80smikewheeler:

ApolloandArtemis

Apollo is the Olympian god of the sun and light, music and poetry, healing and plagues, prophecy and knowledge, order and beauty, archery and agriculture. He is harmony, reason and moderation personified, a perfect blend of physical superiority and moral virtue. Artemis is the Olympian Goddess of the Hunt and the moon. She is the daughter of Zeus and twin sister of Apollo. Besides hunting, she ruled over forests and wild beasts, archery and disease.

ApolloandArtemis

Apollo is the Olympian god of the sun and light, music and poetry, healing and plagues, prophecy and knowledge, order and beauty, archery and agriculture. He is harmony, reason and moderation personified, a perfect blend of physical superiority and moral virtue. Artemis is the Olympian Goddess of the Hunt and the moon. She is the daughter of Zeus and twin sister of Apollo. Besides hunting, she ruled over forests and wild beasts, archery and disease.

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, practically a year and 2020 was awful and 2021 didn’t start off well either because of a relative’s death. But anyway, I hope you guys like what I’ve written.

If you wanna support me, I would be highly grateful. My paypal is: paypal.me/filterish

It was truly horrible that Ran was dealt such a awful card in her life. An alcoholic father, a workaholic mother and an innate disposition of wanting to please people whom she loved.

She could have lived with the first two cards but it was the third one that made her life difficult. Wanting to do the best she could at academics so she could get praised by her absent parents, wanting to have friends so that she could answer her mother’s questions about her friendships with conviction, wanting to work so that she could take care of the monetary burdens… wants, wants, wants.

To be honest, all she wanted was peace. To not be involved in her separated yet together parents’ tumultuous relationship. Sometimes thinking about her family made her chest hurt and throat tickle. She loved her mother and she loved her father. But she didn’t love them together. And when she came to realize that at the age of twenty, she finally let go.

She had worried and schemed to get her parents back together practically her whole life but now, she knew that if they didn’t want to be together, all her efforts would be in vain. So, at the age of twenty, with a heavy heart, she decided to let her family go. She stopped calling her mother to fix a date with her father, she stopped pestering her father about giving a fuck about her mother. And then came the realization that she was lonely. So lonely that her heart ached.

She hadn’t managed to make friends, life long friends people would go on about, because she was focused on bettering herself so that her parents would praise her. On the flip side, she had gotten into one of the best universities in Tokyo and was studying her desired subject about Medicine. Most days she could live with the pay off. Having a stable career would help in surviving alone a lot.

People in her class would invite her to hang out and she would say yes, just to sit there and observe them. For some reason, the buzzing chatter of her classmates soothed her a lot. They would gossip or discuss about classes or professors and Ran would sit there with a slight smile on her face and her heart feeling lighter. She craved companionship. 

With that thought in her mind, she decided to open up with her college classmates. She knew the names of the people in her class, thankfully and so, with a cheery smile she used to plaster on at her high school, she slid into the conversation about the college’s professors.

“… And Tsukiyama-sensei gives us so maaaany diagrams to draw,” Hayami-san was whining, “I have a part time job to do and then that teacher’s homework… I don’t get the time to unwind at all.” 

“He does push us a lot,” Ran said and noticed the sort of surprised looks of her three classmates, though they quickly covered it up. 

“You find it hard too, huh, Ran-san?” Sonoko-san said, “With your grades, I thought it would be easy for you to catch up.” 

Ran quickly grabbed the opportunity to continue the conversation, thankful that the atmosphere didn’t turn awkward at her sudden interruption, “Ah, well, I don’t actually have a lot to do, you know? Mostly studies and a part time job as an assistant at a detective agency.”

“Detective agency?!” The three of them exclaimed and faced Ran fully.

Her smile grew sheepish as she said, “Ahhhh, but, nothing interesting happens when I’m there. Usually, I just have to compile all the data and file them.” 

“But, still! You must have found something interesting there!” Aoko-san said, with her eyes shining with excitement, “A case? Or a person? Have you ever helped the detective, Ran-san?” 

