writingunderneathawillow

[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]

rock on

part 1 here series masterlist here content warnings: college au, mutual pining, probably inaccurate description of competitive cheer (i’m trying, i promise), idiots in love, alcohol consumption, female reader, no use of y/n word count: 2.9k a/n: ok, listen up, i have concepts of a plan for this, mini-series alert yay!! i’m writing this two hours after publishing the first part and now i keep having more and more ideas 

“Ok, and pop down,” Bucky instructed as you balanced on the palm of his hand, arms stretched out and your best performance smile on your lips.

You clamped your arms down on your side and let yourself fall, immediately feeling his hands guiding you back to the floor. 

“That was great,” you exclaimed and turned to face Bucky who seemed content with the routine.

He let go of your sides and nodded, a smug grin painted across his face.

“Yeah, we rock,” he chuckled while wiping the faint trace of sweat from his brow. You had been at this routine for over an hour now, perfecting every transition and toss to the second.

He had been insistent on finalising this as soon as his arm had recovered and was a little too happy to be the one tossing you into the air again.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Bucky asked whilst grabbing his water bottle, downing a quick gulp. He raised his eyebrows and kept his gaze on you as he waited for your response.

You nodded quickly, stretching your hand out as a signal to pass the bottle to you and he indulged.

“Can’t wait,” you answered, already giddy with excitement.

Despite the tough session, you still had lots of energy and were absolutely down for a night at Natasha’s. She was throwing what she called a little get-together, so you knew you were in for a wild night. 

“Need a ride?” Bucky’s voice was casual but based on his stance you could tell that he was expecting protests from you. 

And that he got.

“No, you don’t have to do that. It’s Friday and I’m not gonna ask you to stay sober just so you can drive me back and forth,” you objected, returning the bottle to him after taking a swig. 

“Well, you’re not asking, I’m offering. I don’t mind being the designated driver,” he protested and began moving towards the exit of the gym, one hand pressed gently against the small of your back.

“I mind,” you replied.

It didn’t seem fair to you that he was never allowed to let loose, that he never got to drink just because you couldn’t afford a car.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen you really drunk and I miss that Bucky,” you teased as he guided you out of the gym.

You saw him roll his eyes and grinned satisfied. That line had worked.

“You miss drunk me? You really are a terrible influence, you know that, doll?”

“Just making sure you don’t waste your college years.” 

After hitting the showers and changing, you waited for Bucky outside of the gym. It was still warm despite autumn making its presence known with leaves in red and golden hues. You took in the last rays of sun of the day, tilting your head backwards to let the warmth seep into your skin on your face and chest. 

“Did you hurt your neck?” Bucky’s voice had a trace of a tremble as he suddenly stood before you, eyes darting over your face to take in every inch of you, searching for a sign that something was wrong.

You chuckled and opened your eyes to look at him, eyebrows scrunched up.

“No, I’m just tanning,” you laughed and saw the relief on his face as he took in your words. A soft rose-coloured dust appeared on his cheeks as he sheepishly grinned.

“Sorry, I thought… never mind,” he stopped himself midsentence and nodded towards the car.

“Come on, let’s go,” he mumbled, his ears still a little pink as he led the way. 

You connected your phone with the speaker in his car the second you sat down and turned on the playlist that Bucky had ‘gifted’ you to your 18th birthday. 

The rhythmic strum of a guitar filled the car as Gold Dust Woman began to play while the car came to life. 

The sun set as Bucky maneuvered through the streets of your college town. You hummed quietly to the tune of the song and grabbed your phone from your bag. A message alert presented itself to you. 

wanda <3 what time do u wanna be at nats? wanna share an uber? you yeah, sounds great! like 11ish i think?

Less than ten seconds passed as you waited for the ticks of the message to turn blue, and you received a thumbs up from your friend.

When Bucky pulled into the driveway of your apartment complex, you disconnected your phone from his car. Just before you could start saying your goodbyes, Bucky spoke up: “You sure you don’t want me to drive you? I really don’t mind.”

There was a soft crease in between his brows, his blue eyes so terribly adorable as he looked at you almost pleadingly.

“No, Buck, it’s fine. Wanda just texted me and we’ll get an Uber together. Come on, we’ll have a great time tonight,” you affirmed and there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“Alright, if you say so. But I’ll hold you to that. If I don’t wake up with a pounding headache tomorrow, you’re responsible.”

