writingunderneathawillow

[writingunderneathawillow]

everything works out in the end (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: yours and bucky’s relationship is one fight away from being over. at least that’s what it feels like. when he is offered a glimpse of the future, he gets to see you and discovers that not all hope is lost. mcu timeline placement: post thunderbolts* content warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, relationship troubles/anxiety, reckless driving (don’t do it), grumpy!bucky, yearning, fluff, no use of y/n, bucky’s pov, brief thunderbolts and bob appearance, will be edited later, so just ignore any mistakes word count: 2.4k a/n: haven’t written anything good in a month but i guess i’m back :) also the angstier version is coming soon (i hope! I’m feeling a little blue so i choose to cope by making y/n’s life hard)

Bucky’s chest heaved as he slammed the door behind him. Regret filled him immediately, but he kept walking. Down the corridor, out of your apartment building and onto the street. He stopped for a few seconds to peer up at your window and a cold iron ring settled around his chest. The curtains were drawn but he could have sworn he saw the fabric move. He guessed that you were watching, waiting to see if he would come back. The two of you had been fighting for weeks now. About everything, anything. His work, the risks he was taking, his disagreement with Sam. You weren’t necessarily not on his side, but you kept urging the two of them to talk, to find a way to get along and it was driving him insane. So, you argued. And he yelled back. And you called him an idiot. And he slammed the door. He didn’t feel ready to go back and talk it out with you, so instead he brought his bike to life and drove off, ignoring the speed limit and street signs. The howl of the motor wasn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts, replaying the argument over and over again, and neither was the grinding of his teeth.  When he arrived at the Watchtower, his jaw hurt from the strain.  He parked the bike and had to physically stop himself from kicking it in frustration. He didn’t want to fight with you; he didn’t want to be angry with you. It was killing him to see the two of you on different standpoints.  The constant arguing was getting to him, settling deep in his stomach and not quite letting go, even after reconciling with you. It was as if you two were stuck in an endless circle of disagreements and then making it up to each other. It ate away at you, too. He saw it. In the way you sighed when he came back after a fight, or in the bags under your eyes after either one of you sleeping on the couch.  A few more hairs in his beard had lost their colour, and when he looked in the mirror, he saw a few more pronounced lines between his eyebrows. Disagreeing with you was threatening to make him look closer to his actual age.  The idea that one day you wouldn’t hear him out anymore, wouldn’t let him apologise or would refuse to say sorry for your own harsh words, haunted the back of his mind. That one day, you might decide to break his heart into a million pieces, for the better of both of you; it lingered. It ate him alive. 

The elevator dinged chirpily as the doors slid open to reveal Walker, Yelena and Ava sitting together in the common area, sharing a bowl of snacks while watching the news. Well, only really John was watching – Yelena and Ava were stacking chips on his head while he was absolutely absorbed in the military documentary playing on screen. “You’re back!” Alexei’s voice boomed through the room, and despite Bucky’s more than solid form, the Soviet’s Supersoldier clap on his shoulder sent him staggering a few feet forward. Yelena’s head whipped to them and even from the distance, Bucky saw the knowing look on her face.  He hated that he had a tell – and even more so that she knew it – for when he fought with you. John’s attention was momentarily captivated by Bucky’s return and the chips tumbled down onto the couch which elicited a sign from Ava.

“Oh, oh, why the long face?” Alexei asked, as he took in Bucky’s appearance and Yelena chortled.  “Trouble in paradise, again?” She teased while grabbing a chip from Walker’s collar, throwing it in the air and then catching it with her mouth. Bucky grunted some non-committal sound and strode past them, heading for his room. “Come on, you have to tell us all about your troubles. I know much about relationships,” Alexei called after him and Bucky wished he didn’t have supersoldier hearing when he picked up Yelena’s response.

“Which relationship is it that’s troubling you? You and the missus or you and Sam?” “We’re all fine,” he grunted and then disappeared into his room, planning on hiding there until his statement came true.  Not five minutes later, a knock sounded at his door.  “Jesus wept,” Bucky whispered to himself and got up, opening the door with more vigour than necessary.  Bob stood there, an anxious smile on his lips as if he wasn’t sure if his presence was appreciated or not (- it wasn’t). “I know I’m probably the last person you wanna ask about relationship advice-,” he began, and Bucky cut him off. “Yeah, you got that right.” Bob gave him a short apologetic glance but then continued. “All I wanna say is that maybe not all hope is lost,” he insisted but Bucky interrupted him again. “’Cause it isn’t. Never said it was.” “Right, but you look like she ran over your grandma and then danced on her grave, man. Listen, maybe I’m not the best person to go to with problems like this but the last time someone almost broke up with me, I took a nap and then talked it out with hi- them, uh, once I felt calmer.” “We’re not gonna break up,” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  Bob nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying, give it time. Get some sleep. Not that you need it or have to listen to me or whatever. Just… things usually get better when you take a nap.” Bucky stared at him disbelievingly, then sighed.

“Fine, I’ll take a nap,” he mumbled. He probably would have agreed to whatever Bob said in order to make him go away so that he could lick his wounds in peace. Bob’s face lit up slightly and he gave him a quick smile before retreating. Bucky let the door fall shut with a little more force than needed. Still, he found himself wanting to follow the other man’s advice and settled down on his bed reluctantly. He was exhausted, mentally and physically but still he didn’t find peace immediately. Instead, he grabbed his phone, opened the messages app and clicked on your contact info. For a few seconds his finger hovered over the call button. Your contact picture – one that he had taken not too long ago – smiled up at him, tearing at his heartstrings in both longing and wounded pride.  “Goddammit,” he whispered and locked his phone again, discarding of it on his nightstand where one of your necklaces lay as well. Dread washed through him at the sight of it. Bucky still felt too angry to reach out, not wanting to make things worse than they already were with comments thrown out in an emotion induced state.  “Can’t believe Bob’s fucking right,” he murmured and closed his eyes, praying that sleep would come to claim him quickly.

He woke with his senses on high alert. Something was off and it raised the hair in the back of his neck.  Within milliseconds, he sat up straight in bed, scanning the room. The air was lighter, and sunbeams filtered through the curtains, giving everything a golden glow. Had he slept through the entire night? How the hell did he- wait. Curtains? Bucky practically jumped out of bed, running over to his window.  Now, he was a man with priorities. Functionality, cleanliness and stability. He had a solid bedframe, a tall wardrobe and an organised desk, the only clutter in his room a few books and worn picture frames. Never in his life had he bought curtains. Or a vanity table. That specific piece of furniture adorned the wall opposite of the door, standing there as if it belonged. Two small scratches were carved into the wooden flooring next to it, seemingly proving that someone had tried to rearrange the layout of it without the needed strength. “What the hell?” Bucky murmured to himself as he took in the rest of his room. Pieces of clothing were splayed across a fuzzy chair that he had never seen before in his life. As he picked up one of the shirts, dizziness hit him. It smelled like you.  He swayed on his feet, threatening to stumble back against the wall as panic gripped his chest.  What is going on? He lunged towards the door and would have ripped it open, if the pictures on the wall hadn’t caught his attention. It was a collection of polaroids, hung up in a specific order. Two of them he recognised, even though to his knowledge, they were supposed to be in his wallet.  The furthest one left was the first picture of you two ever taken. Outside the tower, you curled up into his side, shielding your eyes against the sun while holding onto him. His arm wrapped around you and a not quite serious, not quite happy expression plastered across his face. That had been eight months ago, when you had met the team for the first time. Afterwards, Alexei had insisted on taking a polaroid of the two of you (“To make you never forget this great day!”). The other one with which he was familiar, was one he had stood behind the camera for, himself.  It showed you wearing Bucky’s leather jacket, and half of his metal arm was in the frame as well. You had reached out for it, trying to get him into the picture, too, but he had been quicker, snapping the polaroid to only display you, a bright smile and eyes full of love as you had called out to him to join you.  A shiver ran through Bucky as he stared at the other pictures. There were more than twenty, hung up in four neat lines. It was clearly a timeline of your relationship, some posed, others clearly taken in the moment, and his heart dropped as his eyes arrived at the last picture.

His photograph-self was on one knee, holding a velvet box, while you had your hands flung across your mouth, the shock and joy on your face obvious even despite the image’s terrible resolution. Sam stood in the back corner, a proud smile on his face as he looked at whoever had taken the picture.  Bucky’s head was spinning. He must be dreaming. The fight with you had taken over his subconscious and now he was dreaming of a future of you because he didn’t want to lose you.  Like a cartoon character, he pinched his arm. And felt the pain. You can’t feel any pain in your dreams. He knew that. So, he pinched harder. And it hurt.  “What the fuck?” He mumbled, slapping himself once. His cheek stung. He held his breath until he almost passed out. Ok, so not dreaming. Maybe he had rolled out of bed and hit his head real hard, causing him to hallucinate. Or maybe he was dead and this was heaven.  Yeah, that didn’t make sense; he had survived falling hundreds of feet off a train so dropping onto his hardwood floor in his sleep would surely not send him beyond the pearly gates. And then he heard it. Your voice. He would know it anywhere, in life, in death and in whatever messed up situation he found himself in now. The sound ghosted through the closed door like it was beckoning to him, asking him to find his way to you.  His fist closed around the doorknob, pulling it open in a slow trance. The sound of your voice grew louder, and he recognised the song you were singing along to.  Desperation grabbed him. He had to see you. So, he stepped forward, following your voice and it led him to the kitchen of the tower.  Before walking around the corner, Bucky paused. He still didn’t know what was going on. If this was real or if it was some kind of co-dependency induced vision; his mind was theoretically cleared by Shuri but who knew? Maybe he was truly starting to lose it.  As his thoughts spiralled, he didn’t hear the footsteps closing in on him.  You almost bumped into him, eyes wide with shock and then the skin next to them crinkled softly as you smiled at him. “Hi, baby,” you greeted him, “I was just coming to wake you.” You reached out for him, your right hand coming up to his face to brush your knuckles across his cheek. It was such a familiar gesture, one that you had gifted him a million times before. Still, he could have dropped to his knees as you reached out for him. And that’s when he saw it, the ring sparkling on your ring finger. The one, that he had put there – apparently. Or was going to.  He didn’t know how he knew but he did. This was not a dream, not a vision born from injury, insanity or mind control.  This was his future. This was a promise. For once the universe seemed to be on his side, allowing him this brief glimpse, telling him it was going to be alright. Everything would work out. “Hi,” he rasped and leaned into your touch. The second his skin connected with yours, a smile spread across his face. You looked at him with a mix of adoration and concern.  “You feeling okay, baby?” You asked, resting your hand on his forehead. He nodded immediately and like the love drunk fool he was, he would have done anything to prevent you from worrying about him – or anything at all ever again. “Yeah, I just missed you,” he whispered. 

He woke with a jolt, sitting up as straight as a candle in bed. It was dark in his room. There were no sunlit curtains, no vanity desk and no polaroids on the wall.  He reached for his phone and looked at the time. Barely an hour had passed since he had fallen asleep.  Set on a mission to not spend a second more than necessary without going to you and pleading for your forgiveness, he got to his feet and pocketed his phone.  He was already halfway out the building when he almost sent Bob to the floor with the force of his walk.  “Sorry,” he called out but then stopped himself from stepping into the elevator. He turned to face Bob and pulled him into a hug. “I fucking love you, Bob. You were right. A nap was all it took.”

He left the other man standing there, looking absolutely flabbergasted and slightly flushed.  Bucky pressed the elevator’s button and wondered how many traffic laws he could break on his way to you in order to shorten the amount of time spent apart from you.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

blue valentine

- the four times bucky makes you cry + the one time you make him cry content warnings: heavy angst, bucky’s trauma, mental health plays a big part here, depression, ptsd, unwanted advances towards reader (not bucky), accidental violence against reader, crying, insecurities, hurt/comfort, very minor thunderbolts* spoilers word count: 3.3k a/n: inspired by nessa barrett’s song blue valentine, lyrics are in italics, this is unedited cause i’m lazy but i’ll try to get around to it tomorrow

you play it so damn cool, 'cause baby, you are Bucky was a quiet lover. He would send you flowers at the end of the week, little gifts on special occasions and he’d spend time with you, either tucked away in tranquil corners of restaurants or curled up together in dark corners and sequestered rooms of the tower. Most of the time however, you spent at your apartment. He had told you he was a private person when you met, and you had understood that. Sometimes you wanted to show him off just a little – introduce him to your parents and friends, kiss his cheek on his birthday – but you were patient and held out on such things. Instead, you relished in your shared secrecy. Keeping things just to yourself had its benefits as well. Most of the time.

But once you hit the six-months-mark in your relationship, things got a little rocky. Your friends were pushing to meet him, and you were eager to share your joy with them. Bucky protested the way only he could: With smooth words and even smoother kisses. “Doll, I just want us to stay us for a little longer. I like having you all to myself,” he explained, his voice dipped in soft honey. He pulled you in closer and kissed the corner of your mouth. His stubble tickled your skin and managed to produce a little giggle from your lips.  “Well, baby, you still have all of me to yourself even if you meet some of my friends. They’re really curious about you and wanna know who I spend all of my time with,” you retorted and pushed him away just a little to look at him.  Those ocean blue eyes, usually filled with so much warmth when he looked at you, clouded just a tiny bit when he noticed your reluctance to drop the topic.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, and you felt the need to shrink away under his piercing stare, but you didn’t give up. “They’d love you.” “Sweetheart,” he began, “I wanna meet them. That’s not it. I just- I think I’m not ready to go there yet.”  Something in you cracked – just a little. It would be easy to smooth it over, to fill the fracture in your heart and piece it back together, if he just added a few more soothing words, so that you wouldn’t feel like an idiot for wanting your boyfriend to meet your loved ones. But his lips remained sealed and he simply ran a hand over your cheek. “Yeah?” He asked once he had noticed that you hadn’t answered.

No. Not yeah.  The words almost spilled out, but you clamped your teeth shut against each other, biting away the tears which threatened to fall.  “Okay, baby,” you said instead and nodded for good measure, ignoring the blistering pain, lit by insecurities, that burned its way through your mind. Bucky didn’t notice the way your waterline began to swim. He either genuinely thought that things were fine this way or he chose to ignore the way you mumbled a quick excuse to take a shower. Either option worsened the hurt you were already feeling.

