MINORS DNI 18+

DUNE

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

PAUL ATREIDES/FEYD-RAUTHA

we dream of knives – one shot. angst.

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

CHANI KYNES/IRULAN CORRINO

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you’ve been walking for hours.

the snow crunches under your boots, soft and stubborn. it’s early, not quite morning, not quite night. that weird blue hour where the trees blur together and everything looks like a painting. ellie’s a few feet ahead of you, rifle slung over her shoulder, her other hand jammed in her pocket. she’s humming something under her breath, low and tuneless. probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

you’d followed her out this morning for patrol. well, you offered. she didn’t say no, just raised her eyebrows and said, “hope you’re not squeamish." you’re not. mostly.

but now, hours in, no infected in sight, she’s kneeling in the snow next to a fallen log, flipping through her beat up sketchbook. her gloves are hanging out of her pocket, her fingers red from the cold as she shades something in with a pencil. you awkwardly hover behind her, “what’re you drawing?” you ask, voice soft like it might break something.

ellie glances up at you, a smudge of graphite on her cheekbone. she shrugs. “just saw a rabbit earlier. figured i’d get it down before i forgot.”

you lean over her shoulder, watching the strokes of her pencil. the sketch is rough but careful, ellie’s kind of careful. like she’s scared of getting it wrong but doesn’t wanna show it.

“you’re really good,” you say.

she makes a face like she doesn’t believe you. “sure.”

you chew your lip, glancing at the empty space on the corner of the page. “can i… try?”

ellie blinks. “seriously?”

“yeah.” you shrug, trying to act casual. “i used to doodle stuff. nothing good.”

she hesitates, like she’s about to make a joke. then she just passes the sketchbook to you and says, “don’t fuck it up.” but her tone is warm and teasing. safe.

you sit down next to her on the log, your thighs brushing, the cold seeping through your jeans. the pencil’s warm from her hand. you look at the blank corner and freeze up a little.

“shit,” you mutter. “how do you even start?”

ellie leans in, her shoulder pressed to yours. “just find the shape first. don’t think about the details.”

you glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, her mouth half quirked up in this lopsided grin that makes your stomach do something annoying.

you try to draw a bird. you saw one earlier—a little brown thing that darted through the trees like it had somewhere important to be. your lines are shaky, clumsy. your rabbit looks more like a lumpy sock. you scowl. ellie snorts.

“okay, rude,” you say.

“what? i didn’t say anything.”

you nudge her with your elbow and she laughs, low and scratchy. “nah, it’s not that bad,” she adds. “here, lemme…”

she takes the pencil from you and lightly draws over your lines, fixing the shape, softening the angles. her hand rests over yours, steady and sure, and you swear you forget how to breathe for a second.

you look up at her. she’s close. too close. but you don’t move.

“see?” she murmurs. “not bad.”

you nod, eyes still on her, and for a second, the snow stops falling and the cold doesn’t matter and the whole world feels quiet.

ellie blinks down at you. her voice, when she speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“you, uh… ever come out here just to hang?”

you smile. “maybe i will.”

she grins, it looked crooked and nervous, but it was cute.

you stay like that for a while. shoulders touching, breath clouding in the cold, sketchbook balanced between you. maybe the hunt wasn’t the point after all.

— NO GOGGLES MARK IS A N⛧STY BASTARD !

cw. +18, smut, minors dni, fem!reader, obsession, sadomasochism, body horror, pervert!mark, mark is freaky and kinda disgusting. mark is portrayed as an utterly depraved, unhinged, and feral menace with zero boundaries and no concept of morality.

No Goggles Mark who wants to live inside you. Not just be close to you, not just hold you—he wants to be underneath your skin, inside your muscles, crawling through your veins, living inside your bones. He tells you this while holding you close, his breath shaking, his hands trembling against your body, his eyes wild and desperate. He wants to tear you open and crawl inside your ribcage, wrap himself around your heart so he can hear it beating for him and only him.

No Goggles Mark who wears your panties as a mask. He steals them straight out of your laundry, rubs them against his face, breathes you in like it’s the only air he’s ever known. He wears them while he sleeps, fights, eats, touches himself—he wears them like a second skin, because he wants you against him at all times. If you ever catch him? He doesn’t stop. He just grins, drags his tongue over the fabric, and asks if you’re gonna take them off his face yourself.

No Goggles Mark who jerks off to your voice. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying—you could be scolding him, cursing him, telling him you hate him—it only makes him harder. He closes his eyes, fists his cock, and moans your name, imagining your lips whispering filth into his ear, spitting on him, degrading him, breaking him apart.

No Goggles Mark who licks your toothbrush after you use it. He doesn’t even hesitate—as soon as you set it down, he grabs it, shoves it in his mouth, moaning as he drags it over his tongue. The taste of your spit, the remnants of your breath—it’s better than any drug, better than any high, better than any orgasm. If you ever catch him? He just stares, grinning around the toothbrush, sucking on it like he’s trying to absorb every part of you into himself.

No Goggles Mark who wants to chew on you. Not just bite—chew. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder and gnaw, leave indentations, bruises, proof that he was there, that he marked you, that he tasted you. He fantasizes about it when he’s alone, his fingers in his mouth, pretending they’re your flesh, pretending he’s eating you alive, pretending you’re letting him.

No Goggles Mark who keeps your hair in his mouth. If he finds a strand of your hair? It goes straight between his lips. He chews on it, rolls it over his tongue, swallows it down so you can be inside him forever. He doesn’t care if it’s weird, if it’s disgusting—it makes him feel closer to you, like he’s absorbing a piece of you into himself.