“I can live with that,” you answered and propped the car door open. “See you later, thanks for driving me home.”

“Anytime, doll.”

--

It was 10:24 p.m. and you were still unsure whether you wanted to wear a skirt or a pair of pants. 

Wanda was sprawled out on your bed as you stood before her, holding the two clothing options in an alternating pattern to your body. 

Wanda and you had started to pregame the second she came over – an hour ago. Now you regretted the amount of vodka and Sprite that you had downed within sixty minutes as it clouded your head so badly that you couldn’t even make such a simple decision.

Your best friend was doing surprisingly better than you as she got off the bed and snatched the pants from your hand.

“Just wear the skirt. It looks way better with that top,” she said, and you sighed. 

“You think so?”

You turned to face the mirror, inspecting your outfit to be. 

“You’re killing me. Please, put on that skirt right now, the Uber will be here in-,“ she quickly glanced at her watch, “- 5 minutes, so yes, I think so.”

With another sigh you gave in and slipped on the skirt.

“Thank the lord,” Wanda grumbled, her face dropping into even more of a frown as she saw you turning sceptically in front of the mirror.

“Babe, your ass looks fire in this. Barnes will agree.”

Startled, you met her gaze through the mirror and crossed your arms defensively.

“Wanda, damn it, I told you, it’s not like that with us,” you murmured but stopped fiddling with the skirt.

“Whatever you say, hon,” she replied, a cocky smirk on her face but she dropped the topic and you didn’t feel like arguing.

In the last few minutes you had until the Uber arrived, you whipped out your phone to text both Natasha and Bucky that you were on the way.

Then you grabbed your bag and jacket, hooking your arm into Wanda’s and pulled her outside. 

The ride to Nat took twenty minutes in which you and Wanda continued your pregaming, the Sprite bottle (that Wanda had emptied halfway and filled up with vodka before coming to your place) alternating between her and your hand. 

The beat of the music was audible before Natasha’s house even came into view. When it did, you as always felt a pang of longing as you took in the place where she lived. She resided there all by herself, the building belonging to her family, so she didn’t even have to pay rent.

Your apartment beyond paled in comparison but it definitely had its upsides. Nat was almost expected the host. And host she did.

A disco ball that pulsed in flashing neon lights hung from the ceiling of her living room, illuminating the red cups that were placed all across the place, including a ping pong table. It truly looked like someone had collected all the most stereotypical things seen at a college party and dumped them over her house, including multiple couples in various stages of their make out session.

 Natasha greeted you with one of her typical lazy smiles, immediately pressing a can of beer into both yours and Wanda’s hand.

“Good to see you,” she yelled over the music and pulled you into a group hug. You could smell the faint scent of tequila on her breath as she exhaled, and excitement bubbled in your stomach.

“Barnes is already here,” she said, addressed to you, and nodded towards the kitchen. You raised your eyebrows but before you could respond, she gave a quick wave and disappeared into the crowd.

“Well, let’s go see your man,” Wanda teased and you were on the verge of complaining again, when she intersected, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not your man and whatnot.”

She dragged you through the living room, careful to avoid bumping into any of the other partygoers. The room already smelled faintly of sweat and spilled alcohol, or maybe it still did from the last happening that Nat had organised.

You stumbled in Wanda’s grip, feeling a little foggy from the combination of the dingy scent and also undoubtedly the alcohol in your system.

The door to the kitchen was opened, the aroma of fries and beer wafting in your direction. 

The moment you and Wanda popped your heads into the room, your heart dropped. 

Bucky stood at the kitchen island, a loose dark red shirt clinging to his muscular upper body. The top buttons were loosened and revealed his well-trained chest that you were so familiar with. His sleeves were rolled up to show of the broad forearms which had caught hundreds of your falls and helped toss you in the air twice as often.

And he was downing shot after shot with Sam and Steve.

Oh, tonight was going to be awesome.

“Hey, Buck,” you greeted him, your voice a little higher than usual.

His face twisted to the sound of your voice, the shot glass still resting on his lips and his eyes- his eyes lit up as his gaze locked on you.

“Doll,” he drawled as he put down the shot glass and staggered towards you. If you were intoxicated, he was gone.

“Hi,” you replied sweetly and he threw an arm around you, knocking you against his side. “My top girl is here,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, and you felt his breath tickle your cheek.