In the bathroom you let the tears fall. You turned on the shower and stripped off your clothes as the salt streamed down your face. Your brain was working overtime as you wondered what was holding him back. Six months was already a long time to not have met your friends, but now, turning down your explicit request – it stung even more.  Little by little, moments of the last half year came back to you, rushing onto you like a thunderstorm.  His birthday when you had not been allowed to throw a party for him (“I’m fine celebrating just with my best girl”).  Turned down dinner invitations with his friends (“You’ll meet them soon, doll, don’t worry, just not tonight”).  A quick getaway from the bar he had taken you to once he had spotted Sam (“I’ll introduce you soon but not now, it’s not right”). The shower hid your sobs and blended right into your tears, so when you stepped out and rejoined Bucky in your bedroom, you made up some story about getting soap in your eyes to explain away the red rims.  I burn red for you Just a few weeks later, he splintered your already cracked heart. A simple night out, just the two of you of course, had gone sideways. A guy in a bar, drunk out of his mind and an asshole in general just to top it off, had wandering hands.  While Bucky sat at one of the tables, you had begged him to let you choose a drink for him and after successfully convincing him, you had made your way to the bartender. The drunk idiot next to you called out to you, shouting over the music to ask for, or much rather demand, your number. Despite ignoring him and then outright rejecting him, he didn’t get the hint and refused to give up.  His hands were on your arm for less than five seconds before he was ripped away with the flash of vibranium arm and his head collided with a brick wall.  Bucky’s chest heaved as he landed a few punches, two to the gut and multiple to the creep’s face, before all three of you were thrown out of the bar.  For a second you didn’t recognise the man before you. Fire raged in his eyes as he wrapped his metal fist around your wrist and pulled you down the street – to what he presumed safety. “Baby,” you winced, trying to free your arm from his tight grip. “Baby, please let go.” But he didn’t hear you. His body shielded you from the outside world when he led you, practically teared you, into an alleyway. Pushed against the wall, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he frantically checked you for injuries and stopped abruptly when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.  “Sweetheart?” He asked, neck craning to search for threats, “What? What is it?” You wiggled your fingers hopelessly and whispered: “You’re hurting me.” No other feeling will ever compare to the one that swallowed you whole once your words had processed in his mind. His entire face dropped, and he put about ten feet between the two of you.  His gaze was glued to your arm where angry red marks, shaped and moulded to his fingerprints, sat accusatory.  “Sweetheart, I’m- I’m so sorry,” he murmured and stepped forwards, but he stopped himself before closing any real distance. “I’m- I didn’t mean to- I just saw his hands on you and I- fuck, I’m so sorry.” You exhaled deeply, trying to collect yourself, and wiped away the streaks on your face.  “It’s okay, Bucky,” you mumbled and walked towards him.  He shook his head and took another step back only to collide with the wall.  “No, it’s not okay. I- fuck- I hurt you.” Bucky’s voice trembled and his hands – both metal and flesh – closed into fists. “I’m so fucking sorry. I… I can’t explain it and there’s no excuse, but I- I saw how he touched you and it- I-,” he stumbled over his words, trying to make you understand, not seeing that you already did.  “I saw red. Nothing else. The only thing on my mind was getting you outta there.”

“I get it,” you replied gently and pulled your sleeves down, a feeble attempt at hiding the remnants of his grip.  You managed a smile and softened your voice. “It’s not your fault. But we’re safe. We’re okay. Alright?”  Feels like nobody knows The L-word had been on the tip of your tongue for months now. Pretty much since you had started dating. Bucky was easy to fall for. It took a little more effort to stay there with his closed off demeanour and reluctance to fully enter your world – he still hadn’t offered to introduce you to his friends and turned down any instance where he could have met yours. But it was worth it to you. You were royally whipped for him.  So, the word dangled between the two of you, unspoken but mutually felt – or so you hoped. It was another late night, cozied up together on your bed while a movie played in the background. Neither of you was paying much attention to the plot, instead the focus had drifted into a heated make-out session. His hands rested below your shirt, warmth seeping into your skin as he traced shapes onto your bare back.  You pulled away for a few seconds to take him in. Lips kissed rosy and swollen, a faint trace of a cocky smile on his face. His hair was messy from how often you had run your hands through it and a love-drunk haze veiled his eyes. 

It felt right to say it then. There was no doubt in you, no fears that you might be knocking on a closed door.  You breathed in deeply and placed another sweet kiss on his cheek before you said it.  “I love you.”

He froze.  You felt every single one of his muscles come to a halt below you. The thighs that had supported your weight on his lap went taut with tension and his fingers stopped moving. 

You had heard of fight or flight before, experienced it yourself a couple of times and had seen it in action on Bucky. But he had always chosen fight so far.  A punch thrown, a blow landed, a bullet shot.  But he had never frozen.  He sat below you, eyes trained on a spot behind you, and you were wondering if you needed to call Sam. Or 911.  He seemed almost catatonic, like a deer in headlights. You wished you were the deer and the headlights would come a little faster towards you. 

“Bucky?” You asked quietly, slowly easing off of his lap and his head snapped to you so quickly that it made you jump. “What?” His voice was hoarse, and you prayed that the ground would open up to swallow you.  “Did, uh, did you hear me?” You hated the way your voice shook, already feeling the prickling in your eyes.

He didn’t answer but he nodded slowly.  You hadn’t confessed your love to that many people yet in your life, but this was certainly the worst way it had ever gone.  “Uh, okay,” you whispered. There was a sharp crack on the last syllable of your words, and you instinctively covered your mouth with your hands.  You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to guilt-trip him into saying it back. You just wanted him to feel it, too.  “Doll,” he began, an apologetic tone tinging his voice, but you interrupted him.  “No, no, Bucky, I’m- I’m sorry, I, uh, you don’t need to say it back. It’s okay.”

It really, really wasn’t. Nine months, that’s how long you two were together now. Nine months of getting to know each other in and out, of spending days on end with each other and learning to love one another – at least that’s what you had thought.  You scrambled up from the couch, clutching the hem of your shirt in an attempt to bring yourself back to earth and to hinder the tears from falling. Bucky stayed in his spot, his eyes helplessly tracking your movements as you increased the distance between the two of you – not enough to translate the emotional distance you felt right now.

“Sweetheart, it’s not- fuck, I mean, it’s not that I don’t… you know. But I… I can’t,” Bucky urged quietly. His words made little sense to your mind as it was consumed by grief. Grief for what should have been.  “It’s fine,” you maintained and as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you to undermine your words, a single tear breached forward and slipped down your cheek. Do you really love me? Or just love to make me cry?

The following days were cruel. Both of you shut down completely.  Conversations were rare and seeing each other even rarer. You walked through your own apartment like a ghost, staring at your phone like it might light up with an apology, or an explanation or anything. But no, radio silence. You heard from Bucky twice. The first time, he sent you a quick text to tell you that he was needed for a mission and would be back in a few days. Then, the second message came once he’d returned from the mission, asking you if he could come over.  A ‘we need to talk’- text was rarely a good sign but you did. You needed to talk.  It had been a sleepless night for you already, so you said yes, despite the fact that it was a little after 1 a.m. and anxiety rolled over you in waves at the thought of him ending everything you two had worked towards.  The knock on your front door was accompanied by the loud boom of thunder. Rain hit the windows almost horizontally and wind rattled the glass.  When you opened the door, you saw that Bucky had just barely escaped the worst of the storm. A few drops pearled down from his leather jacket onto your door mat and you – curse your stupid heart – immediately ushered him inside and went to get him a towel.

The silence stretched in between you. He dried off quickly but kept his shoes on. One foot out the door already.  His boots squeaked as he walked towards you, and you saw it in his eyes. This would be your worst heartbreak to date. “Doll,” that wretched nickname, which usually gave you butterflies, now turned your stomach around, “I think… it’s… I-“

You listened to his stammers, his attempts at forming a sentence. Bucky usually seemed like the type of guy to have prepared a speech on the way here, but he was at a loss for words. He seemed like he was trying to spare you the heartache but there were no words invented for that. “Do you want to break up with me?” You asked bluntly.  He looked at the floor, then at you and then back at the floor. Barely perceptible, he shook his head. “No.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “But we should.” For a second, you closed your eyes. Blood rushed through your ears, quieting everything around you, and for just a moment you could pretend that he wasn’t here. That he hadn’t just said that. “Why?” You deserved to know at least that. You didn’t want to be left with no explanation, only the what-ifs and if-onlys to keep you comfort.  Another sigh, and you felt propelled to scream in his face. To yell at him, to slap him and to throw him out of your apartment. “I can’t do this- us,” he stammered. “Why, Bucky? Why?” You tried to swallow the tears, tried to suppress the voice crack but the air in your lungs didn’t suffice, not with the lump in your throat. 

He couldn’t look at you, instead he faintly shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know. I just…,” he trailed off, gesturing loosely to you before dropping his arms to his sides. “Do you not love me? Did I do something?” “No, sweeth-, no, that’s not it.” “Then what?” “I want to want this but I…,” he shrugged helplessly and for a second you caught his eyes, filled with despair and vulnerability. “But you don’t,” you finished his sentence for him. He shook his head again and this time kept up the eye contact. “No, I just can’t.” More tears fell and you wiped at them furiously, rubbing the skin on your cheeks raw. When you looked at him again, the only thing you saw was self-hatred. And you couldn’t stand it. You turned around. You heard movements, and begged God, the universe, anyone that he’d walk to you. The door slammed.  Lying next to you, ‘cause all you ever do is make me blue The continuous pitter patter of the rain lulled you to sleep in the early morning hours, the sky just shy of turning orange.

The tears had only found their end once you fell into a restless dream. Splatters of the fight, mixed with distorted visions of a future with Bucky that seemed out of reach forever broke forth from your subconscious and kept you from getting any rest.  Half drifted off, you registered the sounds of your door opening but you were in too deep to fully distinguish between your dream and the real world. But the warmth was real. The dip of the mattress was real. The shaky hand, flesh not metal, that rested timidly on your arm, was real.  You woke with a flinch, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to clear enough to see Bucky.  Disoriented and questioning if you were maybe hallucinating, you sat up. But no, he truly was here. Your vocal cords didn’t cooperate as you tried to say his name “I’m sorry.” He looked at you, and what you would have thought were leftovers of the rain, turned out to be tears on his cheeks.  “I’m sorry,” he repeated as you stayed quiet.  “You’re back,” you finally managed to say, the disbelief in your words unmistakable. “Yeah,” he confirmed quietly, “I shouldn’t have left in the first place.” “Then why did you?” He stayed silent for a beat, then began talking. “I broke your heart. And I couldn’t keep looking at you while you were… looking at me like that.” You tried to intercept, but he raised his hand slowly, asking you to let him continue. “I should have stayed. Because I want to. I want to be in your life. I just don’t know if I can allow myself to do that.” You shifted in bed, straightening up a little.  “I want you. I… I love you,” he whispered, “But I don’t get to have good things. Good people like you. They die or they leave. And I can’t let that happen to you. I need you to live forever.”

Theoretically, you would do anything for him. But that was a request you couldn’t fulfil. “Bucky,” you began, but he shook his head again. “No, I know. I know, okay? It’s unfair of me to say that. But it’s true. I won’t survive if you die, or if you leave. And that scares me. So, I pushed you away. And I’m sorry for that. But I just… I can’t put you through that. A life with me is not something you want.” “That’s not your choice,” you implored quietly. Now it was your turn to shush him when he tried to protest. “No, Bucky, really. It’s not your choice. It wasn’t even my choice. But I fell for you. I love you and if I could have chosen, I’d do it again.” “I can’t give you anything. Stability. Promises. A future.” “I don’t want anything. I just want you.” Your words came out a little louder, a little harsher. But something had to penetrate that thick wall in his head that he had spent way too long building. “I want you. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. When you make me laugh and even when you make me cry.” You leaned forward and gently grabbed his chin, swiping at the tears that had made their descent into his beard.  “Do you hear me?”  “Yes, ma’am. I hear you. I just… I don’t know how to accept it.” “I’ll help you. I’ll make you accept it. Now, come lie down.” He shrugged of his jacket and took off his boots. Then, slowly he eased himself into bed next to you and after a moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry for making you cry,” he whispered against your hair. “It’s okay. You cried, too,” you replied quietly and pressed a kiss against his skin.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

tequila's fault (bucky barnes x reader)

- a hangxiety episode during which bucky can barely meet your eye content warnings: hangover (+ implied drinking), emetophobia tw, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, painkillers mentioned  word count: 2k a/n: i saw on tiktok that ai tends to use “-“ a lot so i just wanna make sure to say that it’s actually my thing :( i just don’t want people to think that this is written with ai :(

Your throat was as dry as sandpaper when you woke up, your tongue heavy with dehydration and regret.  The light hurt before you even open your eyes, so you decided to keep them closed a little longer, keep the embarrassment at bay for as long as possible before having to let yourself be confronted with the consequences of alcohol induced ideas.

Fatigue crawled through your entire body despite the ten hours of sleep – which, as you suddenly realised, hadn’t been fully uninterrupted.  Two hours after Bucky had managed to get you into your bed, with soft whispers and promises that he’d stay until you fell asleep, you had woken up in a cold sweat, strands of hair sticking to your forehead.  Within seconds you had still managed to dart for the ensuite, only somewhat registering the warmth of a body in your bed, before your stomach contents – mostly liquid – ended up in the toilet.  You don’t remember how you made it back to the bed, but you do recall two hands. One cold as ice and the other warm as… Bucky.  Holding back your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your back, apparently not bothered by the sweat soaking your shirt. Well, his shirt. 

Within the softness of your duvet, you feel a spark of bravery, just a tiny flame of it, which encouraged you to reach out to the other side of the bed. There you found a cool blanket, folded and draped neatly over your mattress.  A heavy sigh escaped your lips, and you finally dared to open your eyes, dreading the disappointment that would surely crack your heart in hundreds of pieces once you took in the abandoned side of the bed. Bucky had never promised to be there when you woke up, but you had wished he would.  However, once your sight had adjusted to the brightness in your room, you had to come to terms with the fact that things rarely went the way you wanted. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Sure, you had a roof over your head, a stable job and a best friend that would die for you, even if you really didn’t want him to do any of the sorts. But your hunger for happiness wasn’t stilled. Best friend was not what you wanted to call him.  After a few more minutes of drowning in self-pity and misery, you found it within yourself to get up and at least fix yourself up a little. Before slipping out of bed, you registered the water bottle and a pack of painkillers resting on your nightstand, a post it note on it declaring: “drink up – b”. After following the simple instruction, you managed to rid yourself of your blanket and leave the sweet comfort of your bed.  Your bathroom window was opened and it smelt faintly of cleaning products – a theoretically lovely sentiment but it made you want to jump out of said window at the idea of Bucky cleaning up your mess.  For a few desperate seconds your fingers rested against the frame, wondering if you could escape through there instead of facing Bucky.  If he was even still there. Why were you so sure that he was?  You shook your head as if to get rid of the thoughts, regretting the movement instantly as it worsened your already pounding headache. Slowly, you grabbed your toothbrush, held it under water and then applied some toothpaste.  In your tiredness, you sat down on the edge of the bathtub and scrubbed your teeth until your gums hurt.  Only once you washed your face, you caught a proper glimpse of yourself and cringed a little. Deep undereye circles, ashy skin and a little bit of leftover makeup met you in the mirror, and to your surprise, one of your own shirts. Wrecking your brain to piece together the events of the last night in proper order, you distinctly remember Bucky pulling one of his shirts over your heated body before you went to bed (the first time). Then the bathroom incident. Then, a faint memory post throwing up, where Bucky – who had looked at you like a kicked puppy – exchanged your/his thoroughly sweated through shirt with a new one from your own supply. While nervously fumbling with its hem, you made your way into the kitchen. You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffling of his feet over your floorboards, the squeak of your faucet and then the sound of him sinking into a chair. The smell of coffee made the world seem a little brighter, despite the lingering queasiness in your stomach, and you stepped in through the door.  “Morning.” Your voice was hoarse and came out quieter than you had intended but Bucky heard you nonetheless. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed up and the slight cock of his head. Despite the motion, he didn’t look up at you as you passed him. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to his newspaper. “Morning,” he replied, intensely starring at the words in front of him. Your eyes lingered on him for a few seconds and a certain heaviness placed itself onto your chest. If there was one thing Bucky absolutely excelled in, it was eye contact. The lack of it put the fear of God in you, because now you were sure you must have truly upset him.  While figuring out a game plan to earn his forgiveness – whatever for, you weren’t sure – you brewed a cup of coffee and added a splash of milk. As you were attempting to come up with a way to break up the heavy quiet, Bucky cleared his throat and took the burden upon himself.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was different, thick with something you couldn’t quite place and weighed down as if talking to you was physically exhausting. The newspaper covered most of his face and you wished to rip it away from him. You looked at him, breathless despite doing nothing, before you caught yourself and replied: “Good.”

