationship?" His eyebrows quirked as he carefully studied her expression. She was a combination of conflicted, embarrassed, and possibly mocking?  She was a massive kaleidoscope of emotions, many often showing off at once, making a very entertaining - Sometimes even unique - show for him.

"First of all..." She started, swirling her hand in circles to keep her thought process going.  "... Describing our relationship as "Professional" is kinda laughable, considering the CLOSEST I could be described is a Temp for you."  He simply responded with a static laced chuckle, followed with his disembodied laugh track, and a shrug.

"Second of all..." Her pause was a lot longer, rubbing one side of her temples with one hand as she held up a finger with the other, as if to say "One moment."  She let out another hard sigh, and let out a mumbled "I can't believe I'm explaining this to you..."

"You have my full attention now, sweetheart, I am most intrigued with what you have to say!  No backing out now!"  He chimed with a quirked eyebrow, his eyes glistening with intrigue and possible mischief.  With another sigh, she looked him dead in the eyes.

"I have a minor crush on you... A small infatuation..." She admitted, already regretting saying anything.  She braced for the inevitable mocking as he processed what she said to him.  Eventually he broke the silence with the hard laughter she expected of him, and after what felt like an eternity he wiped a tear from his eye.

"A horrible decision, really.  I pegged you to at LEAST be a little smarter than that, darling..." He chuckled darkly, before bending down to bring his face to eye level with her.  "After all, you know full well what horrors I am capable of, yes?  What I have done, and will continue to do, for all of eternity?"

She could feel a lump of nervousness caught in her throat.  His grin was impossibly wide and extremely dangerous, and his eyes were half lidded.  He looked exactly like what he was; A predator with full control over the situation.  If he decided to, he could kill her with such ease.  With a hard swallow, she explained herself.

"I'm not naive...  Nor am I complacent.  I certainly don't support or condone the atrocities you've done..." She let out a hard sigh, repeating the circling motion with her hand to process her thoughts.  "It's just easy to be... Charmed by your more gentlemanly behaviors... Your... Damn it, brain, you had this word five seconds ago...  It's usually used in reference to illnesses that spread easy..." She muttered as the circling became much faster.

"Contagious?" He offered with a chuckle, straightening himself out.  She admitted to this problem of forgetting words quite a while ago, despite her brain fully remembering the concept of the word she's attempting to say.  It was an interesting dilemma, to say the least.  She once anguished over forgetting the word "oven" for a week.

"Yeah, that one.  Your high energy and smile are very contagious..." She said with a point, before continuing.  "I always enjoy the music.  I may be modern, and I know you don't support most of my taste, but I do really like smooth jazz and swing.  You also genuinely make me laugh with your Dad Jokes, I find them hilarious..." The circling of her hand slowly became slower as she started to run out of her steam.

"I could never, in my right mind, try to chase after a serious romance with you, knowing full well the kind of monster you are...  But I can still find some of your other traits endearing.  I absolutely love a man who is passionate, kind of silly, gentlemanly, and for fuck's sake, you're an amazing cook!  It's hard to not be smitten by something that's being chased away by modern views of how men should act..." With a final sigh, she looked him in the eyes, resolved but quite tired.  She was surprised to see how much his expression had softened, especially with her last sentence.

". . . You are a remarkably. . . Perceptive individual, Michaela." He started softly, the static crackle nigh inaudible.  "Especially with how your own mind works.  I have seen, time and time again, fools allow themselves to spiral in such frivolous fantasies and drive themselves mad not knowing WHY they chased them in the first place.  And yet you seem so capable of picking apart your own brain like a professional Psychologist.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed to some degree."

She looked at him with a bewildered look, certainly not expecting any form of PRAISE from him like that.  She said nothing, cautiously holding her tongue and waiting for the preverbal "but..."

"Given Angel's more... Crass nature, I can certainly see how he misconstrued your infatuation.  However, it's clear as crystal to me that you wouldn't harbor such lustful intentions towards me!" He nodded to himself, seeming almost proud of this sudden character study.

"Never really was interested in sex." She laughs out matter of factly.  "And I think most of us can agree you aren't, either, so I don't see how two people not interested suddenly makes a duo WILDLY interested, especially in the weirder things Angel was suggesting..." She cringed slightly at the thought of the toes again, but the both of them started laughing again.  Alastor took a step closer, giving her a firm pat on the shoulders.