Ran shook her head no, “I’m not allowed to work on the cases, Aoko-san. As a matter of fact, I’ve not even seen the detective yet, I usually work in the evening, after my classes are done.”

Hearing that, the three of them looked concerned and Hayami-san spoke, “Ran-san, are you sure that’s safe? I mean,” she shared a look full of concern with Sonoko-san and Aoko-san, “you have never seen whom you work with, right? What if it’s some super shady guy?” 

Ran chuckled a bit and said, “It’s okay, Hayami-san. I’m trained in karate. Plus, the agency I work at is super reputed. It’s just that the guy whom I’m assigned to is very, very busy and even other employees have said that it’s rare to see him in the office. He works at very odd hours.” 

That did nothing to alleviate their concern and Ran felt a bit touched. This was the first time she was having a proper conversation with them and the four of them were practically strangers yet Hayami-san, Sonoko-san and Aoko-san were so concerned about her well being. 

Aoko-san was apprehensive and she murmured, “If you say so, Ran-san,” and then in a more chipper tone asked, “Which agency do you work at?”

“Kudo Detective Agency.” Ran replied.

Hearing that, the three of them were even more animated in their response, “THE Kudo Detective Agency?” Aoko-san gasped in disbelief. 

“Wait, the famous ex-policeman one?!” Sonoko-san exclaimed.

“The one that has this hot, handsome guy working there?” Hayami-san said.

All of them turned to look at Hayami-san and she shrugged sheepishly, “What? Everybody knows that there is this rumored handsome guy who works there and is seen like once in every millennia,” she said sarcastically.

Sonoko-san swatted her friend and Aoko-san clicked her tongue, waving her comment away and turned her attention back to Ran, “You really work at Kudo Detective Agency, Ran-san? Oh, wow. It houses the best of the best detectives.” 

Sonoko-san nodded and said, “Damn, you must have impressed the Kudo husband and wife duo a lot. Seeing that they have such a strict policy and criteria to employ people.”

And with that, the three of them were off chattering about the elusive Kudos. Ran chipped in whenever she could but mostly listened while they were talking. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that only reason she works there is to spite her father in an act of rebellion. 

The Kudous were not the reason her father was a piss poor detective but she had spent her teenagers listening to him whine about how Kudo Yuusaku was responsible for the lack of cases in Mouri Detective Agency. And at that time, Ran did what she could to help him, guide her high school classmates in need, put up posters, advertise in newspapers… she did what she could but her father was too prideful to take small cases and too incompetent to work properly on big ones. And by then, the ex-policeman Yuusaku and ex-actress-turned-housewife had established a proper detective agency housing some of the brightest, youngest detectives. 

When she cut ties with her family, she decided to do what she wanted. And so, she offered her services to the Kudous. She knew she could be an excellent assistant and she proved herself by working for a week under Yuusaku Kudo herself. From organization to appointments to little treats or snacks for the clients… she did what she could have been doing for her father. 

And by the time the week had ended, she was employed with a good salary. She thought that working there would hinder her Medicine study course but the detective whom she was assigned to had a set of orders ready when she entered his office. 

She was surprised at first because no one was there to greet her on her first day, just a piece of paper telling her not to come during day time and that her work was to organize the papers that were kept on the table. Sure, there were scribbled notes scattered everywhere on the table but a quick glance clued her in that those were case notes. Case notes of multiple cases, to be exact. 

She found it extremely odd that the detective whom she was supposed to assist had never shown himself. All she knew was that his name was Kudou Shinichi, Kudou Yuusaku and Yukiko’s son, and was an excellent detective. He had grown up in the States and had come back at the age of twenty with plethora of experience under his belt. 

Ran chalked up never seeing him to some weird quirk of his. Truthfully, she liked working there. The Kudou couple treated her kindly, the assistants of other detectives were warm and welcoming, even the other detectives greeted her and indulged in small talk. The work wasn’t difficult, the pay was excellent, the timing fit her college schedule perfectly; everything was great except for never having seen her superior’s face.