He hummed a noncommittal sound and moved on to the next page. The air was thick with things left unsaid, decisions regretted and you really wished you could remember whatever you had done to upset him. Your focus remained on Bucky, while you chewed on your lower lip in an attempt to soothe yourself.  After a few moments of silence, broken up by the occasional bristling of a page turning, you collected all the courage you had to offer and made your way to the breakfast table to sit opposite Bucky.

He didn’t look up but you still felt the way he tracked your movements, tension running through his shoulders as if he was on the battlefield and not in your kitchen.  The wood of your chair was cold against your bare legs as you sat down carefully, and you put down your cup. A quick glance betrayed Bucky’s attempt to not meet your eyes as he straightened up ever so slightly. He seemed like he was bracing himself, eyebrows furrowed, and fingers smashed against the paper.  “Buck?” You asked cautiously, letting his name glide from your tongue slowly.  Again, he replied with something less than an answer and more of a grunt. Your teeth found your lip again as you scraped together the last bit of bravery you had to offer to ask him the burning question.

“Why are you upset with me?”  If Bucky had been tense before, he was now seconds away from spontaneously combusting. You practically heard his teeth grind against each other and a soft sound tumbled from his throat before he could stop himself. “I’m- I’m not upset with you,” he murmured and you raised your eyebrows, even as he didn’t look up to take in your disbelieving expression.

“You seem upset,” you insisted and for a second you thought you heard Bucky wince. “I’m not upset with you,” he repeated, his voice strained and tight. “Then why won’t you look at me?” 

He lowered the newspaper and closed his eyes for a few seconds before meeting your gaze. Worry furrowed itself throughout his face, deepening the lines across his forehead as he regarded you nervously. “Doll, I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what to do with his apology, so you stared at him expressionlessly.  “What?”

The look on his face turned from pleading to desperate.  “I’m really sorry for last night,” he continued, “I didn’t mean to… well, um, to do what I did.” “What do you… what? What do you mean?” Your confusion seemed to increase his worry, and he ran a hand over his face. “God, I… I knew how drunk you were but… now you can’t even remember it and that is so much worse. I’m really, really sorry,” he began to ramble, seemingly sinking deeper into his panic. “Well, Bucky, I’ll forgive you if you tell me what for,” you said, trying to keep your tone as light as possible and you sent him a soft smile.  That was apparently the tipping point for him as he stood up, chest heaving and eyes erratically darting over your face. You followed him upwards and walked around the table to reach out for him. 

“It’s okay, Buck, whatever you did, it’s fine. The apartment’s still standing so it can’t be that bad,” you declared, attempting to get him to lighten up. There were another thirty seconds of complete silence as Bucky stood before you and seemingly searched for words.  “I kissed you back.” The world in your head went quiet. Bucky had just turned on a vacuum and sucked in all thoughts that had occupied your brain.  A dumb smile twitched on your lips and the only words that left them were: “What?” “I kissed you back. Last night. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Despite his refusal to meet your eyes, you saw the wetness on his waterline and the way shame burned a soft pink onto his cheeks.  He focused on the ground, fingers – both metal and flesh – nervously fumbling with the hem of his sweater.  He looked like a third grader after admitting to breaking his favourite toy, with his downturned gaze and flushed face, desperately looking for a way to turn back time in order to save what he held precious in his heart. “Oh, Bucky,” you murmured and took a step closer to him.  He recoiled, as if you had hit him and brought a few feet of distance between himself and you.  “I’m really, really sorry. I kissed you back and I shouldn’t have done that- I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that, it wasn-,” he rambled like a waterfall and shrunk into himself before your eyes. He wouldn’t have stopped talking, cursing himself out if you hadn’t walked over to him, leaving him no room to escape from you. “Bucky, listen,” you began, “It’s okay.”

Oh, it was more than okay to you.  “I might not remember it, to be honest I don’t even remember kissing you in the first place,” your words made him wince, but he finally looked up at you, “but it wasn’t a lapse of judgment or… a drunken mistake. I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.” His mouth was a little agape as he stood frozen in front of you, processing your words. Hoarsely, he replied: “You… what?” A small giggle broke forth from your lips as you reached out for him. “I’ve liked you for such a long time. But I wasn’t sure if you liked me back,” you elaborated and, finally, he reciprocated a small hopeful smile. “You… you did? Really?” Almost instantly, he relaxed as you nodded and placed your hands softly on his forearms. “Are you sure?” His question hung in the room and made you laugh.  “Yes, of course, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” “You threw up two hours after we kissed,” he murmured, cheeks even redder than before but a tiny smirk danced around his mouth. “Oh, Buck, I’m sorry. It was not because of that. That was the tequila’s fault, not yours.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

nowhere for you to stay (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: angst, allusions to depression (bucky, not reader), sad bucky, mental health, lack of self-care, female reader, this is basically just me venting about the terrible ending that they gave steve (he didn’t deserve this and neither did bucky nor me)  word count: 1.5k a/n: so, i promise, i really am trying to finish my wips, but this came to me today while listening to renegade, also sorry for being m.i.a. for like three weeks but I spent easter with my family and had to recharge lol and then uni started again, so that kinda kicked my ass a little also, i watched thunderbolts* yesterday and it was great!!! (dw, this is spoiler-free)

You knocked on his door – three sharp, distinct sounds – and waited.  For a few seconds you entertained the thought that Bucky wasn’t home. That he was out and about, doing something with his life. Maybe he had picked himself up and gone to the gym, or maybe he had finally deleted the various food delivery apps and instead had gone grocery shopping. But there was a faint whirring, locked behind the old wooden door to his apartment, a sound that belonged to a light turned on. The complex in which Bucky resided was old – not as old as the man himself but certainly bordering on it. Windows creaked when the wind was strong, the lighting flickered, and pipes groaned during the coldest months.   He had moved here after returning from Wakanda and you had helped him set up his living space. You had begged and pleaded with him to rent a place closer to you, or to maybe even move in with you. But he had just shook his head and had looked at you with those heartbroken, empty eyes that seemed a little less blue and a little more grey since Steve was gone. So, you had helped carry the sparse amount of furniture and décor he had up to the fourth-floor apartment, had sorted spice containers of which you were sure that he hadn’t used them yet and had presented Bucky with a plant as a housewarming gift. He had smiled sadly and thanked you and you had known that the plant was not going to make it more than a week. Every day you called, every day he answered – for a limited time. Sometimes, the exchange was as short as thirty seconds, just enough for you to hear that he was still alive and not planning on changing that.  Once a week, on Saturdays, you took the subway to visit him, to stay with him for a few hours. You never managed to convince him to get out of the apartment with you but at least you saw him.  The last week had been different. He hadn’t answered your calls, only sent short messages (“I’m fine – can’t talk right now” or “let me call you back later”) and your heart ached every time the busy signal had echoed from your speaker. Of course, you hoped that it meant that he was actually busy, distracted, doing something.  But the faint buzz of a burning lamp in his apartment told you that he was home. No matter what, Bucky always made sure to turn off all lights and close all windows before he left his place, so he must have been ignoring the knocking.  To his credit, you were a day earlier than usual. It was Friday instead of Saturday, and you hadn’t announced yourself either, so he wasn’t expecting you. The silence, the unanswered calls had given you anxiety induced stomach pains, so you had taken the day off from work and had gotten an Uber to his place.

You knocked again and lightly cleared your throat – a chance for Bucky’s enhanced hearing to place you and for him to open the door. Still, the knob didn’t twist, the many locks he had put on additionally didn’t rattle and you could have sworn that the whirring of the lamp you had heard earlier died down. “Bucky,” you called out, “It’s me. Can you please open the door?” You waited. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by and your hands got clammy as you shifted on your feet. “Bucky, you gave me a key. But I don’t wanna use it, so, please just let me in. Bu-,” before you could finish his name, you heard a series of noises. A pair of feet shuffling over creaky old floorboards, and what sounded like dishes being set down in the sink. Then you heard a window being ripped open – the frame squeaked terribly – and then the footsteps came closer.  One lock was unlocked, then the second one. A metallic clank sounded and then the doorknob turned.  The door opened with a squeak that made your teeth hurt.  The apartment was dark, and despite the cold breeze that the recently opened window let in, it smelled dusty and faintly like old takeout food.  “Hey.” One thing about Bucky is that he just could not lose his charm. He stood before you, eyebags darker than ever, brown curls unkempt and knotted, and his scruff on his cheeks a little longer than usual and asymmetrical – as if he had laid on one side for too long. 

Despite his appearance, he leaned against the doorframe with a trace of his characteristic smile turning up his mouth corners.  “Hi,” you replied, slightly perplexed.  “I didn’t realise it was already Saturday,” he said after a few seconds of silence and attempted to swipe his hair from his forehead until he realised that it was too unbrushed to run his fingers through it.  He awkwardly dropped his hand but gave you another smile. “It’s not,” you answered and peered past him. Before you could properly glance into his apartment, he moved into your eyeline, a determined look in his eyes.  “Oh. Then what are you doing here?” He asked, shifting again when you tried to steal another glimpse into his living space. You took a few seconds before you replied during which you struggled not to be offended by his question.  “You never called me back,” you explained then, and locked eyes with him. Heat rose on his face as you bluntly called him out and his hands again found their way into his hair, and again, he had to drop them back to his sides as he couldn’t nervously run them through.  “Yeah, no, I meant to, but I… I was busy,” he stammered, blocking your third attempt to look past him.  “Okay,” you murmured slowly, “Can you… would you mind letting me in?” Bucky chewed on his lip for a few seconds, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find a way to let you down gently. “Uh, now’s not a good time.”

Your heart sank even further as you tried to come up with reasonings with his behaviour. “Are you-,” you began, and stared at your feet instead of meeting his eyes, “Is someone in there with you?” His eyes went round with surprise before he composed himself.  “What? No, no, I’m… I’m alone in here, but it’s just not, uh, a good time, like I said.” A little bit of the tightness in your chest loosened as he genuinely looked shocked at your implication. But you still couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you in. “Are you leaving? Like, are you going somewhere?” You inquired then, trying to find a reason that would satisfy you. Bucky stayed quiet before he shook his head.  “No, nothing like that. Listen, doll, I just… I haven’t really prepared for visitors, or anything like that, so it’d be great if… um –,“ before he finished speaking, you could tell that he was having a hard time sending you back home. He knew how long the ride here was and that you usually worked on Fridays. “it’s just not a good time,” he concluded.

There was a faint line, so thin that it was barely visible, that you were threatening to cross right now. A line between what Bucky allowed you to see on the Saturdays when you visited him, and the rest of his life.  “Just let me in,” you whispered. “Let me… help you.” The conflict in his eyes played out like a storm. Vulnerability and stubbornness raged against each other, as he seemingly weighed his options: allowing you in or pushing you away. Both seemed to frighten him as you heard how his metal arm whirred while he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Alright,” he mumbled and slowly stepped back. His apartment was in a terrible state. For someone who had very little furnishings, a tiny amount of clothes and basically no personal belongings it should have been easy to basically produce a clinically clean space. Instead, you saw instant food packaging, empty beer cans and ripped paper shreds sprawled across his couch table. You recognised the paper as an article about Steve – honouring his legacy and paying tribute to his sacrifice. You had read the same one a few days ago and had cried until your head hurt. The sofa cushions were crumbled up and uneven. A thin blanket laid on the floor as if it had fallen off or been pushed off in a hurry. He must have slept there instead of in his bed.  The kitchen door was half closed, and through the gap you saw dishes towering dangerously, a towel haphazardly slung over them in an attempt to hide them. You turned to face Bucky, who refused to meet your eye. Instead, he clenched his jaw so tight that it must have hurt and stared out the opened window. “Bucky,” you whispered.  “Like I said, I didn’t know you were coming.” His tone was defensive and sharp, but his eyes glistened as the shame burned in him. “Bucky, look at me,” you pleaded and took a few steps towards him. “This place is a mess,” he croaked, his voice heavy with unshed tears, “There’s nowhere for you to stay.” “But I’ll stay anyway,” you murmured and rested your hand on his cheek. “I’ll stay and help you.”

[writingunderneathawillow]

second base

part 1 here content warnings: angsty, undercover mission, mutual pining, bucky being the standard (chivalry is not dead as long as that man lives and he is immortal to me), canon typical violence (gunshots, BUT neither at Bucky nor you) word count: 1.9k a/n: due to popular demand (hehehe i’m so proud and grateful to say this) i’ve written a 2nd part :)

Bucky’s hand rested on your thigh, the velvet material of your dress keeping you from going fully insane at his touch. The warmth that spread from his fingers seeped through your skin straight into your veins and it was as if Bucky’s essence was transported to your heart. You didn’t dare shift, didn’t want to prompt him to move his hand in any way. His taste still lingered in your mouth, the fluttering sensation of his beard brushing up against you was practically printed into your memory as you held your breath, fearing that exhaling would take away the ghosts of the kiss you had shared. To say that your brain was wrecked after what had happened in your room was an understatement. There was not a single clear train of thought currently happening in your head and it killed you. What was that kiss? Did he do it do calm you down? To prepare you? To shut you up? Or, and you much preferred that version, did he do it because there was even the tiniest spark of affection for you in him?