“Bucky, how much have you had already? Without me?” There was a tinge of concern in your voice along with amusement, while your hand rested on his back. His skin was hot to the touch, the fabric of his shirt slightly dampened.

“Only, uh,” he glanced back at Sam and Steve who looked beyond entertained and equally drunk, “A few shots?”

Steve raised his hand, bringing his thumb and pointer finger close together and nodded with the most shit-eating grin. 

“A few,” you repeated and reached for one of the cabinets of which you knew that it stored glasses.

“Well, let’s have a few sips of water as well, no?”

You filled up glass and passed it to him.

“Thought you like drunk me?” He took the glass and brought it to his lips, but he didn’t begin to drink just yet, instead he kept his eyes fixed on you.

“I do, but my favourite version of you doesn’t pass out on the couch before 1 a.m., so bottoms up,” you answered and slightly tipped the glass upwards.

He listened surprisingly well and when he put the glass down he replied: “Well, who am I to deprave you of your favourite version of me?”

The night went on and Bucky didn’t exactly sober up but he seemed to become more aware and capable throughout the night.

It wouldn’t have been a proper college party if no one had proposed a game of truth or dare. Half of the people in attendance groaned at the pitch, the rest already scrambled to sit down in a wobbly circle that resembled more of an oval.

You were perched between Bucky and Sam as you watched the first few rounds pass.

Wanda was dared to take off a piece of clothing of her choice, so she stripped down her red leather jacket.

Sam also chose dare and had to drink a half empty bottle of tequila which resulted in him heading to the bathroom only two minutes later to empty his stomach contents.

When she chose truth, Nat revealed her exact body count which left many jaws on the ground.

You wanted to choose truth as well but that received a bunch of groans from your friends and Wanda whispered: “Chicken.” 

The combined peer pressure led to you choose dare.

“I dare you,” Nat began and made a dramatic pause while her eyes wandered over the crowd, “To show us your favourite stunt after taking two shots.”

Your face warmed as you stood up and looked at Bucky, expecting him to jump to his feet.

“Doll, no,” he said softly, the words barely a whisper but you could still hear it.

“What, Buck, come on, we can do it,” you replied, your best attempt at puppy eyes displayed on your face.

“Yeah, Buck, don’t be a chicken,” Wanda heckled. She was really drunk, just the fact that she kept reusing that word made that clear.

The other players started chanting your names and you pulled Bucky to his feet.

“Don’t want you getting hurt,” he grumbled as he stood up, “jus’ cause I’m too drunk to catch you.”

Your heart warmed as you heard the worry in his voice but you shook your head softly. 

“I trust you. You’d never let me fall.”

Two disgusting shots of tequila later, the crowd had moved a few feet back to make room for you and Bucky. You quietly thanked Nat’s family for being absolutely loaded and having high ceilings.

Bucky’s hands had already found their place on your hips and heat which had nothing to do with the alcohol spread through your body.

Steve, who had occasionally did some spotting, hovered next to the two of you, hands already spread out to pitch in if you needed him to.

Bucky and you had decided on a chair sit, a stunt where you sat on Bucky’s hands, with your legs bent at the knees, while he held you up in the air.

“I won’t drop you,” he whispered, and you weren’t sure if he said it to you or to himself, just before you tightened your core and took a deep breath.

The execution was a little less steady than you were used to but you felt Bucky’s strong hands keeping you steady while you stretched out your arms, a proud smile plastered across your face. 

The way down was just as smooth as it had always been; Bucky caught you at your sides and eased you onto the ground while the rest of the group erupted into loud applause.

He slung his arm around your shoulder and only you could hear how he released a deep breath.

The game continued after your little show and you chose Steve, who went for truth.

Nat took the liberty of choosing a truth for him, making him reveal the last place he had sex (- it was the library).

After a few whoops and cheers, the room settled again and Steve grinned at Bucky. 

“My man, it’s your turn,” he hollered, slapping his friend on the shoulder with a speed that would’ve knocked over most other people.

Bucky groaned but nodded and chose truth.

“Boring,” Nat and Wanda commented at the same time, which got them an annoyed glace from Bucky.

“No, no, I know something,” Steve began and flashed his eyes at Bucky.

Nobody but you registered the way Bucky tensed at Steve’s words and he immediately blurted out: “Know what, never mind, I choose dare.”

You looked at him at surprise and your hand came up to rest on his shoulder, feeling the strained muscles under his shirt.