Ran sighed as she brought herself back to present. Aoko-san was talking about the lab work they had just finished and Ran smiled lightly. Having friends like them would be nice, she thought. And swore to herself that she would make the effort to know them better. 

That day, she felt very calm as she entered her office. The Kudo Shinichi plaque at the door greeted her and she opened it, mentally gearing herself up for the stack of papers that was bound to be there, only to be greeted by a man, who was shuffling through them. 

“Umm… hello?” Ran asked hesitantly, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who this man was.

The man faced her and smiled a bright smile, which left Ran disarmed. “Hello, you must be Mouri Ran-san?” he asked.

Ran felt a little discombobulated, she hadn’t anticipated someone being inside the office. “Uhh… yes, I am. And you are…?” she didn’t want to presume who he was but she had a little inkling of whom he could be.

“Ah, sorry for introducing myself late,” and he walked up to her and held his hand up for a greeting, “My name is Kudou Shinichi… and ahh, I’m supposed to be working here,” he said in a playful tone with a smirk that showed a dimple on his left cheek.

The only thought that crossed her mind at that moment was what Hayami-san had said a few hours before. He really was a gorgeous man. 

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Fling

Part two to Sting

Pairing: TattooArtist!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: Your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mean Bucky.

Words:5,OOO

A/N: I made a promise and I’m not one to break a promise. So here is part two to a fic you all really enjoyed. I said I wasn’t leaving and I meant it!

Chewing your lip, you blankly gaze ahead of you as your friends smoke and talk some more. The entire street is filled with people from the strip, everyone trying to catch a breath and cool off as the summer night air simmers through the city. Crossing your arms over your chest and bouncing your leg, your mind trails off to the previous week.

You swallow hard and gently brush your thumb over the spot where Bucky had left the tattoo over your ribs. Every time your mind travels back to that day, you want to scream. It’s like you can hear the disturbing ‘ding’ of the tattoo shop door opening when it penetrated your lust-filled mind – like you can still feel the cold air brush over your nipples when Bucky’s mouth abandoned you.

And the rest is a blur.

A blur where one of his old time clients showed up unannounced to get Bucky to work on one of the larger pieces he had been asked to do and where Bucky somewhat uncomfortably, even with his oozing arrogance and indifference, sent you on your way. You didn’t have to pay for the tattoo and your cheeks were burning with heat once you passed the old time client who was giving you a strange look while Bucky led him to the room he defiled you in.

Safe to say you are pissed. Still to this day. It had been hard enough to get an appointment and to avoid Bucky’s presence along with it. And you completely failed, had to bear the uncomfortable half hour of him giving you your tattoo, then he had the fucking nerve to rile you up and turn you into a weak puddle of a person, only to send you on your merry way like you were any other client before he could fulfil all of his empty promises. As pissed as you are for the way he treated you and how you wanted the ground to swallow you whole from the embarrassment you felt, you are mainly just furious because you have not been able to shake him since.

It’s like there is a permanent burning between your legs, as if Bucky put a dark magic in the ink of your tattoo that keeps chanting his name through your body, like you’re tethered to him at all times. Your orgasms were mere bumps instead of the usual mind-blowing peaks, your skin has never been this sensitive and every brush of air is making your body stand on alert. Your hands have never been this restless and at one point, you were so frustrated, you could barely do something as simple as pour a glass of water.

All because your grumpy, piece of shit tattoo artist Bucky Barnes, had left you hanging after probably the best foreplay of your goddamn life.

So when your slightly fuzzy brain spots his figure towering between the drunken crowd and slipping into the alley you know had the back entrance of his shop, you can’t stop your feet from moving. It’s primal, the instinct that forces you his way. Like it’s addicted to him and could find him in any crowd, anywhere. Without taking your eyes off your target destination, you mumble a reason for your departure to your friends, shouldering yourself through the crowd until you approach the dark alley.