"Yes, indeedy, my dear!  This is an unexpected turn of events for me, to find someone who shares my woes!" He chimed happily, using his hand to gently coax her head to look up at him.  He hadn't seen her laugh and smile like this in a while, and it was a nice change of pace compared to her exhausted melancholy or entertaining - Albeit quick - flashes of anger.  "There's that lovely smile that's been missing!  As you know-"

"Yeah yeah, never fully dressed and all that." She chuckles with an eye roll.  "Though it IS definitely nice to talk to someone who actually UNDERSTANDS the lack of interest..."

She continued to ramble on, but he stopped listening.  She was usually very cautious about how he touched her, showing to be quite aversive if he attempted to go close to her neck in particular.  But it was like she didn't notice where his hand was, and was getting complacent.  Comfortable.  Lowering her guard.  He didn't bare his teeth to her, yet, but his smirk still pulled tight.  He watched through half lidded eyes as she caught herself stumbling over her words, and slowly realized the situation she was in.  As she slowed her ramblings to a stop, she attempted to move her head away; Only for him to tightly grip onto her face, his clawed fingers dangerously close to cutting into her cheeks.  It was at this point, looking at her terrified realization, that he bared his teeth to her.

"A-Alastor, I..." She quietly pleaded, feeling cold sweat starting to bead on her forehead.  Her body had tensed and her arms raised half way, but she stopped herself before trying to pry his hands away.  Not only did she know that it would be a futile attempt with his Demonic strength, but it could have been foolish to DARE try to touch him.  Her hands trembled in fear and conflict as he slowly pulled her face closer, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes, as he leaned in to close the distance.  Mere hairs separated their noses.

"I will admit..." He started coolly, his eyes flicking down the hall quickly to make sure no one would interrupt him, before returning his gaze to the frightened girl in his grasp.  "... The fact that Angel considered such a thing possible is quite amusing, even despite our... Lack of sexual desires.  Do you know why, my dear..?"

"N-No, I don't..." She swallowed hard, not understanding where he could be bringing this conversation.  She shuddered as he let out a cold laugh.

"It's amusing because even if we were both more active in seeking sexual gratification... You are still a small and weak living human.  And, if I could be so frank..."  He leaned closer to her ear, whispering with a sweet venom that made her blood run cold. "I don’t know if your fragile body can handle what I want to do to you."

He let out another dark chuckle before lowering her and releasing his grasp, reveling in the look of utter terror on her face; Eyes wide, mouth slack, and trembling like a small kitten caught in a rainstorm.  And then, as if a switch flipped in his mind, his expression softened to the more excited and less threatening version of himself.

"Now, I do believe it's lunch time!  Now I'm sure that Angel managed to get his little pet out of that little spot of trouble it was in, but perhaps I'll be able to have some bacon anyways!" He laughs with a jovial energy, as if the previous conversation never happened.  He quickly disappeared around the corner, heading straight for the kitchen.

Michaela stood alone in the hall, slowly bringing her hands to her cheeks.  It started to check the damage, but she slowly found herself becoming flustered as she thought about his strange threat.  What could he have considered?  Biting?  Clawing?  Crushing with tentacles?  The thought was, admittedly, exciting, and she had to stop herself from calling for Alastor to ask for clarification.

The last thing she needed a Sadist like him to learn was that she was, very contradictory to most of her Asexual nature, Masochistic and easily excited over such thoughts.

[nurturingflame]

Week in Review - 62

Hope that everyone has had a good week. As always please enjoy the drama and adventure. Our ask box is open to questions and thoughts. A nice review or compliment is always welcome as well. ^_~*

To Prune & Grow 1-4

Splinter’s meditations were difficult, and he found that he was not looking forward to them.  This was not unusual when he was dealing with something unpleasant, and having someone in his brain, reading all of your thoughts, feelings, memories, was highly unpleasant.  To think that someone was running around with his life in his head caused his gut to tighten, which caused his chest to heat up in anger.  

The boys were compassionate, having experienced Splinter’s aftermath of the Rat King before.  He did not tell them about the times when he felt The Rat King’s presence, tickling at his brain.  He fought it off each time, disturbed, but none worse for the wear.  This time, however, the intrusion had been deep, brutal, left him on the floor gasping for breath.  Then, to meet him again, to have his mind grabbed, his deepest thoughts, ones that he was not yet aware of, taken from him…

It was taking more meditation than he was used to, in order to deal with the emotion. Anger is never a constructive force, he kept telling himself. Neither is despair.  He had not succumbed to despair the many times in his life that it had tried to overtaken, he would not succumb to it now.