If you had had the opportunity to ask him if he was alright, you would have, but Bucky kept all his attention on Steve, who wriggled his eyebrows and said: “Alright, works for me.

“Buck, my friend, my partner in crime, my dearest-,” Yep, Steve was also drunk as hell, “I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in the room.”

Now it was your turn to tense up. Not because you expected Bucky to kiss you, that was not it. But because you did not want to see him making out with someone right before your eyes.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he gave Steve a glare that would have melted anyone else into the ground before he gradually, painstakingly slowly, turned to face you.

Despite the loud music pumping through the house, you heard nothing but the faint sounds of his breath as his eyes caged you in. 

Everything else, every other person disappeared, as if Earth had opened up and swallowed them whole, when Bucky leaned in, his hand resting on your cheek your blood froze when he connected your lips with his.

[writingunderneathawillow]

cheer for me (on-going series)

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 5.2k warnings: college au, probably inaccurate description of cheer, angst, light sports-related injuries, mutual pining, "we're just friends", fluff, eventual smut :)

cheer for me (2.3k) rock on (2.9k) push and pull (coming soon)

[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.”

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

[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]

cheer for me

content warnings: probably inaccurate description of competitive cheer, i did my research but am very unknowledgeable, “best friends my ass”, mutual pining, fluff, buff bucky <3, protective bucky, minor sport related injuries (bucky and reader), college au, female reader, no use of y/n, everyone’s in their twenties word count: 2.3k a/n: ok, like i said in the warnings, my knowledge of cheer is close to non-existent, but i enjoy the tiktoks that i get on my fyp (mainly daniel_buyeske) and it kinda inspired me so far this is conceptionally just a one-shot but i’d be so down to write more

“Parker, I’m so serious right now,” Bucky began, his anger palpable as his voice trembled. “Even if your grip slips,” he enunciated every single syllable, “You’re supposed to guide her down, not just let her fall. If you drop her like that one more time, it'll be your face kissing the ground.”

Drenched with sweat, aches all throughout your body and thirsty was your current status as you stepped out of the gym, already unscrewing the cap of your water bottle.

With a quick gulp you emptied half of it and wiped your face afterwards, clearing the shine from your face.

You headed for the stairs up to the locker rooms when you heard the door open and Bucky appeared.

The beat of your heart quickened as he stepped closer, a bright smile plastered across his face while he came up to you.

“Good practice?” He asked, taking the bottle from your hand and took a swig.

Sharing meals, water and even hotel rooms was nothing new to you. In fact, it was rather the norm for him and you because you had been cheering together since High School and continued to do so all the way through college.

Water pearled on his upper lip, the reflection of the fluorescent light catching in the beads, when he put the bottle back into your hands.

You watched as he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked at you expectantly.

“Yeah, I’m absolutely done for the day,” you replied honestly, the exhaustion unmistakable in your voice, as you smoothed the fly-aways across your hairline down.

Training had been strange, seeing Bucky on the sidelines, only occasionally stepping in as a spotter instead of your base.

Due to years of working together, competing together, your shared movements were in sync when you performed, a trust built off of an equal amount of friendship and hard work.

But Bucky had pulled a muscle in his arms at your last training session and his physical therapist had put him on rest for two weeks – theoretically. Despite that, Bucky still showed up to practice every day, arm drooping down at his side. He insisted on ‘staying on the ball’, which meant that he kept an eye on you as your spotter while you rehearsed the routine you and Bucky had come up with, with Peter Parker as your base.

Peter was not a bad replacement – sure, it was only his first year of college, and he had just started cheer in his senior year of High School – but he held his ground on the mat.

Still, it wasn’t the same as it felt with Bucky.

Your movements were more mechanical, focused on technique instead of instinct.

There a few close calls where you had come closer to the ground than you had intended, slipping from Peter’s grasp rather than making a smooth descent but Bucky’s arm was going to recover soon, and you’d be back on track together.

“How are you feeling?” You asked while Bucky fell into stride with you, the two of you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You eyed his left upper arm that was covered in blue tape, holding the muscle in place.

“’s fine,” he replied, flexing his hand softly. “Can’t wait to get back into action, though.”

“Not a fan of rest, huh?” Your voice was teasing, a soft edge to it that he was more than used to.