What the hell is he doing here in the middle of the night?

You pass a couple pressed against the brick wall in their own passions and give them a brief glance as they fail to notice you before returning your gaze to where you know a metal door is hidden in the wall. And sure enough, fumbling with the lock of the door, is the metal-armed artist.

“What the hell are you doing here at this time?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest as you pop your hip out and look him up and down.

His shoulders sag and Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before slowly turning his frame to face you. It’s almost as if he was waiting for you to show up, like you are the one thing he was trying to avoid.

“Excuse me?” He raises an unimpressed brow at you, shooting a brief glance at the dry-humping couple at the end of the alley way before his eyes land back on you.

You have no reason to talk to him that way – like you know him and are allowed to scold him – but you don’t care. The alcohol has slightly affected your inhibitions and you are still pissed off.

“You heard me.” You bluff.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?” He grumbles, clearly annoyed by the intrusion as he still rests his metal hand on the door handle, ready to leave.

You try not to look too offended when you hear his tone. Like you’re just any lost woman trying to catch his attention and he’ll not-so-gladly return you to your designated friend group to get you off his ass. Just when you think your fury couldn’t get any worse…

Giving him the deadliest glare you have in your arsenal, you fumble with your purse and grab your wallet, hands shaking with fury and again, embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t remember you. Frantically searching for the notes of money buried in there, you fish out a sum large enough to cover for the tattoo, walk over to him and shove the money into his pocket.

“Realised I still owe you for that tattoo.” You spit out, biting back the litany of names you want to scream at him for treating you like some cheap slut.

Turning around and barging off, you don’t get too far as a firm hand wraps around your upper arm and pulls you back. Stumbling on your feet, you collapse with your back into what you assume is his hard chest and with an angry huff, that same hand grabs your head twists it to the side to face the open door and pushes you into the dark and abandoned building.

The metal door slams closed and for a second, there is so little you can see, you have to squint to see the exit sign at the end of the hall. That’s when red lights flicker on and a buzzing sound permeates the air, the lights slowly illuminating more and more of the hallway.

“Always with the goddamn act. Ready to make a fucking scene.” He spits and you feel a push in your back, making you stumble forward. Following the silent order, you drag your light feet forward until you hear another door open and turn around to watch Bucky hold a random door open for you.

“Don’t get shy now. Walk.” He grunts and you give him a long look, unable to spot anything, before shuffling inside where you immediately recognise the interior of his shop, soft neon brightening the walls that are littered with his designs.

“Why are you here at this time?” You asks, your voice softened in comparison to earlier.

“I have shit to do.” He answers and starts rummaging around the shop.

“In the middle of the night?” You frown and turn back to him.

“How is your tattoo?” He asks, blatantly ignoring your prying question.

“Healed. Not thanks to you.” You retort.

Walking over to the check out desk, you take a seat at the bar stool under it, waiting for to ascend from behind the desk. You hear him grumble and huff, small curse words slipping through his complaints before he pushes back to a stand.

“Good. I’m glad.” He murmurs absentmindedly and walks off to the sink, filling a glass of water as he turns his back to you.

You frown at him and bite the inside of your cheek, “Are you? Because I’m pretty sure you couldn’t care less when you sent me away after your slutty tricks.”

He turns around after putting the glass down, resting against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest, his dark eyes piercing yours as he glowers at you.

“I couldn’t.” He shrugs after a moment of silence and you refrain from letting your jaw drop to the floor at the sheer audacity of the man opposite to you.

“God, you’re a fucking piece of shit, you know that?” You groan and slide off the stool, grabbing your purse and stalking off towards the back door again. But once more, Bucky’s hand stops you dead in your tracks as he holds out the sum of money you shoved in his pocket earlier.

“Take this.”

“No.” You seethe up at his dead-panned face, “You keep it and let it weigh on your guilty conscience that you earned that by feeling me up.”

One of his brows rises and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, his grip tightening on your arm as he leans down until his breath fans over your warm face, “In that case, sweetheart,I’m a little more expensive.”