However, a thought kept creeping up, in The Rat King’s voice, not an spear into his brain, but a memory. You want her.  He shook his head, taking a deep breath, letting the thought flit through his brain, and focused on his breath.  He had more immediate concerns.

Eliza, for her part, avoided him.  When he entered a room, she quickly excused herself, offering something to the effect that a chore was left undone.  At first, he hadn’t thought anything of it.  Then, when it continued happening, he was sure that something was going on.  But when he asked, got a frosty,

“No, nothing at all.  Why would you ask?”

“Hmmmm,” had been his reply.  Nothing was flat out lie.  Her nostrils flared when he approached, her ears twitched.  He could smell hunger from her, and fear.  The hunger must be from the pregnancy, he mused, but what was causing the fear?

He had yet to figure it out.

The Phoenix was now down in the sewer with them twice a week, her poking and prodding of Eliza’s expanded belly disconcerting.  He could hear them talking in her room.  Sometimes they would laugh, and sound of it made his heart clench.  He would go into the dojo, and sit to meditate, and then the same thought would occur.

You want her?

He turned to the shelf that held is most precious things.  The photo of Tang Shen, he and she looking sternly out onto the world.  He wanted a lot of things.  But he was sure he didn’t want her.  Not when his wife still held so strongly onto his heart.

“Eliza,” Phoenix said quietly in the privacy of the ferret’s room.  “You’re progressing very nicely.”  The little healer beamed like she knew what she was talking, when in reality, she had absolutely no clue.  The book she’d stolen from the library had the ferret mutant’s pregnancy at the very least twice as long as the creature she was mutated with.  Whether this meant that Eliza would have a human length gestation of almost 10 months or something shorter, Phoenix couldn’t tell. “You’re growing, which means the babies are growing.  That’s good!”

The ferret’s pregnancy was a blessing for the little healer.  It gave her something to think about besides her abduction, weeks ago, by the Rat King.  While she had assured her children, who were livid after she returned home, that he’d done her no real harm, it did not stop her from having nightmares about him.  It did not help her that Splinter seemed to be avoiding her whenever she came over. Or that Eliza seemed to be sequestering herself in her room, or outside the Lair, neither of which made Phoenix feel better.  

“How are you feeling?” The Phoenix asked, taking her notebook onto her lap, pen at the ready.

Eliza sat up on the bed, wiggling to find a more comfortable position, as she attempted to pull her shirt down but the hem refused to cooperate and keep rolling up. Her penchant for loose and flowy garb had served her well, but the growing stomach was starting to strain the parameters of her limited wardrobe. To be fair, she had packed for New York with the intent to impress, so her baggy sweats and loose paint stained t-shirts were left a home. But even given her formidable alteration skills, she was running out of options.

“Big.” The ferret said as she tugged on her shirt again. “And likely to get bigger, cause I am always hungry!”

“That’s pretty standard for any pregnancy.” The Phoenix chuckled lightly before moving on. “What are you eating?”

“I’ve been trying to stay pretty balanced when I cook, lots of protein and less bread like you recommended, even though the boys wouldn’t mind if I let them get away with pizza every night. I wouldn’t doubt that they are picking one up to eat out on patrol anyway.”

“They are.” Gwyn piped in from her seat at the desk where she was quietly doing some math worksheets. “Mikey saves me a slice when he can.”

“Oh really,” The ferret said raising a brow at her daughter, “and where am I during these late night pizza snacks?”  

“Right here,” Gwyn said her head down and pencil still scratching away, “you sleep like the dead. You pinned my leg last night and I couldn’t make you move. ”

With no valid comeback Eliza just let out an agitated puff of air and returned her attention back to the Pheonix’s question. “AnYway, as I was saying, it feels like I’ve been eating everything in sight, and I’m still hungry.”

“Not true.” Gwyn piped in with a singsong voice.

“Excuse me?!”

The girl lifted her head and waggled her pencil at her mutated mother. “You made everyone sandwiches last night and I didn’t see you eat one. You just grabbed the last of Casey’s beef jerky. Trust me, I remember cause he complained about it all night after you went to bed. Master Splinter finally kicked him out when he tried to get Raph to make a bet with him on how huge you were gonna get.”

“Speaking of being kicked out, are you done your homework yet?” Gwyn nodded and waved the completed sheet like a flag. “Good. Go have Donnie check it and while you’re there, ask him if he has plan for the remodel ready yet.”