“Nope, not at all.” He popped the ‘p’, and his fingers twitched again as if all his pent up energy was stored in the appendage he was supposed to keep still.

Gently, you placed your hand on his arm, feeling the tape rest against his warm skin and trailed your finger over the pattern which the overlapping edges created.

“You’ll be just fine, Buck. The more you let your arm rest, the quicker you’ll get to throw me in the air again.” A playful smile accompanied your words, and you saw Bucky’s demeanour shift, a glint in his eyes that promised trouble.

“Bet you’re more eager for that than I am. Parker’s not doing it for you?” His eyebrows wriggled and the expression along with his choice of words made you laugh.

“Let’s just say I have a base that I prefer,” you answered and softly nudged him with your hip, earning a grin from him.

The pale off white door of the girl’s locker room came into view and Bucky nodded to you.

“Don’t drown in yourself in the shower, ‘kay? We still on for later?”

The plan for the rest of the evening was for him to drive you home where you’d watch a movie together, relax a little and just spend time.

With a good-humoured eye roll you nodded and replied: “Yeah, we are. I’ll be quick.”

You opened the door and slipped into the tiled room, heading straight for the stalls.

The soothing warmth of the water eased your muscles a bit as you washed away the sweat and effort of your workout, the familiar smell of apples and cinnamon filling your nose as you opened your body wash.

Careful not to get your hair wet, you lathered the cleanser all over your skin and watched as the foamy water swirled down the drain.

After you changed into your casual clothes, you left the locker room to find Bucky waiting for you. He leaned against the wall, one leg propped up as he scrolled on his phone. As soon as he heard the door open, he looked up and met your eyes, pocketing his cell with one smooth motion and pushed himself into a standing position.

“You all done?” He inquired and you nodded.

While you walked to his car his uninjured arm brushed up against yours, sending electric tingles through your entire nervous system.

Despite the fact that your shared hobby promised a lot of physical contact, whether that was while he was propelling you off the ground or carried you on his shoulders, the sensation of his skin on yours was different in casual moments. It felt even more intimate, not born from a desire to win a competition but rather a simpler gesture: the need to be close to you.

And you would be a liar if you said it didn’t scare you.

When both of you were sophomores in High School, you had started working together and he quickly became your favourite partner to cheer with. Not only because he never, ever dropped you but because you had a connection with him that ventured and flourished outside of the gym.

You couldn’t – no, you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel more for him, none of those tingly feelings, no heartwarming moments that made you think heaven had come down on earth – nothing that was more than what two friends shared.

So, you brushed it off. You pretended that it didn’t affect you when he looked at you, only you, in a room full of people. That you were the person whose reaction he anticipated first, whenever he told a joke. You ignored the way your heart fluttered when his body came into contact with yours.

There was no room for complications in your life, not when your entire future depended on your undivided attention when it came to cheer.

Both you and Bucky had received scholarships that allowed you to finance your life and your education through your athletic abilities. To make even a single mistake in your relationship could cost you everything you had worked for.

Therefore, you swallowed your feelings, buried them deep in your heart and put a lock around it. No distractions, no interruptions, nothing – for his sake and your own.

The car ride was easy, everything with Bucky was easy. Conversation flowed like ink, laughter was exchanged and time passed way too quickly.

Even though the promise of an entire evening with him awaited you, you felt your heart clench a little when Bucky pulled into your driveway while you were already on your phone to order in Italian.

Every second that ticked by was a second less that you had with him.

Live in the moment for once, you told yourself, he’s here now.

So you unlocked the front door of your apartment. It wasn’t much, you were already barely able to afford it with your part-time job, but you had truly made it your own. Also, it came with added benefit of having no roommate, unlike Bucky’s student accommodation that he shared with his best friends, Steve and Sam.

He slipped off his shoes and plopped down on the couch as if he was at home – which was something you adored. There had been times where your friendship was is crisis. A few too many comments from his friends, his delightful but nagging mother who tried to set you up multiple time, they had strained the wall that you had spent a lot of time building to create enough distance between you two to work together fluidly in the gym but not so much that you felt detached from one another.

Neither of you had given in to the temptation, not even one date because neither of you wanted to risk the trust and agility you relied on while you were at practice.

To remember that time hurt – his aloofness, your one-word-answers – all of that came to the back of your mind with an aching sensation no icepack could cure.

But you were fine, now. Better than fine. You worked like a well-oiled machine.