Only seconds away from spiralling, you were glad when the car came to a halt in front of an incredibly boring building.

It was an art museum, specialising in glass and laser artworks, but it looked like some kind of futuristic blob of cement with strangely placed windows.

Bucky also evaluated the place where the gala, that you were going to attend as Mr and Mrs Alderton, was held with a displeased look. Unlike you however, it wasn’t the architecture style that he was scrutinizing but much rather the lack of emergency exits – just in case the two of you would have to make a quick getaway in the course of the evening.

Still he smiled at you, and opened his door, making sure to reach your side of the car within milliseconds to extend a hand to you.

Now, Bucky was born a gentleman. Opening doors came to him like second nature, same as offering up his seat for anyone in need and just general good manners.

While you were well aware that it was mainly due to his upbringing a couple decades ago, you still basked in his chivalry.

With a grateful smile your hand met his and he helped you out of the car, hovering in front of you as you fixed your dress quickly.

When you were finished with readjusting the fabric, he held out his arm and you took a deep breath before you accepted. Despite the heavy material of his suit jacket and pressed shirt, you still felt his muscles flex as he guided you towards the entry way of the museum where a young man with a tablet stood.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted Bucky and nodded to you, “Ma’am.”

The doorman’s gaze wandered over both of you expectantly and Bucky seemed to spring to action.

“Thomas and Gabriela Alderton,” he introduced your made-up personalities with a stern voice, one that was so similar to his own but somehow still differentiated.

It gave you light goosebumps, the words stricken with authority. He played his part of the wealthy, borderline aristocratic, man very well.

“Ah, welcome Mr and Mrs Alderton,” the doorman continued after quickly checking the guest list.

“Do enjoy yourselves,” he said and stepped aside to let the two of you pass with a subservient smile.

The inside of the building was objectively speaking even uglier than the outside. Thick, grey walls that swallowed the last bits of natural light from outside, imposed and cornered you in.

The lack of windows was incredibly unnerving, along with the fluorescent lighting that was just a tinge too bright.

With long strides, which you found hard to match, Bucky led you towards the sound of people. Bustling crowds, ostentatious conversations and flashy coloured dresses drenched your senses in overstimulation as two guards opened the door to the main area for the two of you.

The abrupt onslaught on your eyes and ears was countered by Bucky’s warmth at your side. Something about the way you could feel his chest expand every single time he breathed out seemed to ground you.

He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a server who walked by and passed you one. The cold crystal calmed your nerves just as much as the first sip of the bubbling liquid.

“Don’t quit breathin’ on me, yeah?” Bucky murmured into your ear. To an outsider, it might have looked like a husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, but his words buried themselves supportively into your heart and you nodded.

You didn’t know how else to answer him. The concern was palpable despite the quietness of his tone, and it melted your heart.

Part of you wished that he hadn’t kissed you. Maybe it would have made it easier to be in his proximity if you couldn’t distinguish the exact taste of his mouth, but that clearly wasn’t an option anymore.

You were not going to freak out.

To prove exactly that to both yourself and Bucky, you chuckled as if he had made a flirty joke, playing the part of his doting wife well.

He gave your arm a soft squeeze and led you further into the mass of people.

You spent the night doing exactly what you were here for: making connections and listening for traces of rumours about illegal weapon trafficking.

Reports of stolen guns and ammunition had made their way to your desks not too long ago. But not just any kind of guns and ammunition; it was alleged alien tech, originally stored by S.H.I.E.L.D. years ago at’ the Fridge’, and when it had been stolen, a whole lot of hell had broken loose. Which is why even the faintest of whispers about it possibly being sold and moved, had caught your attention and why you and Bucky were here in the first place.

At some point throughout the evening, the two of you attempted a new tactic: you separated.

Bucky made his way to a poker table that had been set up in the middle of the room; the seats were all occupied by men – rich men if you could trust their appearances. Your pretend husband melted into their ranks within seconds, and once again, you were surprised by how well he fit in with them.

Of course he was shamelessly good looking, but whenever you saw him, he was just Bucky. Bucky, who left his cups on the kitchen sink at the compound instead of putting them into the dishwasher; Bucky, who showered so hot that the air conditioning had to put up a fight; Bucky, who wore worn out jeans and second-hand hoodies.

But dressed in his expensive suit and surrounded by some of the richest men in the United States, he blended in like a chameleon.

Not that you were doing a poor job. You flashed bright smiles, gossiped with wives about your pretend horses and yachts, and recommended skin serums with genuine gold flakes (you had looked up the specific product to have something to talk about two days ago) to anybody who asked. In fact, you were so emersed in your role that you almost missed the shift in the air. The panicked whispers and the entrance of security guards might have slipped past you if you hadn’t felt a burning stare in your neck. When you moved your head, you locked eyes with Bucky and saw the way his jaw locked. He tipped his head ever so lightly towards the left, and you immediately understood the signal. With long but casual strides you made your way towards him, an easy smile plastered across your face. Every step towards him let your heart beat faster, every inch closer to him heightened your anxiety as it became easier to make out the hint of panic in his eyes. “Are we made?” You asked as you reached him, your voice so quiet that only he could hear you. He shook his head and another one of his fake laid-back smirks decorated his face as he looked at you. “They’re nervous,” he whispered and shifted slightly so that you could peer past his shoulder to the men he had conversed with just minutes ago. They were muttering among each other, their calm facades disrupted by the air of mistrust that hung above them like a cloud. “But they don’t know about us?” You demanded, making sure to keep your voice soft and smiled at him sweetly, just in case anyone was close enough to overhear. “Not as far as I can tell,” he clarified and ran a hand over your arm. You knew the gesture was to keep up appearances, but it was hard to remind yourself of that when it felt so good. However, the impending doom of potentially being figured out within the next few seconds kept your mind sharp. You were just about to ask Bucky what his plan was when chaos erupted. A woman, just a few feet away, screamed when the security guards made their way through the crowds, weapons loaded and pointed. At the sound of distress, you grabbed Bucky’s metal arm and pulled him forward. Farther, anywhere where both of you were out of danger, that is where you wanted him to be. You couldn’t even make out who the guards were heading for as people started fleeing. Someone ran into your side, almost knocking you out of your heels but Bucky steadied you and made sure you stayed at his side as he shoved you towards one of the doors. The empty hallway, that greeted you as Bucky pushed you through the door, was quiet and badly lit. There was no question that this area was off-limits for guests. But the first shot rang through the air, so whether you were allowed to be here or not was not your current concern. Bucky walked behind you, his large figure covering you, as his eyes darted around, looking for any way out of here. There was an inconspicuous door just a couple of feet away and he headed straight for it, keeping you in front of him. He grabbed the door handle, twisted and it gave in. With a last glance backwards, he put his hands on your hips and guided you into the room. Another gunshot sounded, and panic practically poured out of Bucky as he slammed the door shut behind him and only then did you realise that this was not an exit. This was a closet. A tiny one at that. Whether it was the alarm that Bucky felt or the adrenaline flushing his system, he lost his balance and tumbled right into you, hands stretched out to catch himself. But instead of stabilising himself on one of the shelves in the small room, he made contact with you. Or much rather, your breasts. His weight pushed you into the furthest wall as you somehow managed to catch both of your falls. Despite the dim lighting in the closet, you could make out Bucky’s eyes – wide with horror and embarrassment and even though you were quite literally in a life or death situation, you couldn’t bite back the comment that immediately came to you: “Guess you’re also going for second base tonight.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

safe with me

content warnings: smut but also a whole lot of fluff (still minors dni!), safe word usage, sub/dom elements, spanking, overstimulation, worried logan, sweet logan, female reader word count: 910 a/n: i recently posted some protective logan head cannons and haven’t been able to get them out of my head, so this was born

Logan showed his love in small gestures and grand acts, but his favourite place to prove his undying adoration to you was in the bedroom. He worshipped your body, every inch of it, with rough hands, breath stealing kisses and stamina that left you questioning whether you were in heaven. Your satisfaction and enjoyment were his top priority, a lot more than his own, which is why he had insisted on you choosing a safe word once you started having regular sex. So far, the word had not ever tumbled from your lips and neither of you had thought it would happen today. He was already buried deep within you, your ass up and face down in the pillows, gasping for breath as he thrusted into you. Sweat trickled down and mixed where your bodies met, his skill full fingers pulling another orgasm from your throbbing clit. The slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the room as Logan picked up his pace while he angled his unoccupied hand from your hip to your spine. You felt his steady grip, sweaty and warm, pressing into your skin, dull nails scraping over your nude body as he dug his fingers into you. With a breathless whine you came around his throbbing cock and felt your insides practically vibrate as the heated coil in your core snapped. You had long lost count how often he had made you come this night, but your legs were shaking, and you were hoping this was the last one. Hearing those pretty sounds tumble from your lips seemed to push Logan over the edge. With an animalistic groan he spilled into you, his pelvis pressed flush against your sensitive pussy. The second he caught his breath, his hand came down on your already sore ass, the slap so loud you worried about your neighbours’ sanity. Another high-pitched whimper escaped your throat, and you tried to sink onto the bed, but Logan wrapped an arm around your middle and held you up. “Already tired, princess?” He asked teasingly, running a much gentler hand over your stinging skin. You mumbled a response that was neither a yes nor a no, and he chuckled. “Words, sweetheart,” his raspy voice raised goosebumps all over your body, “Ones that I can understand.” With a soft groan you attempted to straighten yourself up and felt his still hard cock twitch inside of you at the movement. His stamina was simply not fair. He had fucked you more times tonight than the average person gets laid in a week, but he could still keep going. And how could you deny him when he looked at you like that, like you were the only thing holding his universe together. “Yeah,” you mumbled, trying to steady yourself on your knees again, wiggling your ass softly, “Tired but not done.” He laughed deeply and replied: “That’s my good girl,” and the praise made your head spin. However, the second he started moving again, your poor, overstimulated clit began to pulse – and not in the good way. The pleasure that you had expected didn’t come as he began work his magic on your sensitive nub; instead, you felt a sharp pain shoot up your spine as the stimulation turned out to be too much. Your face was already tear-streaked – the earlier ones had come from pleasure. Now, tears caused by pain filled your vision and made your brain hazy. Logan didn’t still completely but he slowed down as he leaned forward to see get a better glimpse of you. “Sweetheart, you alright?” His voice was incredibly soft despite the continuing movements of his hips meeting yours. You wanted to say yes, you wanted to give him just one more round but there was no way you were making it another second without passing out, so you whispered your safe word. Despite the fact that you had mumbled the term so low that you weren’t sure if he had even been able to hear it, he halted immediately. “Ok, darlin’,” he murmured sweetly, and attempted to remove himself from you but that just made you cry out again – too much. You just needed a few seconds. “Baby, I just wanna pull out, ok?” He soothed his hands over your back but all you could do in response was shake your head.

“No… don’t,” you gasped and so he stayed like this, enveloped by your heat.

He didn’t dare move, he simply kept his warm hands on your waist until you nodded softly, and he slipped out. As you let yourself fall onto the mattress, Logan got up, still half hard, and brought you one of his shirts, before he began to run his hands over your back. “Are you alright, princess?” He asked after a couple moments of silence. The ache in your body had dulled down and you managed to lift your head to face him. “Yeah, I’m ok,” you whispered honestly. His face lit up in response, replacing the worried frown with a warm smile. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly, then brushed his knuckles across your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had trickled down earlier. In one smooth movement he laid down next to you, wrapping his trained arms around you and placed another kiss in between your shoulder blades. “I’m really proud of you, darlin’. For tellin’ me to stop when you needed me to. So fuckin’ proud of you.”

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[writingunderneathawillow]

first base

summary: Bucky and you have to go undercover as a married couple for a mission. In order to soothe your nerves, he shows you that kissing him is not a big deal. Or is it? content warnings: fluff, mutual pining, handsome bucky hehehe, kinda suggestive but really tame, pretty angsty (mentioned character death, but the person’s made up), female reader word count: 2k a/n: today i looked up how the whole first base, second base, etc is defined and that gave me the idea for this :) also it’s been around since the 1940s (ish) this was supposed to be super cute and fluffy but i just love angst so much and i couldn’t help myself

The dress that wrapped itself around every curve of your body was surprisingly comfortable. Its satin flowed smoothly and pooled like a waterfall around your legs, allowing for plenty of movement which eased your nerves a little. Still, you felt the blood pounding in your ears as you applied the dark crimson to your lips and blended out the sharp corner of your eyeliner. The person that stared back at you in the mirror had little resemblance to you. Gabriela Alderton, your alias for the next few days, was dressed up in expensive silks, owned a purse that was sold for more than what you had saved over the last few years and wore jewellery that your yearly salary could not finance. That included an engagement ring, which sparkled on your left ring finger. The band was made out of heavy gold, engraved with details so fine that only someone in your close proximity would be able to see it. The diamond that adorned the centre of the ring was so massive that it almost looked cheap again. Almost. S.H.I.E.L.D. or, much rather Tony, didn’t play when it came to undercover missions. One wrong detail, one off-hand comment could end every involved agent’s life. And you knew that too well. Which is why you had taken the time to craft a fully in depth, flushed out and comprehensive profile of your made-up personality, detailing little things such as Gabriela’s electives in middle school (badminton and pottery). A knock on your door detached your scrambling mind from listing any more childhood details under your breath and you walked over to the entrance to your bedroom, turned the knob and opened. Your throat constricted when you saw who stood there, waiting for you. There was no moment in time where Bucky had ever been unattractive – and you had lived with him for a few years now, seeing him bloodied, beaten up, hauled through dirt and grime and passed out on the couch after exhausting missions. But the way his anthracite suit jacket smoothed itself across his shoulders, not yet buttoned up and therefore allowing a glimpse of the pressed silk shirt – it just wasn’t fair how handsome he was. “Hello,” he said quietly. His own eyes darted over you, and you saw how he swallowed, the bump of his Adam’s apple quivering as he took in your dolled-up face, drinking in every inch of your powdered skin. His gaze dropped and wandered further down, assessing the hold of the fabric on your body and if you had had it in you to rip away your eyes from his face, you would have seen how his fingers twitched in a suppressed attempt to reach out for you. “Hi,” you replied, your cheeks warming under his steady evaluation and you opened the door further, beckoning him in. A sound, that was half sigh, half grunt tumbled from his throat as he entered your bedroom. The material of his pants stretched over his thoroughly trained thighs when he walked and despite the material surely being sturdy and expensive beyond your comprehension, you saw the faint outline of his leg muscles shifting. “So,” Bucky began, fumbling with something in the inside pocket of his jacket. It took him a few tries to grasp it and when he opened his palm, you saw a shining gold wedding band that matched the engagement ring on your left hand both in aesthetics and opulence. “You already got the other one, right?” The question was unnecessary as Bucky stared at the jewellery decorating your finger. An expression that you didn’t quite have the words for was plastered across his face, a mix of anticipation and… longing? You raised your hand, palm facing your face, and wiggled your finger. “Yeah, Stark gave it to me at breakfast. Told me to get used to it.” “Hmm.” His one-worded response left his feelings towards that open to interpretation but there was a timid smile on his lips, as if he might not mind the idea of you getting used to that ring and the connection that intertwined him and you along with it.