“Kay.” The girl hopped up happily and made her way to the door, not at all phased by her mother’s annoyance. She was still in the doorway when she turned and waved at the healer. “Tell Medusa I said ‘Hi’ and I wanna come over soon. Catch ya later Auntie P.”

After calling a farewell to the retreating girl the Phoenix raised an eyebrow at her patient, waiting for Eliza to come clean.

“It’s a temperature thing ok.” The ferret said petulantly, like a child caving under a parent's gaze. “I don’t like my meat cold anymore, it has to be room temp at least. And chicken salad doesn’t taste right unless it’s cold. I just didn’t feel like making anything else either.” What Eliza failed to mention was that Splinter had joined the rest of the family for dinner by that point and rather than stay in the kitchen to make something else, subjecting herself to his tantalizing scent, it was just easier to snag Casey’s half-empty snack bag and feign tiredness. That was one good thing about her pregnancy, no one ever questioned her wanting to go to bed early.  “The real odd thing is that I don’t even like beef jerky, hate it in fact, but it seemed to hit the spot.”

“Interesting,” The Phoenix hummed as she made a notation in her book. She then gave a small amused smirk. “Auntie P?”

“Oh that you can blame on Mikey.” Eliza smiled as she folded her legs criss-cross on the bed, ignoring her shirt riding up again. “I was making a list out in the kitchen the other day and he saw how your name was spelled. He thought Auntie ‘P’ rhymed very nicely with Mrs. ‘V’. Apparently that’s very important since was are, as he put it, ‘Team Supermom’” the ferret explained, making liberal use of air quotes.

“Team Supermom,” Phoenix repeated dubiously.  She considered herself many things, a Supermom wasn’t one of them.  She was satisfied her brood has made it to adulthood alive and free.

“Because we're a dynamic duo,” Eliza elaborated.

“Oh?” the smaller woman drawled.

“I’m a big strong mutant,” Eliza said, putting her arms body builder pose.  Phoenix laughed outright.  “Who can bend others to my will with my cooking superpowers.  You are a sharpshooting healer, who comes to the fight with your own brute squad.”

Phoenix rolled to the side, curling into a ball as she laughed.  Tears began to stream down her face before she got a hold of herself, Eliza gazed down at her in delight.  “I can take that,” she replied.  “I get Auntie P because there is no mister to make me misses, I am guessing.”

“I think you're giving Mikey to much credit,” Eliza admitted good naturedly.

“You have to eat,” Phoenix said, pushing herself back up, the last remnants of her laughing drifting off.  “Whether there is meat available or not.”. She knew from years of experience that meat was a rare treat.  Oh, there were plenty of rats, pigeons, raccoons, dogs, and cats to make meals of, but one usually had to be starving before eating any of them.  Eliza was not starving...in fact everyone in the Lair was surprisingly well fed.  

“I don't want anything else,” Eliza sighed.  “I want room temperature meat.”

Phoenix winced.  “Room temperature meat is going to be hard to find,” she said.  “Even when you’re not mutated.”  She sucked her lips in for a moment in thought.

Eliza looked away from her, her lip curling slightly.

“What?” Phoenix asked.  “Are you alright?”

Eliza nodded.   “Splinter passed the room.”

The human woman whipped her head toward the door, seeing it was firmly closed from Gwyn’s leaving.  “Is he eavesdropping?” she asked quietly, the thought unsettling her.

“No,” Eliza shook her head, exhaling.  “He stopped for a moment, but then kept going.  He was just passing by.”  She slumped her shoulders.

Phoenix’s brows drew together.  “Did you have a fight with him?”  She had a hard time keeping the defensive tone out of her voice.  She still didn’t have a bead on the rat ninja master.  There were times when he seemed very receptive to the traipsing in and out of his household, bordering on sweet.  And then there were times when he seemed very angry at something, she wasn’t sure what, but it had a self-indulgent feel to it which ground on her.  When she caught herself feeling that way, she had remind herself she did not know the man well enough to be making assumptions as to where his moods might be stemming.

Again, Eliza slowly shook her head, “No,” she said.  “Not at all, things have been very good.”

Phoenix paused.  “It doesn’t sound like it,” she ventured.

“I’m hungry,” Eliza emphasized, rubbing her belly, which peeked out of her shirt once again.  

“For room temperature meat,” Phoenix finished for her.

Eliza nodded.

“I don’t think room temperature meat is healthy for anyone,” Phoenix said.  “But,” she drew the word out, “I bet Medusa knows a lot of places to get body temperature meat.”