Your eyes widen with white hot anger and you rip your arm from his grip before shoving his chest with all the power you can muster, making him smirk even more blatantly as he barely loses his balance. You thump your fists over his chest over and over, growling with anger at his outrageous statement.

“You fuckin-” You scream at him and he merely laughs as his hands wrap tightly around your fist and hold up your hands to stop your vicious attack.

“That’s enough.” His voice is unbearably deep.

“Not nearly.” You push through gritted teeth and he gives you a bored glare.

“Yes, it is. Would you let me explain?”

“And give you the chance to pretend you don’t know me? No, thank you.” You roll your eyes and struggle to pry your wrists free from his grip.

He drags you over to the stool and manhandles you with ease until you’re sat on the puffy cushion before grabbing the glass of water, slamming it down onto the desk and looking down at you with a serious expression on his face – not too different from his usual expression.

“Drink some fucking water and hear me out.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pondering over your choices until your curiosity wins the inner battle and you nod faintly at him to start speaking.

“That client isn’t exactly one of the friendly kind.” He starts, “I got into business with him because he makes good money and I can’t exactly ignore him. But I didn’t want him to ask any weird questions, so I got you out of there as soon as possible. He’s a bit ruthless when it comes to things he wants to get his hands on.”

“I can handle myself just fine.” You mutter, a weak defence to the slight shock of his story.

“I don’t doubt that. But not on my watch.” He grumbles and you can see his jaw clench tightly, the tension rippling through the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Bucky is fighting for his life to keep his composure. You’re too feisty for your own good and it makes him want to scream in frustration and pull out his hair.

As stubbornly quiet as you were the last session, he should have known you’d get worse in a situation like this. And perhaps he should have let you stand outside in the alley and get back to your friends, but he’s never felt guilty for being a dick before. It’s always been easier to keep people at a distance, but he realised after giving you your tattoo and sending you off after turning him on beyond comprehension, that he didn’t want any distance between you. The chance of you coming back or running into him was slim and he couldn’t take it.

He is more than happy that you’re a feisty one, because that’s what brought you to confront him after last time. And when your eyes flash with fury and your fists ball, all he wants is to sink to his knees and make you stutter and stammer while you continue to try and be angry with him. He wants those grabby hands wrapped in his hair like when he had your perky nipple in his mouth and he wants to feel the throbbing of your cunt on his thigh, all warm and welcoming.

“You’re mean, you know that?” You mutter as you finish your water and put down the glass next to your purse.

“You’re not very nice either.” Bucky lies fluently. You could threaten him with a knife and he’d melt on the spot. You’d still be fucking nice to him. Not that you would ever find out. And Bucky has to bite back a smirk that you’d come back to him even after he’s been a complete ass to you.

You slide off the stool again and slowly pace the tattoo shop, nodding slowly as you contemplate his words. That’s when you decide to leap. Whether it’s the alcohol making you do it, or the fact that you feel your skin still burning from his touch (or lack thereof), or that the gravel in his voice makes your stomach tense up with anticipation, you don’t know. But you’re not used to guys like him and you want to explore some new territory. So you turn around, only to find him closer than you expected and with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I like it when you’re mean.” You mutter, your voice seemingly not your own, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as they trail over all your features. The silence becomes unbearable. Not because it’s uncomfortable, but quite the opposite. It’s thick and suffocating, his gaze on you making blood rush to the surface of your skin. You almost look down at yourself to check if you’re still clothed.

You wish you weren’t. Wish his mouth was on you again. Wish to feel the scrape of his stubble against your chest and the vibration of his voice against your sensitive skin. You wish the warmth of his tongue over your breasts and the pressure of his thigh between yours.

“God, you’re pathetic…” He rolls his eyes and you swallow hard, conflicted by his words. You’re not sure if he still wants nothing to do with you, or if he’s buttering you up to devour you.

“Is that all you got?” You bluff, hoping to coax the latter from him.