“Well, we’re… ‘married’, so you need both,” he mumbled, now shifting the ring in his hand so that he could hold it between pointer finger and thumb.

Instinctively, you stretched out your hand, resting it against his free one and let him ease the ring onto your other finger.

It fit perfectly. There was no danger of it slipping off or cutting off your blood supply, as if it had been melded to your measurements from beginning to end.

It was just as heavy as its counterpart, despite the lack of diamond. It seemed simple, a thicker band than what your mind usually connected to the words ‘wedding ring’ but the feelings it triggered in your heart threatened to affect the standards you had set for your own expectations for marriage.

“It’s beautiful,” you replied as you took notice of the heavy silence that filled the room.

The apples of Bucky’s cheeks took a slight pink hue, and he cleared his throat before replying.

“You think so?”

He looked at you, a glimmer of something you didn’t know how to place in his stare.

“Yeah, Stark did a fine job picking it out,” you answered, softly contracting the muscles in your hands which causes both rings to reflect back to you.

“I chose it.”

Your attention snapped away from the jewellery and landed right on him.

A sheepish smile ornamented his face, along with a deeper shade of pink on his face.

You had to take a few short breaths to compose yourself, to not let yourself melt.

“Oh.”

He hummed a soft response, not words but not a distinguishable sound either and just kept looking at you.

“Well,” you continued, “You seem to know my taste a lot better than I do. It really is beautiful.”

A proud smile snuck onto his face, lighting up the grey storm in his eyes to adjust to a soft blue.

Despite the calm that he brought into your room and mind, you felt your blood pressure pick up again as the clock ticked closer to 6 p.m., signalling that it was almost time to go down and wait for the driver who would pick you up and drive to the gala.

Bucky noticed your anxious shifting, the way you paced up and down the room in heels would wear you out and give you blisters before even arriving at your destination.

“You ok?” He asked and reached out, his metal fingers wrapping around your wrist. His hold was gentle, and you would’ve been able to free yourself from his grip at any time if you had wanted to. But you didn’t.

“Just nerves,” you replied, letting him still your movements.

“You’ll do great, doll. You don’t oughta worry.”

The term of endearment made the butterflies in your stomach practice summersaults and you almost closed your eyes to calm yourself.

Instead, you twirled the wedding ring, letting it circle around your skin a few times.

“I just…,” you began, trying to find the words to express what you felt without giving away too much but your mind struggled to make up a sentence that afforded that.

Bucky observed your stuttering and something seemed to click in his brain as his eyes softened.

“Is it because of… because of the last time you went undercover?”

The question hung heavily in the room, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his face as you nodded.

The last time you went undercover, it had gone beyond sideways.

Your work partner, your long-time friend and one of the best agents you had ever known, hadn’t made it out because of two mistakes.

“I read the file, you know? Two weeks ago, Sam gave it to me. I feel like you should know that, so that you are aware that I’m… prepared.”

Bucky’s words didn’t have the effect he had intended.

Instead of soothing your worries, it upset you. “It wasn’t his fault. He was prepared. I was the one who messed up,” you snapped at him. Regret flooded your veins immediately but the tears that threatened to spill held your tongue in place, hindering you from apologising for your tone. “That’s not what I meant and I’m sure that it wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. You pulled the wedding band from your finger and held it in your hand, right under Bucky’s nose. “I made two mistakes. Two. They cost him his life that night.” You fumbled with the ring, took a deep breath that did nothing to help you relax and asked: “Do you have to return this after the mission?” Bucky nodded and before he could elaborate, you said: “Tell Stark to yell at me, not you.” Then you smacked the piece of jewellery against the table – once, twice. The third hit it took was from being thrown against the wall. The super soldier didn’t stop you – sure, he looked at you like you had lost your mind, but he didn’t try to intervene. Once you had properly let your anger on the ring, you picked it up and held it up again for Bucky to inspect. It was still beautiful, not bent, but slightly scuffed up. “It needs to look like it’s been sitting on my finger for longer than a few hours. We’re not newlyweds after all,” you explained, your voice trembling slightly. Bucky hummed a response, his eyes still fixated on you as realisation dawned on him. “Is that how they figured it out? That you guys were undercover?” He asked, his eyebrows knitted together while unease lingered on his face. No, not unease. Worry. Not for himself, but for you. “That was part of it,” you admitted then and placed the band back in its rightful place. He stayed quiet, leaving it up to you whether to open up further or keep it bottled up. You, surprising both yourself and him, continued in a quiet voice. “We had been friends for… for years. His name was Christian. And we carried out so many missions together, recon, gathering intel, anything. We had gone undercover before, but as business partners, not a couple. When Fury gave us that… that goddamn mission, Christian laughed, saying it’d be easy. And it was, everything went smoothly until the man we were spying on pointed out my ring. We tried to brush it off, saying that I had just gotten it cleaned and took great care off it. But he didn’t buy it. So, Christian did the only thing he could think of, and he kissed me. I froze.” You recounted the painful memory with a tremble, both in your vocals and your hands. Bucky listened, his palms resting inches away from your arm, almost as if he wanted to reach out to you, to ease your pain. “They shot him before I could look him in the eye, and he was… he was gone before he hit the ground.” Sympathy filled Bucky’s eyes. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t an attempt to convince you that it hadn’t been your fault. It was compassion. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” he whispered and sighed softly. You looked up at him, blinking away the tears. His face was just inches away from yours and you could feel his breath brushing up against your cheek. “I don’t want to freeze again. I don’t wanna mess this up again. I just… I was so close with Christian, but we were just friends, and it threw me off. I didn’t know how to react and I…,” you trailed off, your eyes flickering down to his lips. “You’re not gonna. We just gotta… get some practice,” Bucky murmured, and his hand came up to your cheek. “Hit first base or what?” Your question was supposed to come off as a joke, but it was a breathless plea, your fingers found themselves at the base of his neck, softly brushing up against his hair. “I can’t believe people still use that metaphor,” he replied and then he pressed his lips onto yours.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work part 2 out now

[writingunderneathawillow]

sick days

content warnings: depiction of illness, fever, fluff, a smidge of hurt/a lot of comfort, bucky being the sweetest word count: 558

Bucky’s heart was seconds away from bursting through his chest as he closed the door to your shared apartment. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, practically buzzing with tension while he moved into the entryway. You hadn’t answered your phone in the last couple of hours, which was unusual for you. He slowly made his way into the apartment, looking for signs that you were home. Your bag rested on the bench next to your usual pair of sneakers. A quick glance into the coat closet showed Bucky that none of your jackets were missing, so he was sure that you must be here. He advanced into the kitchen. All lights were turned off and the door to the bedroom was closed. If he had been an average man, he would’ve had to open the door in order to hear your laboured breath, but his enhanced senses picked up on the wheezing exhales. The hair on his neck raised as he immediately stepped towards your room, fists already balled to fight who or whatever was affecting you. However, he was quick to find that he was powerless against what kept you from texting him back. You laid in bed, surrounded by tissue papers and bottles of cold medicine; the teacups on your side table towered dangerously high and would win a contest against the Tower of Pisa for defying gravity. Bucky’s heart ached as he saw your glistening skin and already felt the warmth radiating from your body before approaching you. Suddenly, you shifted and your eyelids fluttered open as if you had felt his presence. “My love?” You asked, blinking rapidly to help your eyes adjust to the lack of lighting in the room. Bucky was on you in an instant, soothing arms pushing you back into the pillows as he heard your hoarse voice. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” “’S not been that bad,” you lied, wiping your palm across your face to clean the sweat from your face. He raised his eyebrow and dragged his knuckles gently across your cheek, feeling the feverish skin. “You shoulda called me,” he insisted and pressed a feathery kiss on your forehead. “I would’ve come home immediately.” You chuckled softly, your voice rough from fever and exhaustion. “Abandon your mission ‘cause I have a little cold? Don’t be ridiculous.” Bucky reached out, intertwining your fingers with his own and shook his head softly. “I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d do anything if you asked me.” He eyed your side table again, taking in the medicine bottles and cough drops. “Did you already take somethin’ for the fever, sweetheart?” While fighting your eyes from closing again, you nodded. “Yeah, I think it already went down a little.” Bucky pampered you for a few more minutes, making you drink some water and offered to get you some food, but you declined as you didn’t feel up for it. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. You need to rest,” he instructed and began to change out of his tactical gear into soft sweatpants and a loose shirt, then climbed into bed next to you. Just before you fully drifted off to sleep, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and whispered: “Sweet dreams, doll. I’ll be here, you just focus on getting better.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

protective (Logan howlett x fem!reader)

content warnings: sfw + nsfw (graphic, safe word, aftercare), minors look away word count: 762 a/n: i’m such a sucker for logan atm, especially protective logan so here are some head canons

sfw logan positioning himself between you and every. other. person. no matter who walks by, whether they’re even looking at you or not, logan shifts in front of you or pulls you behind him no one would ever be able to reach you the second logan towers before you, sharp eyes set on anyone who passes you even in moments of calm in the mansion, he makes sure that any potential impact can be absorbed by him. busy students who have to catch their next class on time and aren’t mindful of their surroundings? logan has an arm wrapped around you, keeping you between him and the wall. hank comes up to you to talk about grading papers? well, he’ll just have to have that conversation with you while peering over logan’s shoulder to catch sight of you. clothes were a sensitive topic. you didn’t like it when he told you what to wear and what not to wear and he didn’t like it when you were unhappy with him, so he truly tried to keep it to a minimum. only every now and then, he’d raise an eyebrow at a pair of shorts or a deep cut shirt, displaying what he clearly considered his and only his. a short glance of his was usually enough to make you sigh and change into something he deemed more appropriate – but often enough you put your foot down. then he’d simply hover by your side for the rest of the day, adjusting the fabric over your chest every now and then or pulling your skirt down a little, stepping behind you when you picked something up from the ground. he loved you drunk. he loved you sober more but something about you in this endearing state, stumbling over your own feet and giggling at things you’d usually roll your eyes at, it really got to him. he would put his arm around you, keeping you upright and tightly pressed to his side. at the end of the night, he’d place a soft kiss on your forehead after making you drink a glass of water and already put down a bottle of tylenol for you on the bedside table. no funny business when you were that intoxicated even though the flush of the alcohol in your cheeks warmed his core more than he could handle. you’re ill? logan’s just studied medicine within seconds. he looks like a walking infirmary, packs of tissues and cough drops in every pocket, ready to whip out whatever you need the second you’re feeling just the tiniest bit off. the way that man attempts to make soup, only to then have to resort to store bought broth. but hey, points for trying! he knows when you have to take your medication and keeps an eye on you, making sure you actually do it. tender words of adoration leave his lips when you feel bad, he’d do anything to soothe away all traces of illness

nsfw (bye bye minors) logan is an animal in bed. you’re lucky if you can walk the next day, feeling your insides rearranged and shaped to every indent of his cock :) but he never goes beyond your limits. he constantly checks in when you’re high on his touch, when he’s finger deep in you, when he splits you in half he loves to see your eyes well up when your lips are wrapped around his massive length, taking him as deep into your throat as possible and can’t help but put a tender hand on your cheek to wipe away any tears that spill safe word usage (a/n: i wrote a drabble about this hehehe) you have a safe word with him and you’ve only had to make use of it once he made you pick it out the first time you slept together, insisting that he would feel more comfortable if you chose one and so you did. the second the word left your lips, he stopped moving. “you ok, baby? i’m just gonna pull out, darlin’.” afterwards, he’s so sweet. bringing you a shirt and softly kissing your forehead. thanking you for telling him, for trusting him to stop, ensuring that he’s proud of you for vocalising your boundaries aftercare king, i won’t hear anyone out the second he slips out of you, he rests a soothing hand on your tummy, your head, any part of you, stroking softly over your heated skin. he makes you drink water, checks in and kisses any bruises, love bites and hickeys that his strong grip left on you

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

tighter spaces

read part 1 here content warnings: suggestive, fem!reader, not outright smut but borderline i think, mdni, bucky whimpers 🫡 word count: 657 a/n: that gif is criminal, i'm obsessed

“Just think about… kittens and history books,” you stammered as you turned to face Bucky again, his hard on quivering as you accidentally brushed up against it.

Despite the discomfort Bucky chuckled. You could see his face, flushed and terribly focused on the furthest corner of the tiny supply room as he tried to get himself back under control.

“History books, huh?” He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, they’re boring, dusty and not, uh, enticing?” Your statement sounded more like a question, and you wanted to facepalm yourself.

In a new attempt of distancing yourself from him, you pressed yourself against the closed door but that put less than an inch between the two of you.

Bucky mumbled under his breath, eyes closed, half caught between what sounded like a prayer and the names of late presidents, as you watched him.

The pink on his cheeks was barely visible in the dim lighting, just like the sweat over his eyebrows as he reached Franklin D. Roosevelt in his attempt to think about anything else.

“Better?” You asked, cringing internally at the pitch of your voice.

He opened his eyes and nodded but you saw how dilated his pupils were and how he immediately looked at the ceiling.

“Can I… can I do something to help you?” You questioned timidly as your hands twitched at your sides.

A breathless chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips, and he quickly shut his eyes again as a soft smirk plastered across his face.

You were clearly doing a poor job at distracting him.

“Doll, I don’t mean to be rude, but please don’t ask things like that, ‘cause right now, those type of words outta your mouth sound like somethin’ else to me,” he confessed, and you felt warmth creeping into your face.

Did you mean it like that? It would be a lie to say that you didn’t want to make him feel better, reach out and place your hands around his length, slowly guiding your fingers up and down in a tight grip and-

Nope, stop it.

“Sorry,” you murmured, “I’m just… I’m gonna-,“ you tried to shift again, straining to allow for more room between your bodies as the proximity seemed to cloud your head now as well but the space was simply too small.

Your attempt backfired and you lost your footing; you would have gotten a less than pleasant introduction with the floor if Bucky’s hands hadn’t immediately found your hips, stabilising you.

Warmth sealed you in as his arms encircled you and his broad chest made contact with your face as he straightened you up.

Another groan escaped his lips and your promptly felt like the biggest idiot but when you looked up at him, you weren’t met with annoyance in his eyes.

Instead you were faced with a warmth that sent tingles to your lower belly, his eyes darting down to your lips as he kept holding onto you.

Your own gaze flickered to his mouth, the pretty pink so inviting that you couldn’t help but want to close the distance.