“Food’s gonna be here in…,” you slipped out your phone and opened the delivery app, “…15 minutes. You want something to drink?”

Bucky looked up from the couch and nodded.

You advanced through your apartment and grabbed two cans of beer from the fridge, remnants from the last birthday party you had thrown just weeks ago.

After passing one can to him, you sank into the couch, stretching your legs out. The soft cushions were like heaven on your sore muscles and Bucky almost subconsciously placed your feet onto his lap, thumbs pressing softly into the sore tissue of your soles.

“You can just turn on the TV until the food’s here if you want,” you murmured and let yourself get lost in the sensation of Bucky’s massage.

After a few moments, you felt him bend forwards, his chest brushing up against your shins, as he reached for the remote.

Soft voices from the sitcom that was playing, filled your living room, and Bucky leaned back again, one hand still resting on your ankle. He drew soft circles on your skin. That sensation along with the chatter from the TV lulled you into a half-sleep, dipping in and out of awareness until the doorbell rang.

With a sigh you meant to straighten up, but Bucky pushed you back onto the couch and removed your feet from your lap.

“I got it, doll.”

The nickname made your stupid heart flutter and you swallowed both your feelings and your protests as he stood up and opened the door.

The sound of his voice carried over to you as he accepted the food and thanked the delivery driver.

“Food’s here,” he announced after he closed the door and held up the paper bags.

“You don’t say.”

“Hey, none of that sass, or I won’t share the bruschetta.”

Despite your insistence that you could just take the bus to the gym, Bucky picked you up a few days later, swearing that he was in the neighbourhood anyway and gave you a lift.

He was still under strict instruction to give his arm a break but he couldn’t be persuaded to stay at home while you trained.

That’s how you, once again, found yourself standing on the rubber floor of your school’s gym, with Bucky standing to your left instead of in his usual spot behind you.

That one was still occupied by Peter who had enthusiastically greeted you. Something about his vibe was off today. He already had way too much energy ninety percent of the time but today he moved around like a bouncy ball on crack.

One quick survey of the bleachers and you saw the reason for his nerves. Michelle Jones, Peter’s “she’s not my girlfriend, I think” sat in one of the seats, face half hidden by a notebook but her attention clearly on the spot where the three of you stood.

And Peter’s attention was on her.

The second time he let you slip from his grip, prompting Bucky again to reach for you, stabilising your body before it could smack onto the floor, you almost heard how his teeth ground.

“Watch it, Parker,” he grumbled and gave the younger man a slap on the back of his head.

Peter mumbled an apology and you could see that he was truly trying to focus.

Your ankles had begun to hurt from the less than gentle landing on the mat and you rolled your feet a few times to shake the tension.

“Let’s try again,” you said to the both of them and stepped into your default position, right in front of Peter.

For the next few minutes, things went a lot better. You landed a couple of rewinds and cupies, and each time you made a safe descent to the floor.

However, your streak of success didn’t last.

During one of your stunts, you were balancing on one foot on Peter’s hand and for a second, sincerely just a second, he looked up at the bleachers, his grip loosening enough to send you tumbling down.

Your feet knocked into his chest, causing him to yelp out and stumble, and your face would have met the ground, if Bucky hadn’t immediately scrambled forward, catching you just around your hips with one arm.

“You okay?” His question came out like a gasp as he placed your feet on the ground and gripped your shoulders.

“I’m fine,” you replied, a panicked smile on your face as you felt the adrenaline flush your system.

His eyes softened and his thumb just barely grazed over your cheek before he turned to Peter, whose entire face was turning a deeper shade of red with every second.

“Parker, I’m so serious right now,” Bucky began, his anger palpable as his voice trembled.

“Even if your grip slips,” he enunciated every single syllable, “You’re supposed to guide her down, not just let her fall. If you drop her like that one more time, it'll be your face kissing the ground.”

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]

his present (the winter soldier x fem!reader)

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ 18+ mdni please please NON/CON (I mean it) Rough, dark smut, depressing, pain, blood, angst, fem!reader, no use of y/n summary: The Winter Soldier's need is out of control. HYDRA gives him a gift. You. word count: 964

The Winter Soldier was insatiable. His diverse handlers had figured that out quickly. Most times, they refused him any pleasure at all. They thought it motivated him. Made him angrier. More brutal. More efficient.

But there came a time where he was so pent up, so desperate for release that it affected his usually flawless performance as a killing machine.