His smirk is dark, the blue neon making him look even more threatening. He steps over, three long, slow strides and shoves his hands into his pockets, peering down at your glassy eyes.

“You know it’s not.” He drawls lowly and you straighten your back.

Show me. Show me. Please, show me.

You feel like if you scream it in your head loudly enough, it might reach him, even when as keep your face straight. But you don’t know about Bucky’s advantage. Except for the arm and the obvious strength that ripples from his stature, you don’t know about his heightened senses. His hearing that picks up your thudding heartbeat, his eyes spotting every little tick in your face that gives away your racing thoughts. Or the smell of you that permeates the air and makes Bucky fight for his life not to let his eyes roll to the back of his head. But he’s not one to beat around the bush and he likes seeing you squirm.

“Fucking hell, I can smell you from here.” He almost growls as his eyes lustfully drop down, instantly activating a fluttery pounding between your legs as you drench your underwear. While you rub your legs together at the sensation, his eyelids flutter as if he smells the heady scent of fresh arousal before lifting his eyes back up to yours where he notices your frozen state.

“S-Smell me?” You stammer and his face turns serious, his arm raising to take your chin between his fingers.

“Does that make you nervous?” He mocks, cocking his head to the side and you straighten again, your eyes falling to his lips. Those sinful lips.

“No.” It’s more of a breath than anything else.

“Then let me have a taste.” He breathes back, his words almost a whisper as he leans in so close, that his lips almost brush over yours, making your eyes fall closed at the mere teasing from his proximity.

“Taste…” You repeat, your bottom lip briefly brushing his top lip as you breathe the word. It is taking all of your brain capacity to figure it out. His request. How many ways there are for him to have a taste. How many ways you’d like him to have a taste. And you nod, almost melting into his grip on your chin.

“Say it.” He breathes again and your lips part as you feel his breath brush over the freshly bitten skin. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Your heart pounding thrice as fast.

“Taste me.” You choke out and he’son you.

Your moan that spills into his mouth the second it connects with yours gets swept away by his tongue against your top lip to lick into you, both his hands at your jaw as he tilts your head further back and hauls you up against his mouth. He’d devour you if he could.

Fingers clasping onto the worn fabric of his shirt to make sure you have some grip as Bucky ravages your mouth, uses your mouth, simply because you don’t think he has any other purpose than to do so, your eyes nearly roll back at the intensity of his kiss and the throbbing between your legs intensifies.

While your hands slide up his neck and into his hair, his own slide down to your waist to claw at you and pull you nearer. When the pressure of your body against him is semi-satisfactory, Bucky’s hands grab your ass and pull you over his thigh, your drenching core instantly warming into his jeans. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

You’d expect more self control from the cynical tattoo artist, but he still has more of a grip than you do. He could shove you to your knees and you would instantly open your mouth and stick out your tongue for him. Though Bucky seems more focused on the feeling of your heartbeat against his thigh and the warmth that permeates through the fabric of his jeans, so you roll your hips against him, tugging at his hair as your breath hitches and your kiss comes to a halt.

His brow presses to yours, squeezing the flesh of your ass and making your hips roll into the same movement again, causing the same stutter in your breath as heat bursts through your skin and reaches him.

“Good girl.” He breathes and your eyes flutter at the praise. The long-awaited praise.

“Bucky…” You gasp and you want him – no, need him to take over, because you don’t know what to do with all that frantic desire coursing through your bloodstream. And then you feel your dress being shoved over your ass, the harsh lash to your flesh from his hand snapping you back to your sanity slightly.

“Don’t go dumb on me now.” He hisses, “I haven’t done anything yet.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to snap. For you to up your game and become his match. Your eyes snap open, the dark lust in them almost stealing his breath until you pull at his hair, roughly enough to grant you some give, which you then abuse by shoving him to his knees in front of you.

The flash of delight across his face makes you swallow hard as you peer down your nose at the man who is struggling to keep his eyes on your face. You can almost read his mind. How he argues with himself to watch your eyes, your lips – until dismissal echoes in his head and his eyes drop to your panties, his hands firmly on your thighs. And his lids lower, the breath he inhales sharp and strained when he focuses all his attention on his next meal.