With more confidence than you had, you let your hands ghost over his back upwards to his neck and softly cupped the back of his head before bringing your lips onto his.

The sound that he made was one of surprise – but also want. He promptly brought his hands to your lower back, pulling you in closer and you brushed up against his hardened core again, making him shiver.

A whine tumbled from his mouth into yours, the sound travelling straight to your core as you pressed yourself into him, thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve some of the desire you felt.

“Bucky,” you mewled into the kiss and he pulled away to look at you.

“Yeah, doll?” He replied, his chest heaving quickly.

“I wanna help you with that,” you whispered and dropped your hand to the tent in his pants.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

piano lessons (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: depiction of injury (gunshot), canon level injury, hurt/comfort, angsty, good amount of fluff for balance word count: 1.6k a/n: i used to play the piano as a kid and i recently got back into it, so this was kinda exciting to write

When the floorboards creaked, you shot up, already reaching for your gun only to see Bucky. His hand pressed against his wound, he rested against the door frame, a hint of sleepiness in his eyes. “Just me,” he mumbled, hands raised slightly.

The safe house you and Bucky were staying in was on another level of luxurious.

Nestled in the outer skirts of London stood the imposing terraced family home, inconspicuously conspicuous with its grand brick walls and lush green shrubs adorning the iron fence.

It looked like something straight from a movie set; deep maroon floorboards contrasting with the rich green of the wallpaper which depicted flowers and birds you had never seen before in golden embossments.

Oak furniture filled every room, shining with the sunlight that bled in through the great windows, colouring every piece in golden hues.

Sadly, you didn’t have a lot of time to appreciate the beautiful scenery as Bucky had taken a bullet straight to his gut and was now bleeding profusely on the three hundred year old oriental rug while you were closing every heavy velvet carpet to shield the two of you from wealthy passerby’s curious stares.

In an instant you were by Bucky’s side, balancing a med kit in your shaking hands as you pulled the shirt from his wound. He winced and instinctively reached out to grab a hold of your fingers as the fabric inched over his skin.

“Sorry,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“No, it’s fine, I didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off and pulled his hand back.

“I need to stop the bleeding but it’s gonna sting,” you murmured and looked into Bucky’s eyes.

“Well, it already does, so…,” he grunted through gritted teeth and hissed as you pressed the cloth against the gunshot, keeping pressure on the wound until the blood flow halted.

“You okay?” You asked quietly while rummaging through the bag with a very limited number of medical supplies, retrieving gauze, disinfectant and some large tweezers.

He nodded but one look at his face told you that he was holding back. Sweat pearled on his forehead, drenching the clammy pale skin underneath.

The cap of the antiseptic clattered as you dropped it to the floor while applying the liquid to a clean rag and dabbed at the edges of the gunshot.

Usually, you weren’t shy around blood; years of field work had toughened you up and you had dressed more wounds than you could count. But Bucky’s pained face with his lips pressed so hard against each other that they were fully drained of colour sent an ice-cold sensation through your body that lingered in your abdomen and threatened to send you into fight or flight mode.

Instead you pushed through and disinfected your hands before grabbing the tweezers. You held your breath, almost inclined to close your eyes as you began to feel for the bullet.

Bucky groaned, gripping your knee as it was the only thing he could hold on to without disrupting you.

With a sharp breath you recovered the bullet lodged not too far below his skin and immediately pressed gauze on the injury.

With a quick glance at Bucky you saw how his eyes rolled back, and you harshly said: “Don’t you dare pass out right now.”

Your voice was tinged with fear, and it seemed to bring him back, eyelids parting to reveal the blue beneath.

“’m not gonna pass out,” he promised, though the colour of his skin drained even further.

You bandaged the wound as much as possible, setting a mental reminder to check for infection as often as possible.

“This is not gonna kill me, don’t worry,” Bucky rasped, his flesh arm stretching out, and his pointer finger hovering just above the crease between your eyebrows as you observed him.

He smoothed out the skin with just a simple touch but your worries didn’t cease.

“You need to rest,” you hummed softly and took his hand.

“So, now I may pass out?” He teased and you were relieved to hear the smidge of cockiness in his voice.

“Yeah, you may, I’ll make sure you keep breathing,” you replied and squeezed his hand.

Bucky slept for the next few hours as you tried to get into contact with the team.

Your heartbeat skyrocketed when Steve told you it would take them until the morning to come and get you; the stress was basically radiating off of you.

You were well aware that Bucky was not going to die from the gunshot. Not only had it not hit any life-threatening areas, but his enhanced healing had also already begun to kick in. The last time you had checked on and redressed his wound, it had looked a lot better, the skin already beginning to stitch itself together.

Still, the idea of Bucky’s health resting exclusively on your shoulders weighed heavily on you. What if something went wrong? What if your attackers found the safe house?

You barely slept at night, counting down the hours until the other Avengers would arrive to bring you home. Every few minutes you wriggled yourself out of your makeshift bed next to Bucky on the couch, either to feel his forehead for warmth or to inspect the healing process of the injury.

In the early morning hours, just before sunrise, you gave up on trying to catch even a few minutes of sleep. Instead, you gave Bucky one last assessment before you began to wander through the house.

Originally, you had wanted to go to the kitchen to make breakfast out of the food of which you were sure that it was stashed in cans somewhere.

But you were curious about the house, it’s grand décor and expensive furniture intriguing you, which led you to make your way through every room.

A marble bathroom with copper armatures and hand carved soaps, a dining room bigger than your own apartment with a fully stocked bar, a guest bedroom with glass stained windows – they all took your breath away.

But the most beautiful room of them all was the study.

Books littered the massive shelves that reached until the ceiling, occasionally broken up by gold accented clutter or exotic looking art pieces.

A colossal desk stood in the centre of the room, gorgeous wood carvings worked dutifully into the auburn material.

Your eyes lit up as you took in the stand-up piano which stood against the south facing wall of the room.

The fallboard creaked slightly as you revealed the keyboard, dragging a finger over the ivories.

It had been years since the last time you played the piano, but muscle memory is stronger than one would think.

You sat down on the stool and instinctively straightened your back as if you could still hear your music teacher scolding you.

Your shaky hands rested against the cold keys, slowly playing a few chords.

The smile that broke out of you was uncontainable as you listened to the slightly out of tune music, so reminiscent of your youth.

After your fingers danced up and down the scale, you began to play a composition that you had been taught very early on.

The sounds of Für Elise filled the room, every movement sensational and familiar at the same time.

When the floorboards creaked, you shot up, already reaching for your gun only to see Bucky.

His hand pressed against his wound, he rested against the door frame, a hint of sleepiness in his eyes.

“Just me,” he mumbled, hands raised slightly.

“God, I’m sorry,” you replied quickly, dropping your hand from the gun holster.

“What are you doing up? Oh... God- I didn’t mean to wake you,” you rambled, eyes darting between him and the piano. Your cheeks heated up as you realised that the music must have disrupted his sleep.

“It’s fine, I’m not tired anymore,” he answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I didn’t know you played,” he then added, nodding towards the piano.

“I used to,” you explained, shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Sounded good to me.” Even though his voice was filled with a bit of teasing, his expression was earnest; it almost seemed longing.

“Do you play?” You asked curiously.

He chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, I don’t.”

You bit your lip as you looked at him, not sure if you were overstepping or not.

“Do you wanna learn? Some chords… or… anything?”

He met your eyes, his own round with surprise. “I don’t think I’d be any good,” he replied, scratching the back of his head.

You tutted and waved him closer. “Just try, maybe you’re a natural.”

He stepped closer and let himself be guided onto the stool by you. With the pads of his fingers pressed against the keys, he looked to you for guidance.

“Uh,” you began, stopping yourself as you began to reach out for his hands to adjust the position of them. Instead, you held your hand in the air and showed him how to curve his fingers. “You should try to keep your fingers like this, gives you more control.”

He adjusted his grip and met your eyes again, waiting for further instruction.

“Alright.” You mirrored him an octave higher and began to play three notes. “Just copy what I do, ok?”

He nodded and lowered his gaze to your fingers as you repeated the same tones.

With a little more force than necessary he replicated your movements, pressing the keys into the wood.

You chuckled softly.

“No need to be so rough on the keys, keep your fingers a little lighter. But other than that, good job.”

Bucky smiled contently and tried again, this time playing a bit softer.

“Like this?” He asked and looked at you again. Your stomach fluttered as you met his piercing stare.

“Hmm,” you replied dreamily, nodding slowly.

“Can you play again, doll? It sounded a lot better when you did,” he requested and leaned back a little to watch you. He smiled when he saw the heat creeping up your neck.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

20 questions

warnings: nothing, just fluff word count: 530 a/n: my first work for steve, yayyy!! just a quick drabble :)

You had been playing for a while now, questions about anything and nothing exchanged between you and Steve when he asked: “What’s your plan for the future?”

In surprise, you looked up at him. It seemed like a very direct question, one that was slightly loaded.

You leaned back a little, gazing at him before answering.

“In the far – and I mean far – future, I’d like to settle down somewhere nice. In the countryside maybe, but not too far away from the next big city,” you replied honestly while watching Steve’s face intently.

“Settling down, huh? How’d that look for you?” He asked. His eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly, soft lips parted as he waited for your answer. One could practically see the inner workings of his brain, trying to figure you out as best as he could.

“Well, a nice house with a pretty garden. I want a place where you don’t have to lock the windows and doors every night, somewhere where you don’t have to install a security system. And I’d like to do that with someone special,” you explained slowly, “Someone by my side.”

You and Steve hadn’t been dating long enough that talking about growing old together felt comfortable, so your answer ended up being rather vague.

“Someone special,” he repeated, a soft smirk on his face that caused the skin next to his eyes to crinkle ever so lightly. “What would that someone special be like?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he stretched his arms, interlocking his hands behind his head as he kept his eyes focused on you.

“Well,” you began, a sly smile dragging the corners of your mouth upwards, “He’d have to be handsome. And rich, of course,” you teased.

“Of course,” Steve echoed, amusement written over his face.

You continued: “I like ‘em blond. Blue eyes. Abs for days. Handsome guys, you know.”

Warmth spread through your face and neck as his smirk deepened.

“Sounds like you got a pretty specific type, don’t ya?” His voice dripped with delight as he took in your words, and you could tell that he felt rather smug.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you replied, now leaning in closer to him.

“You know anybody like that?” He grinned from ear to ear, releasing his hands from the back of his head and he also shifted towards you.

“Oh, well, Thor’s a really great guy, don’t you think?”

The way his smile dropped, and his breath hitched almost sent you keeling over. Steve Rogers was a man of many talents, but his ability to look like a kicked dog was almost uncanny.

“Thor,” he repeated, feigning hurt at your words. “You gonna choose a god? One whose biceps the size of my head?”

You couldn’t keep your laughter in any longer, the sounds bubbling from your throat as you rested your hand on his thigh.

“I’m kidding,” you giggled, “Guess I’d be okay with settling for a guy with a shield. But it has to be really cool one.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “My shield’s the coolest. That’s gotta mean that I’m in the running, right?”

“I guess you qualify.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

novelty (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: smut, mdni pretty please, first time, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, female reader, soft bucky (i love him), established relationship, fluff word count: 2.6k a/n: i'm lowkey thinking about making this a series, but one where every part can be read as a stand alone? i've got so many ideas, basically all of them about bucky and inexperienced reader trying new things. is that weird?

Bucky and you had been dating for a month now.

He was always so sweet to you, making sure you felt comfortable with everything he did.

He never wanted you to feel like you had to do anything other than what you were willing to do.

The first time you stayed over at his apartment, he had even offered to sleep on the couch which had left you laughing and feeling luckier than anyone else. You declined this and both of you spend the night entangled with each other in his bed.

On the night of your one-month anniversary, the two of you sat together on the bed after a fancy dinner and lots of flowers. When the light outside faded and the sunset coloured his bedroom in golden hues, you kissed him. Half lying on him, half sitting on his lap, your lips crashed onto his, relishing in the flavour of him.

Your hands ran through his hair while his fingers ghosted over your waist, holding you closely to him.

His tongue moved against your slightly parted lips, pushing them apart and exploring the inside of your mouth.

With a gentleness that contrasted so strongly with his usual demeanour, he cradled the back of your head with one hand and rested the other on the small of your back.

A moan escaped his mouth which seemed to bring him back to reality and he gently pushed you away to look at your face.

He took in your glassy eyes and warmed skin, slowly dragging his knuckles over your cheek.

"We gotta go a little slower," he rasped, keeping his hand against your cheek.

"Why?" You asked, a shy smile curving your mouth.

"Cause you're killing me when you do... this," Bucky replied, smirking as he looked you up and down.

Your smile expanded and you looked at him through heavy lidded eyes, desire coursing through your veins.

"Maybe that's the plan," you confessed and gazed at him, waiting for his reaction.

He took in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on your sides as he seemingly struggled to hold himself back from taking you up on your offer.

"Doll," he rasped quietly, muscles flexing under his shirt as he pulled you flush against him.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yeah, I do," you retorted, your fingers wandering over his neck and into his hair, slowly dragging between his locks as you met his lips again.

His breath stuttered against your mouth and his hands slipped underneath your shirt, ghosting against the clasps of your bra.

Then he pulled away again, his cheeks flushed and eyes hungry with desire.

"This is a big step, sweetheart," he whispered, and held you at bay, taking in every micro expression of your face.

"I'll wait as long as you want," Bucky insisted.

"I don't wanna wait," you replied, scrunching up your eyebrows. "I'm ready. I wanna do it... with you."

For a few seconds, he closed his eyes, relishing in your words. His mouth corners twitched as if he was fighting a smile.

"Are you sure?" He asked then, cupping your face in order not to miss a single sign of uncertainty.

"Yes," you answered and there was no room for doubt in your voice, simply excitement.

If a smile could truly light up a room, it would be Bucky's right now.

He leaned back in to kiss you again, this time with more vigour.

Breathless and messily, your faces connected while his hands traced shapeless motions on your bare stomach. He fumbled with the hem of your shirt, taking his time in peeling away the layer that separated the two of you.

You could tell that he was slowing himself down, letting you feel every inch of his patience in his movements

When he finally rid you of your shirt, his eyes hungrily darted over your body, taking in all of you.

Excitement pooled in your stomach along with some nerves that sparked little bolts of electricity underneath your skin.

To even out the playing field, you began to take off his shirt, dragging the material over his chest and slowly exposing more of his skin.

The low lighting in the room bounced off on his abs, highlighting the dips and crooks.

With a feathery finger, you slowly traced the lines on his abdomen, travelling further south. His breath hitched and he reflexively caught your hand.

You looked at him and saw a hint of a smile on his lips when he grabbed your other hand as well, bringing them above your head. He inched closer to you and played with the waistband of your jeans, one hand slipping towards the button and zipper.

A feeling which was a mix of lust and nervousness coursed through you as he removed your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear before him.