Less focused, desperate and sloppy.

Harder to control.

He had killed seven people in the last three days, all of them had been ripped to shreds and many years were going to pass until every last part of them was found.

The HYDRA agents tried to drug him, dominate him, make him calm down. Nothing helped him.

His need was overpowering and any medication that they gave him to incapacitate him, burned away in his overheating system.

So, instead, they found him a toy.

A girl.

They had taken her in, months ago. Her memory had been erased, her body exposed to multiple tests. She had failed them all and was considered useless.

But with the Winter Soldier’s unappeasable hunger, she had gained a purpose.

They dragged her to his cell, her eyes closed and limbs dragging over the cold floor, unconscious.

The Winter Soldier stood at the furthest corner of the room, eyes following their every movement. And then his gaze fell onto her.

She wore a flimsy hospital gown, slashed and bloodied from weeks of abuse. He took in her disheveled state, her lack of awareness. The unbroken parts of her skin were pure. Soft. Desirable.

They threw her in front of his feet and a pained gasp escaped her mouth, her body shaking with pain.

“For you,” one of the agents said. “A present. Get what you need but let her live.”

The door fell shut behind them and the Winter Soldier and the girl were alone in the room.

She still remained unmoving, whimpering on the floor while he stepped closer, scrutinizing her, running his metal fingers over her exposed skin.

Every part of her body was ice cold and his artificial fingers left a trail of goosebumps.

Another sharp intake of breath echoed through the room as he pulled her closer, flipping her onto her back.

He truly was filled with limitless desire.

Both his hands, flesh and metal, ghosted over her as he ripped the hospital gown off, leaving her bare in front of him, slipping in and out of awareness.

His eyes took in every curve of her body, every dip of her frame. Hunger, that before had been distracting, now turned into overwhelming.

With few movements his tactical gear fell to the floor and his own body was exposed.

His rock-hard length pressed against his stomach as he pushed her legs apart.

This seemed to bring her back to reality, as whimpers escaped her lips.

She was pleading.

“Please, don’t.”

The Winter Soldier had heard many people beg. Men, Women, Children. None of them sounded as sweet and hopeless as she did.

As always, her imploring fell onto deaf ears.

He caged her in between his arms, his legs restraining hers from closing as he lined up with her entrance.

His throbbing need brushed up against her and her cries became louder.

“No, no, no,” she screamed until a sharp thrust shut her up.

A throaty and deep groan broke from his lips, as he inched forward into her, feeling her tight walls gripping him and attempting to prevent him from entering fully.

She was flailing around, her arms shoving at his chest and breathless weeps begging him to stop.

He pushed further and felt a warm liquid around him. Her blood seeped out between them as he his hips finally met hers and he was fully buried in her.

When he pulled out again, there was less resistance, her own blood helping his movements become smoother and therefore faster.

Her sobs hadn’t stilled yet but they were quieter. She had given up on begging for him to stop, instead she only whispered quiet words of defiance.

He ignored them, only focused on how tight she felt around him. He thrusted inwards again and moaned.

This was heaven.

Within seconds he had found a rhythm that brought him close to the edge. It had been too long since they had allowed him to find any kind of relief. His balls were slapping against her entrance, filled with his seed to the brim and threatening to explode.

He pumped into her while burying her under his body.

The sounds that filled his cell were ungodly. His dark grunts, her quiet whimpers, the slap of skin on skin.

Heat flowed through his body, building up in his stomach as he dove in and out of her and his release was closing in.

With a deep grunt and a final thrust, he finally felt his pleasure washing over him.

He was heaving, shaking, buried inside of her as his spent coated her walls and leaked out between them, even with him still stuffed into her.

When he pulled out with a groan, he missed her warmth immediately.

His eyes darted over her body, used and broken in front of him. His seed and her blood formed a pool between her legs. Her chest rose slowly, the only movement that proved that she was still alive.

He wasn’t supposed to feel regret. He wasn’t supposed to feel, period.

But he did.

As he watched her slowly curl up into a ball, crimson staining skin and cold sweat coating her, his heart ached. It was a sensation so unfamiliar to him that it almost triggered his fight or flight instinct.

He retreated carefully, quietly.

While his gaze was fixed on her, he heard her sobs. And it tugged at his heartstrings, releasing his mind just a little from the dark place it had been stuck in for 70 years.