His fingers play with the thin fabric of your panties, curling and twisting and snapping. Tugging and scrunching. Like he’s waiting for permission. And when he looks up, a cocky look of suggestion in his eyes, you grit your teeth to steady yourself.

You’re not sure you are ready for his mouth. For the things Bucky is capable of. You’re not sure you can handle his relentless and inevitable teasing after all the time that has already passed thinking about him. But you can’t help the appreciative stroke of your fingers through his hair and you may have imagined the slight flutter in his eyes at the touch.

“Taste me.”

His pupils explode below his dooming brows and his voice is hoarse when he simply rips your underwear off you, the sting of the fabric like a zap of lightning up your spine, “Yes, ma’am.”

Instead of gently leaning forward and daring a taste, the next thing you know, you get dragged to the floor, waiting for an impact that never comes. Before you can register your position lying on his floor, you get hauled towards Bucky and he engulfs you whole.

The warmth and wetness of his eager mouth lapping up every drop you spilled for him between your folds, has your back arching to the ceiling and your hands clawing at the floor for leverage. He makes it his job to drink up all of your arousal before plunging his tongue into you as far as it goes, the pulsations around it making him growl against you.

His metal arm clamps over your writhing hips to keep them still, his hand pressing into your abdomen perfectly, while his other hand grabs onto one of yours and guides it to his hair. Instantly following his guidance, both your hands curl into his brown locks and pull, subsequently making Bucky go rogue on his feasting.

And after all the foreplay, after all that tension, it doesn’t take long for your spine to tighten, your legs to tremble and your fingers to start feeling numb. The sound alone of the man panting and licking and sucking and groaning between your thighs is enough to hurl you so close to the edge, you are sure your sanity will tumble along with your climax.

All it takes is one thick finger pressing into you and curling into your spot and you tighten around him while pleasure explodes through every limb, your head airing out. The hoarse cry that falls from your lips and the attempt of capturing his head between your legs permanently have Bucky going into overdrive to haul you through your orgasm, every twitch of your body to his touches being echoed by a twitch in his jeans.

Bucky is painfully hard by the time you’re nothing but soft breaths of satisfaction. Devouring every piece of evidence of your orgasm, he strokes your body soothingly as you come down.

“Turn over, sweetheart.” He orders and tugs at your hips until you roll over onto your stomach. His greedy tug at your hips and kneading at your ass have you press into him wantonly. The warmth of his body crawls over you and his breath fans over the back of your neck where he leaves a gentle kiss, “You taste fucking delightful.”

You swallow hard at the praise and flinch when his warm hand cups your entire pussy, running fingers through you to rile you up again. Lazy drags of his lips over your shoulders and back of your neck have you shudder with need.

“Bucky…”

“Your warm little cunt has been crying for me…” Bucky grumbles against your skin, his fingers teasing and teasing and teasing, “For me to give you a good pounding. Set you straight. Fuck you stupid.”

You let out an agreeing whine, your pride long forgotten after your first orgasm, and you’d melt at the quiet sound of his dark chuckle if your body didn’t spring to full attention at the sound of his pants coming undone. It’s purely instinct that drives your ass up into his crotch and it instantly earns you a harsh snap of his palm against your ass cheek, making you hiss and press your brow to the cold floor in obedience.

His cold metal hand presses between your bare shoulder blades and presses you into the ground, grinding his hips against you roughly to show you exactly who is in charge. The pressure makes you huff and you reach back with one of your hands for him, only for him to straighten up slightly and pin your wrist to your back.

You want to protest, whimper at least to let him know how badly you need him, but every thought leaves your brain when you feel the silk length of him glide through your folds, pressing into your clit, before gliding back again.

“Oh God…” It’s barely a whisper, but Bucky hears it alright. He is narrowed in on every tiny, little response your body has to him.