Again, he let his gaze wander over you before conquering your mouth in a wet kiss, that sent heat between your legs.

You hooked your ankles behind his back, pulling him in closer.

The material of his trousers was rough against your bare skin, every shift dragging across you. Pressed up against him, you felt his clothed arousal digging into your core and it made your stomach flutter.

Bucky’s lips travelled down from your lips to your jaw, then your collarbone. He stayed there a while, sucking and licking the sensitive skin until he was satisfied with the blooming red underneath that promised a deep purple mark tomorrow.

When he looked up at you, chin hovering just over your breasts, the breath was stolen from your lungs.

His pupils were dilated with lust and there was a faint line of saliva around his lips. To see him like this, absolutely taken with you, it made you lightheaded with joy. The fact that you had this kind of effect on him eased your nerves.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice rough but attentive.

“Yeah, better than okay,” you replied, and he nodded.

“You just tell me when to stop, alright, doll?” His gaze was fixed on you, sure not to miss a single indication of you.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you answered truthfully, writhing a little underneath him with pure yearning.

You felt the damp patch in your panties as you shifted around and almost wished that he wouldn’t be so considerate. A hunger that you had never experienced like this before had taken a hold of you and it only increased when he started to unhook the clasps of your bra.

He looked at you like you were a masterpiece, a painting that should be admired by billions of people when his eyes followed every contour of your exposed body.

It would have been instinctual for you to feel just a bit self-conscious, your body bare before his eyes, just covered by your panties, but how could you when he looked at you like that. Like you were born to be pressed flush against him, born to be his.

His tongue trailed down between your breasts, leaving a trail of him down to your belly button.

Only then he began to take off his pants, the tent in his boxers leaving you speechless and clenching your legs together a little.

He smirked as he saw the tremors in your legs, one large hand brought down to rest on your thigh, so close to the hem of your panties.

“Nervous?” He asked, no trace of cockiness in his voice as he fixated you with his eyes.

“A little. But the good kind,” you responded truthfully.

“The good kind,” he repeated, a husky chuckle following. “Alright.”

With one swift motion he advanced closer to you on the mattress and rested his hands on your hips, just on the edge of your underwear.

He hooked his fingers into the material and slowly, torturously freed you of them. With the phantom of a smug grin did he drag the pad of his thumb over the wet patch on them before dropping them to the ground.

Now, fully bare before him, the nerves returned fully. You closed your eyes, trying to slow your heartbeat and get lost in the sensation of being exactly where you wanted to be.

Only when Bucky softly spoke did your eyes snap back open.

“Sweetheart? Do you wanna stop?”

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh.

“Not at all. I just… need a second.”

He nodded and said: “Take all the time you need.”

It didn’t seem possible for your heart to be any fuller with adoration for him but with words like that, it was seconds away from bursting.

You pulled him back towards you, connecting your lips with his and felt his tongue drag along the entrance of your mouth, teasing your until you opened up.

While his tongue explored your mouth, his right hand dipped down between your legs, brushing up ever so gently against your slick folds.

An exhale caught in your lungs as you felt his fingers toying with you, gathering your arousal and coming up against your clit for a few seconds.

He deepened the kiss, and you bucked your hips towards him, looking to replicate the feeling of his hands on you again. You felt him grin against your lips, but you were so high on his touch that you didn’t care.

One of his fingers circled your entrance and he pulled back to look at you, wanting to take in your face as he pushed into you.

A stifled gasp broke from your lips as you felt him slowly widening you out, pumping in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, and you felt his dick twitch against you, still covered by his boxers. “Gonna take a second to get you ready.”

He added a second and then a third finger, filling you up so deliciously that you couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped your lips.

“You like that?” He asked, still as attentive and focused on you as before.

“Yeah,” you replied, nothing more than a shaky gasp as you felt your insides tighten around his finger, sucking him in greedily.

Your head swam with oxytocin and when he brushed up against your clit with his thumb, your whole body began to quiver.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, not that Bucky showed any inclination to do that. You searched for something to hold onto, digging your nails into his back as he continued to encircle your clit, giving you the friction that you needed.

Heat was building up in your lower stomach like a knot coming closer to detangling with every single movement of his. You felt the warmth spread to your neck and chest, the pressure strengthening with every second that passed until it broke. The knot unravelled and you came with such a force that you had to press your mouth against his shoulder as blinding satisfaction flooded your veins.

Bucky continued to work you through your orgasm until you caught your breath and looked up at him with gleaming eyes.

Next to the craving in his eyes was pride. In you, in himself, in the connection that you shared.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead that gleamed with sweat, and you closed your eyes, radiant with the burn of your release.

When your breathing evened out, you parted your legs again, allowing Bucky to fit himself against your body. He took off his boxers and his cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach. Beads of precum wetted the pink tip.

You held your breath as you appraised him and a second of doubt clouded your mind. His dick was a lot bigger than just his fingers. But when you looked at Bucky and saw the adoration plastered across his face, you breathed out your worries and nodded.

“I’m ready,” you said and meant it.

He cupped your face and replied: “You just tell me if I gotta stop, ok? I promise I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.”

He beamed down at you and then moved forward until he lined up with your entrance.

With his hand he slowly guided himself in. You felt the stretch immediately, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a burning sensation that excited you.

Bucky kept his eyes on you, searching for signs to stop.

Since there were none, he moved further, and you held onto his muscular arm as he spread you open.

Bucky groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him at the same time as your nails dug into his forearm and it took a lot for him to not fully push himself into you.

He gave you time to adjust, to shape yourself around him. It was a snug fit, but sensually so, you could feel every vein on his dick.

When you nodded again, he pulled back a little only to then move further into you as your walls allowed for him to enter your almost completely.

You weren’t sure which one of you felt more bliss in this second.

The sensation of him filling you out, stuffing you to the brim until you thought you could never feel lonely again, spread through your body and sent warm shock waves into your limbs.

He trembled in you, clearly enjoying the sensation of being enveloped by you and then bridged the last uncovered inches of his dick, fully filling you out until the hairs at his base tickled against your skin.

A moan broke from your lips as you felt the spongy tip of his head kiss a spot so deep within you.

After a few seconds of letting you adjust again, he began to move his hips, pulling out almost fully only to snap his hips against yours again.

He sat a pace that kept him on edge and almost sent you into your next orgasm. When he added a finger to your clit, swift motions flicking against it, you had to ground yourself by gripping the sheets to not immediately give into your release.

Sweat beaded from his forehead and mingled with yours.

“You’re so perfect,” he gasped, as he pumped into you, “So fucking perfect.”

You felt lightheaded and fought to come undone so quickly, but his praise made your velvety walls flutter, and you knew he could feel it.

“So fucking amazing,” he whispered, now almost teasingly as he increased the pressure on your clit, dragging the mix of your wetness and his precum across the sensitive nerves.

“J-James,” you hiccupped, holding onto his shoulders.

He silenced you with a kiss, wet and sloppily dragging his lips against yours while keeping intense pressure on your clit.

“Come for me,” he panted, “I know you want to, doll.”

A sound that you didn’t even know you could make parted your lips as his words pushed you over the edge, while he relished in the feeling of you tightening around him. Blinding white lights filled your vision as you rode out your second orgasm.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured into your ear as the aftershocks of your release coursed through your body.

He increased his pace, hips snapping back and forth against you and as he saw your eyes, glazy with satisfaction, he let himself go.

You could feel his spent coating your walls, painting your insides with his cum while he groaned, lips pressed against yours.

He sank onto you, careful not to squeeze you under him and closed his eyes while he caught his breath.

With your head still in the clouds, you caressed his back until he declined onto the mattress, pulling you snug against his chest.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

dozed off (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: none, just good old fluff, unless you count sweetest bucky as a warning (i do), gender neutral reader word count: 815

You quietly fumbled with the door of your and Bucky’s joint apartment, your purse and phone clutched in one hand and keys in your other.

When you slowly pushed the door open, excitement flooded your veins as you took in the soft glow of the lamp on the side table next to the couch.

Bucky wasn’t supposed to be home yet; he had texted you earlier that day that he was not going to be back before tomorrow morning. But there he was, his large frame spread out on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady motions.

His eyes were closed, lashes just brushing up against his cheeks as gentle sighs tumbled from his lips.

He looked heartbreakingly endearing, one arm slung out, hovering above the floor as if sleep had taken him while he was reaching for something. You took a few steps towards him, moving as silently as possible in order not to wake him.

Usually, his super soldier hearing would have picked up even the faintest sounds, but exhaustion had knocked him out completely, pulling him into his dreamlands without disturbances.

As you made your way towards him, you couldn’t help but break into a bright smile. Adoration that bordered on worship filled your system as you kneeled down in front of his sleeping figure and gazed at his face. Your eyes traced the contours of his jaw, the point of his nose and wandered to his soft pink lips, which parted slightly as he breathed in. Instinctively, you reached out but stopped yourself just before your fingers could brush up against his cheek. Reluctantly, you pulled back and extended your hand towards the blanket on the back of the couch, draping it over him to keep the cold away.

You wanted to join him on the sofa, burying yourself against his body that you knew like the back of your hand, every dip, every muscle and every scar. Sleeping alone in your shared bed was out of the question, not when he was so close. But the idea of interrupting his slumber, as much as you wanted to see the beautiful blue of his eyes – it would feel like a crime to rip him away from his rest.

So instead, you cozied up on the floor, right beneath him, pulling a blanket and pillow from the armchair to ease yourself onto the ground. The sound of his soft breath was stronger than any sleeping pills, seemingly cradling you and filling your ears like the sweetest melody. Your eyelids grew heavier with every second of his breathing and soon, your own dreams welcomed you.

When Bucky woke up the next morning, he groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. The couch had been unkind to his neck, which twinged a little with every movement. He was disoriented, surprised to say the least, to have woken up on the couch.

When he had sat down the evening prior, it had been his intention to stay awake, to wait up until your return home. But not ten minutes after his head had hit the pillow, fatigue had caused him to drift off hours before you had arrived.

As his gaze wandered, it stopped on you.

Crumbled next to the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin and fast asleep, you laid there, a content smile plastered across your face despite the fact that your position couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

His heart fluttered as he reached out to you, warmth spreading through his chest.

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly, dragging his knuckles across your cheek.

You stirred lightly, a tiny yawn breaching your lips as you looked at him through heavy lidded eyes.

“Hi,” you greeted him, smiling brighter as your eyes adjusted and you finally got to see his half amused, half concerned face.

“What are you doing on the floor?” His voice was gentle, love seemingly intertwining with his vocal cords.

You chuckled and sat up, scooting closer to him.

With your arms propped up on the cushions of the couch, you rested your chin on your hands and beamed up at him.

“I didn’t wanna sleep without you,” you explained, and his heart might have burst.

“You coulda woken me,” he said and extended his hand to brush a few loose strands of hair from your forehead.

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t have possibly done that.”

A sheepish grin snuck onto his face as he pulled you up to him, letting your body melt against his as he wrapped his arms around you.

“What could I have ever done to deserve you?” His question was a whisper, a soft inquiry that tugged at your heartstrings.

You kissed his cheek tenderly, feeling the scruff of his beard beneath your lips.

“I wanted to wait up for you,” he continued and looked at you, “But I must’ve dozed off.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[writingunderneathawillow]

tight spaces (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: fluff, a pinch of angst, bucky gets anxious because of tight spaces, suggestive, bucky gets a boner hehehe, lowkey manhandling I guess, also accidentally inspired by teen wolf word count: 930

The door of the supply room fell shut, sending you tumbling towards Bucky.

You had meant to keep it open, your foot propped against it while Bucky searched for the gun cleaning supplies. But it had rested heavily on you, leaving you straining and telling Bucky to get a move on.

Supply room was a generous term. It was basically a small closet made out of metal, barely big enough to accommodate one person, definitely not two.

You were pressed against Bucky’s chest after your stumble, feeling his hands at your waist to stabilise you.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you tried to get yourself in a more upright position.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled and let go of your sides. The warmth of his skin, that had seeped through your shirt, was gone so quickly, it felt as if the room’s temperature had dropped.

You went to reach for the door, stemming your weight against it as you pressed down on the door handle, but it didn’t move an inch.

At the same time, you were equally aware of Bucky’s gaze on you and the proximity of his lap and your ass. You tried pushing yourself more at the door, but it didn’t give in and didn’t allow for any more space between the two of you, either.

“Buck? We have a problem,” you said and twisted as much as possible to look at him. “The door won’t open.”

His eyebrows knitted together as his gaze flicked between you and the door.

“Can’t be, you just gotta try again,” he instructed and nodded encouragingly.

You sighed and repeatedly tried to force the door open, but it didn’t budge.

“I think it’s shut,” You replied, teeth gritted as you pushed again.

“Let me,” he said and tried to move past you. It didn’t seem intentional to you but the way he grabbed your shoulders, gently attempting to force himself towards the door by moving you out of the way, made your stomach flutter.

However, he wasn’t successful, stuck between you and the door with no way of positioning himself closer the exit.

He sighed and apologised as he simply reached over you, accidentally pushing you into his chest while his large hands fumbled with the door.

In the dim lighting you could still make it out the way his biceps flexed under his shirt and with the way you were sandwiched between him and the door, you could take in his scent effortlessly, practically drowning you in leather and a hint of citrus.

You tried to hold your breath, embarrassed by how lightheaded you became as his smell encircled you.

With a soft groan Bucky took a tiny step back, as much as the room allowed.

“God, we’re really stuck,” he murmured, and all your giddiness disappeared as you picked up on the trace of anxiety on his words.

Bucky and closed spaces did not go well together, especially ones made out of metal. Being entombed in a cold, tight room was sending shivers down his spine, and he was barely able to conceal them. You heard how his breath quickened and saw his eyes darting in between the walls of the room, searching for a way out.

“It’s okay,” you whispered; your hands rested on his forearms and you began to softly stroke up and downwards. “The others are gonna realise soon that we’re in here, we’re okay.”

His eyes met yours, the blue nearly hidden with his enlarged pupils. He nodded slowly, his gaze fixated on you as you continued your soothing motions.

“We’re okay,” he repeated as he watched you, almost entranced by your voice. After a few seconds his eyes began to wander again but instead of taking in his surroundings, they lingered on you.

The soft curve of your mouth, the gradual slope of your nose and the gentleness of your eyes captivated him, pulling him out of his state of panic.

“You have a scar there,” he mumbled, nodding towards your eyebrow. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

The words had stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Only when he shifted slightly, he seemed to realise where you were. How you were glued to him, skin on skin with no room between the two of you.

All the blood that had pounded in his ears and head just seconds ago now rushed south.

You became aware of your situation again as well and desperately tried to find a place in the supply room that wasn’t taken up by him.

“Doll, you gotta-,” he groaned softly as he tried to adjust himself and get a little distance between both of you.

“You gotta turn around or something ‘cause, uh-“ he searched for words that wouldn’t make it so awkward but none came.

Your eyebrows scrunched up, confused by this, and tried to twist your body to face towards the door but then you felt it.

Warmth radiated from his lap along with an unmistakable hard sensation, straining against his pants right against you.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying even harder to increase the proximity between the two of you.

He muttered something unintelligible and then said: “No, don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry, sweetheart.”

A soft hiss escaped his mouth when you finally had managed to turn around, now facing the door with warmed cheeks.

A few seconds passed, your backside now pressed into him, until he broke the silence.

“Doll?” “Yeah?” “This is worse.”

You chuckled, pressing your hand against your lips and you could hear his faint laughter. --- part 2 now out

[writingunderneathawillow]

so well (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected p in v, a bit of overstimulation, orgasm denial, lots of praise towards the end, established relationship, bucky is the love of my life, this has no plot whatsoever word count: 1,2k a/n: i don't remember writing this? i found it in my drafts and it is literally from february but i can't recall writing even one sentence of this????

He stumbled and landed on top of you, his arms stretched out to catch himself and not crush you. Your faces were just millimeters apart and you smiled. He was exactly where you had wanted him. “I got you,” you whispered. The movement of your lips made them brush against his own, fluttering against his mouth corners like a butterfly.

He closed the distance, his mouth crashing down onto yours as if he was a man starved. His hands danced over your body like a phantom, palming you through your leggings. With passion, he enveloped your ass with his large hands and you moaned into the kiss. Your legs wrapped around his middle, pushing him closer towards you and a groan escaped his lips as his hardening length brushed against your core.

You broke away from the kiss to look at him and saw a hunger in his eyes, so primal that it would have scared you if it wasn’t Bucky who was pressed against you.

Desperate for more, your hand went to his hair, gripping tenderly but with need into his locks as you pulled his mouth onto yours.

With a swift motion Bucky’s hand danced over the waistband of your leggings, feeling the sweat slicked skin as he dipped under the cloth. The sparring lesson had warmed your body but his touch felt like fire that couldn’t compare. His fingers smoothed over your ass and then he fully pulled off your bottoms, discarding of them in a quick gesture. You couldn’t be bothered to check where they landed as your hands scrambled to take off his shirt.

He helped you pull it over his head, baring his naked chest and abdomen. His abs glistened with sweat from the earlier workout and the light of the home gym caught in the fluid, giving even more definition to his toned muscles. Your hand traced over him and he sucked in a sharp breath. “That tickles,” he murmured and you couldn’t help but smile.

The rest of your clothes followed soon, cast off into a corner of his room. His eyes inspected every inch of your tits, taking in every curve and dip as if it was the last thing he'd ever see. Then he leaned forward and took one of your nipples into his mouth, while his hand massaged your other breast.

Moans escaped your mouth and you had to grip his hair to not come undone from the simple touch. You could feel his chuckle against your own soft flesh and the vibration of this send rays of electricity right through your spine to your core. “Bucky…,” you gasped his name, fingers dragging over his back and leaving red marks. He looked up at you, those blue piercing eyes examining you while he sucked on your hard nipple. “I want more,” you murmured.

He slowly shook his head, a devilish grin on his face while he continued working on your breasts.

You felt the wetness pool between your legs and your pussy ached for more, clenching around nothing.

As you reached your hand down to help ease the pain, Bucky caught you, pinning both your hands behind your back.

He flipped you around, your need for him growing more and more.

“Baby, please, I want you to fuck me,” you pleaded.

He shook his head again and sucked on the skin of your sensitive breast. You already knew you would be covered in love bites tomorrow and groaned at the idea of it.

His hands traced on your inner thigh, feeling your slickness seep out of you. “You’re real needy, aren’t ya?” He asked, finally leaving your sensitive nipples alone.

“Please,” you gasped, “I need to feel you.”

You tried to touch him but he continued pinning your hands above your head.

“Not yet, doll,” he replied.

He spread your legs and continued his lazy circling on your inner thigh, occasionally letting his hand travel closer to your pussy than before.

You squirmed under him, fire burning in your lower belly as you tried to buck your hips to increase the friction.

Bucky grinned and held you in place with his thighs, straddling you.

Then he finally dipped one finger into you. It was a cold metal one and it sent a shock wave through your core, one that was quickly replaced with the want for more.

“Bucky,” You whispered. “Don’t stop, please.”

He added a second finger and began to pump in and out of your aching pussy while you stretched around him.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered and kissed your nipple again. "That's my girl."

Then his thumb finally danced over your clit and you thrust your hips towards his touch.

“Oh, god, Bucky,” You moaned and he felt himself getting harder by the minute, simply looking at you got him worked up.

Your breaths came in shallow, high pitched gasps as you chased your release, the stars were just seconds away from exploding before your inner eye when he suddenly stopped.

A cry of agony and disappointment ripped through your chest and you looked at him.

“Why would you stop?” You whined, searching for friction again.

“You only get to come around my cock,” he mumbled into your ear.

His naked erection pulsed before your entrance as he parted your thighs with his knee.

He kept his eyes on you while he slid the head of his cock in your slick folds and picked up your arousal.

With a groan that came from deep inside his chest, he entered you, slowly splitting you in half.

Your walls pulsed around his veiny dick, so large that you struggled to fit him.

Gasps of pain and pleasure escaped your mouth as he inched forward.

“B-Bucky,” you moaned, dragging your nails across his hips. He let out an animalistic sound as he finally fit all of him into your tight hole. His hand found your clit again and every ounce of pain became a distant memory as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves.

As he began thrusting in and out, your walls clenched around him, drawing him in more and more.

“Baby,” he whispered, “You’re so tight. Your pretty pussy’s taking me so well.”

He kissed your neck and you felt how he increased his motions on your clit. Hypersensitive and filled to the brim with him, he fucked you until you couldn’t think anymore. He angled your leg over his shoulder and hit a spot even further in you and you knew you were about to come undone.

“Bucky,” You gasped, “I’m…”

“Shh,” He rasped, “Yes, sweetheart, cum for me.”

He pounded harder, hitting the spot again and again while his thumb circled your clit and your body burned. With a nod from him, your orgasm ripped through you, sending trembles through your body.

Bucky moaned as you tightened around him and increased his pace even more, pounding you through your high.

You felt the tension in your core build up again and your eyes rolled back.

Sensitive from your release just seconds ago, you ached with pleasure as he continued to encircle your clit, not letting go.

“Bucky,” you moaned his name and a second orgasm washed over you like fire.

Your tightening around him pushed him over the edge and he released in you, groaning your name while you milked him.

Hot spirals of cum coated your insides and he remained buried in you until he emptied his balls.

He sunk onto you, distributing his weight in order not to crush you and whispered praise in your ear.

You did so great.

You were such a good girl.

You took my cock so well, baby.

He kissed your neck and slid out of you, leaving you breathless but satisfied and filled.

[writingunderneathawillow]

mercy kill (bucky barnes x reader)

woah, this one’s dark. also i’ve never been shot (yay) so sorry if anything’s inaccurate lol cw: dark, hurt no comfort, gunshot wound, reader death, bucky crying :( ouchie, she/her reader, no use of y/n word count: 1,6k

You were shaking.

The blood slowly trickled out of the gunshot in your stomach.

It had happened within milliseconds, so quickly that neither of you had noticed.

A sharp crack and the last of the assailants went to the ground. Bucky’s chest was heaving, his hands bloodied and curled into fists as the man in front of him hit the floor.

There was a rage in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

All the attackers were dead but the danger wasn’t over. You were locked in the facility with no way out. The metal doors were shut close, sealed with an immovable force.

A gasp escaped your lips and Bucky’s eyes darted to you.

His eyes went soft as he looked at you.

Your hands involuntarily went to your stomach and you felt it. The wetness of the blood seeping onto your hands. Waves of dizziness rocked your body and Bucky was at your side, steadying you within seconds.

“Sweetheart?” His voice shook as his strong hands wrapped around your shoulders, eyes shifting over your pale face. Your legs gave out underneath you and he guided you to the floor. Shallow wheezes trembled from your lips and your eyes rolled back.

Pain.

Indescribable pain shook you to your core.

“Sweetheart, you’ll-,” Bucky’s voice trembled as he cradled your body softly. “You’ll be okay,” he continued, soft hands gliding over your color drained face. He pulled your shirt up and you winced as the cloth moved over the gunshot.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured and you looked at him. You saw the tears in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you managed to say.

Blood spilled from the wound as Bucky assessed the damage.

“You’re gonna- you’re gonna be fine,” he insisted, embracing your face.

You nodded, knowing that you wouldn’t be.

“They’ll come and get us,” he continued, pressing his hands onto your stomach.

Sharp sounds of pain filled the room as the pressure on the wound brought blinding lights before your eyes. It felt like hot steel and icy waves at the same time.

“They’ll be here.”

His eyes examined the room, looking, begging for something that could help you.

“Yes,” your voice was weak, “Steve… and Nat, they’ll come,” you whispered.

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, baby, they’ll be here,” he replied.

But no one came. You laid on the floor, going from pale to grey. The blood didn’t stop, no matter how much pressure Bucky applied.

A panic, a fear that you had never seen on his composed, stoic face before, crept onto his expression.

Your eyelids felt heavy. It was as if someone was forcing you to close your eyes, fingers slowly sowing your lashes together.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

His voice was loud, like a command.

You pried open your eyes to look at him.

Tears were painting his cheeks, illuminated under the dim lighting in the warehouse.

“Sorry,” you apologized, your voice low. “I’m just so…,” your voice trailed off.

“No,” he said. He hadn’t meant to sound so cold but he was determined to keep you awake.

He picked you up, trying to block out the pained gasps that came from your lips as he moved closer to the doors.

“Stay awake. I’ll get us out of here,” he ordered.

He softly put you on the ground, half lying, half sitting up. His eyes danced over your pained frame until he managed to rip his gaze away from you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he repeated.

Then he threw the first punch. His metal fist connected with the door, a loud bang echoing through the room. The door didn’t budge. Not even a single scratch marked the area where he had directed all his energy to.

You shivered. The blood collecting on your legs was hot but your skin was clammy and cold, contrasting with the warm fluid.

“Bucky,” you muttered.

A second and a third blow landed on the door.

Loud clangs, bam, bam, bam, filled the eerie silence along with your shallow breaths.

His first ten or twenty punches were methodical, with precision and what seemed like practiced ease.

Then they became uncoordinated. Wild and ungracefully, he leapt forward, throwing his entire weight against the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried to say his name again but all that came from your mouth was a cough and blood. The metallic taste lingered on your tongue as you groaned and wiped the blood and spit away.

Bucky’s gaze drifted to you again. The fear in his eyes doubled and he was by your side again. You saw the sweat on his forehead, the shaking in his arms as he cradled your face. “It’s no use,” you said weakly. “It won’t open.”

He shook his head. “I’ll get us out of here. You’ll be fine. The others will be here.”

You looked at him, reaching for his hand on your cheek.

“Bucky,” you didn’t know where the strength came from as you held onto his wrist. “Listen to me.”

His eyes focused on you, anxiety written all over his face.

“James,” you said quietly.

He shook his head again, hearing the tone in your voice but you continued before he could say something.

“James, we’re so far away. The others… it’ll take them at least four hours to get here. And they don’t even know that we’re… in trouble.”

You gestured weakly to your comms, that had shut off the second the doors had closed. His lower lip quivered. His eyes examined your wound again and then travelled over your greyed face.

“I’m gonna die,” you whispered.

“No.” He sounded so determined, as if he would fight off death the second he knocked on the door.

“James, listen to me,” you begged. “Please, just…” You looked at him. “I won’t make it. The doors won’t open.”

“No,” he repeated, loosening himself out of your grip. “I can do it. I can get us out of here.”

His body rocked with sobs as he threw himself against the door. Once, twice, ten times.

You winced as he crashed into the door, you practically felt his body ringing as he connected with it.

“James,” you pleaded.

Slowly, he turned to look at you. Blood ran from a cut over his eyebrow and sweat glistened on his body.

“Please don’t let me die alone.”

His eyes widened.

“You’re not gonna die,” he implored.

“Yes, I am.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and filled with such sorrow that you almost wished death came sooner. “I’m not gonna make it.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

Your entire suit was stained with blood. You didn’t even fathom someone could lose so much blood and still talk.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

Bucky grimaced as you said this.

He enveloped your body with his, pulling you close, so that your head rested on his lap.

“You’ll be okay.” You felt his shaking, the way his whole body trembled as the lie ran off his lips.

“I love you,” you croaked.

“Don’t,” Bucky hissed, his own tears mixing with yours as they fell from his face.

“Don’t say that. Not like that.”

“James…,” you sighed. “I don’t have long. I need to say it now. You need to hear it now.”

You fixed his gaze.

“You are the love of my life. You’ve made me happy…,” a pained gasp slipped from your lips as you moved to touch his face. “You’ve made me the happiest person on this planet, every day since I’ve known you. I love you.”

He whimpered at your words, more silent tears rushing down his cheeks.

“When I’m gone-“ “Stop.” “No, listen, you have to hear this! When I’m gone, you can’t go back. You can’t become this cold… soldier again, okay? I need you to be happy.”

He pulled your face closer to his own.

“How can you ask that of me? How could I be even close to happy without you?”

Every particle of his body, every atom protested at the thought alone.

“I can’t- I won’t let you do that to yourself,” you replied, “You can’t go back to the man you were before me, okay?”

He didn’t reply, his hands buried in your hair.

“I love you,” You repeated.

A sound of pure agony escaped his lips.

“I love you. More than anything. More than life. More than this world.”

His words were woven with pain, every fiber of his soul hurting at the thought of a life without you.

“You have to let me go,” you continued quietly, the mere act of moving your lips draining you of all energy.

“Please,” you whispered.

The world seemed to get smaller. Darker. Breathing in felt like fire. Breathing out felt like ice.

“Everything hurts,” you murmured.

Bucky writhed in agony as he looked at you, heard your words, the plead behind them.

“You can’t…,” he began, “You can’t be asking this of me.”

You couldn’t reply. Your throat was like sandpaper. The pain of the gunshot in your abdomen was like blinding white light.

You held his hand and slowly brought it up to the gun in his holster. Don’t make me suffer any longer, you begged in your head.

His breath came in low gasps as you pleaded with him silently.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to say something, but only more blood spilled from your lips. It wasn’t red or even brown, it was black like ink, painting your chin.

“Please,” you managed to beg him. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he wailed as he slowly loosened the gun from the holster.

“I love you,” he gasped as he released the safety.

“I love you,” he repeated as he pointed the gun at your forehead.

You nodded, wishing you could say it one last time.

“I love you,” he said as he pulled the trigger.