So when you go still in an attempt not to test him again, he smirks and breaches your entrance slowly, the slow stretch of you around the throbbing head of him almost making him buckle over and crush you under him. And to make it even worse, you let out the filthiest moan he thinks he’s ever heard.

Retreating slowly and pushing back in another extra inch has you panting from underneath him. Out. And in a bit further. Out. And in. Out….

And Bucky glides home in one large stroke – so far, so deep that he curls into you to groan into your ear. Chest attached to your back as he barely holds himself up, he ruts his hips into you, nudging into your spot over and over and over until your vision starts to spin.

His wet pants in your ear, together with the sound of your own whimpers and the sound of him striking into you so hard, you can’t describe the feeling. You can’t possibly describe the combination of frustration and relief of finally having him inside of you. Like smouldering fire – so hot, so intense, so slow yet so rough.

It’sdirty, the way he has you.

Bucky’s metal hand plants back into the floor beside your head as his other hand snakes under you to your clit, two of his finger strumming over the throbbing bud as the pace of his thrusts increases. Harsh, shallow and fast, each of his strokes hit their target and make your body tingle and tremble underneath him.

You’re close. So close. His fingers grinding over your clit make you gasp for air, a pressure between your hips growing that you fear might kill you. Or worse, make you addicted to Bucky. Make you his.

Neither of you can utter a word. Both of you swimming in pleasure and never wanting this to end. Bucky might go insane with the grip you have on his cock, the breathy sounds that leave your tempting lips, the satisfaction that he made you obey in the end.

“I’m…I’m-” You can’t get the words out, but Bucky already knows and gently bites your ear lobe.

“I know, I know…” He murmurs, his voice nothing but deep gravel, “Just a second longer. Need to feel you a second longer.”

He’s breathless and you can’t help but feel pride swell in your chest at the sheer desperation lining his lovely, warm voice. And you agree, you want to feel him more, feel him longer, feel him deeper. So you clench around him and curl your fingers against the floor.

His thrusts become sloppy and wild, wilder than before. His breathing more uncontrolled and heavier, shallow too. You’re trying everything in your power not to come, but something shifts in the both of you and you feel his permission. Feel it in the way his teeth sink into your shoulder and his fingers press deep circles into your clit.

And with one particularly hard thrust, you get flung off the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a tsunami and Bucky seems to fuck you into the floor even harder, the grunts at the feeling of your pussy clenching like a tight fist becoming a dull roar in your bliss.

A few lengthy thrusts have Bucky spilling himself inside of you and you sigh softly at the feeling of warmth, shockwaves whacking your body beneath him as your orgasm continues its relentless attack on your body.

When Bucky slowly pulls out after coming down form his own high, you’re nothing but jelly on his floor, the coolness of the surface sizzling against your flushed skin. The aftermath of the dirty and rough fuck you just had with Bucky makes your body tingle, your core aching from it’s emptiness.

You don’t know what Bucky is doing as he gets up, you’re far too occupied scrambling your brain back in order. But then, you feel two warm palms massage into your ass, kneading and spreading your cheeks apart, pulling your hips up slightly.

“Talk to me.” He coos, his voice teasing and mocking as you feel his stare on your abused pussy, the feeling of his warm spent seeping down your thighs. He needs to hear your voice.

“Hmm…” You can only hum, pleasure still weakening your muscles.

“You look like a fuckin’ meal right now, you know that?” He grumbles, mostly to himself it seems, and you barely manage to move you head and take a peek behind you where Bucky is on his knees with indeed his eyes back on your tingling heat. You smirk lazily and close your eyes again, a long sigh leaving your lips.

“Have at it, Buck.” You tease back with a hum, expecting a laugh from the usually stoic man. What you don’t expect, is what he does next. But while your body tenses up at first, the deep swirl of his warm tongue cleaning you up has you back to melting into his floor.

At this rate, you’ll let him tattoo his name on you.

Joke’s on Bucky though, he already has a design of your name all thought out.