No Goggles Mark who wants to cut you open just to see what you look like inside. He doesn’t want to hurt you—he just wants to know. He wants to see what your muscles look like when they stretch, what your bones feel like under his fingers, what your insides smell like when they’re raw and open for him. He tells you this while holding you in his lap, his fingers tracing over your stomach, his breath hot against your neck, whispering how beautiful you must be underneath all this skin.

No Goggles Mark who wants to replace the air in your lungs with his breath. He kisses you so deep, so desperately, so hungrily that he wants you to choke on him. He wants your lungs to be filled with him, wants every breath you take to be something he’s given you. He kisses you so hard your lips bruise, your jaw aches, your body trembles—because if he could crawl inside your mouth and live there, he would.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be the only thing inside you. No food, no water, no air—just him. He wants you so full of him that you can’t think, can’t move, can’t exist without him. He wants his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his very existence buried so deep inside you that even if you tried to rip him out, you couldn’t.

No Goggles Mark who cums to the sound of your heartbeat. He loves pressing his head against your chest, feeling the rhythm of your pulse, knowing that your body is alive, that you are real, that you belong to him. And when you’re asleep? He jerks off to it. He strokes himself slow, groaning into your skin, matching his pace to the beat of your heart, imagining his cum soaking into your very existence.

No Goggles Mark who licks your sweat straight from your skin. He doesn’t care if you’re overheated, exhausted, drenched from the summer sun—he’s got his tongue dragging along your neck, your stomach, the dip of your spine. He groans against you, grinding his cock against your leg like a bitch in heat, smearing himself all over you.

No Goggles Mark who would shove his fingers into your mouth just to feel your teeth on him. He watches your lips wrap around them, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming out in shudders as he imagines those teeth digging into his cock, those lips sucking him raw, those soft noises muffled by his fingers pressing against your tongue.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck your thighs like a desperate animal. He doesn’t even need to be inside you—just the feeling of your soft skin, your warmth, your scent surrounding him, trapping him, ruining him—it’s enough. He ruts against you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock rubbing between your thighs, his moans loud and shameless as he fucks himself against you until he spills hot and thick all over your skin.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck himself with your underwear. If he can’t have you? He’ll make do with what he has. He takes your panties, wraps them around his cock, thrusts into them like a fucking maniac, his breath ragged, his moans broken, his eyes rolling back because the thought of your scent, your warmth, your essence surrounding him is driving him insane.

No Goggles Mark who wants to make you cry during sex. Not from pain, not from fear—from being so overwhelmed by pleasure, by love, by him. He wants to see the tears spill down your cheeks, wants to kiss them away, wants to feel them on his tongue as he whispers, “Shhh, shhh, let me take care of you.” But it only gets worse when you do—because seeing you so broken, so vulnerable, so utterly his? It makes him cum on spot.

No Goggles Mark who gets off on overstimulating you until you’re shaking. You say you can’t take anymore? He doesn’t care. He’s still touching you, still licking, still thrusting, still rubbing, watching as your body spasms, as your voice breaks, as you sob from the pleasure that won’t stop. He holds you down, pressing kisses to your ear, whispering how much he loves you, how good you are, how beautiful you look when you’re falling apart for him.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck you while you’re asleep. Not in a cruel way—but in a desperate, aching, worshipful way. He can’t help himself. You’re so warm, so soft, so perfect. He grinds against you, his breath shaky, his hips rolling slow, his cock pressing between your legs as he whimpers against your ear. If you wake up, if you catch him—he’ll only beg for more as he keeps moving, burying himself deeper, moaning about how he needs you, how he can’t live without this, without you.

No Goggles Mark who has a thing for your period. The second he catches the scent of it, his pupils blow wide, his breath stutters, his body shakes because he knows. He knows. He groans just thinking about it, about the way your body is raw, aching, open, needing him. He begs for it—pleads, whimpers, claws at you, his voice broken, desperate, because he wants it, needs it, craves it like he’s starving. If you let him? He moans against you, his eyes rolling back, his body trembling like he’s reached nirvana. He tells you you’ve never been more beautiful, never been more perfect, never been more his.

No Goggles Mark who wants you to hurt him. Scratch him, slap him, choke him—make him bleed, make him feel it, make him remember that he belongs to you. He laughs when you hit him, moans when you dig your nails into his flesh, shudders when you sink your teeth into his skin. He begs for more, begs for you to ruin him, begs for you to make him suffer because he wants it, he loves it, he craves it. If you ever whisper sweet things to him after? He breaks. He cries, shakes, whimpers into your chest like a ruined, pathetic thing.

No Goggles Mark who wants to drink your spit. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, tells you to spit in it like he’s a dog waiting for a treat. He wants it, all of it, every last drop. He moans when he swallows, rolls it around his tongue, sighs like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. If you ever call him disgusting? He just grins, licks his lips, and tells you that he’d drink your bathwater too.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be your personal punch bag. He wants you to use him, break him, push him past the point of no return. He wants you to drag your nails over his chest until it’s raw, bite his neck until it bruises, kick him away just to pull him back. If you punch him, slap him, spit in his face? He moans. He laughs. He grabs your wrist and shoves your hand back, begging you to do it again, harder, worse, meaner, because he loves it, he lives for it, he needs it.

No Goggles Mark who wants you to mark him. Not just hickeys or scratches—he wants scars. He wants to be ruined by you, wants to carry your violence like a badge of honor, wants to feel the sting of your love in every movement. If you ever cut him open, ever sink your nails deep enough to draw blood, ever slam him into a wall so hard he sees stars? He smiles, whispers ‘thank you,’ and kisses you like you’re his god.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be your favorite toy. Not your boyfriend, not your lover—your toy. Something to play with, to use, to throw away when you’re done. He wants to be on his knees for you, under your foot, bruised and battered and desperate, because he doesn’t want to be your equal—he wants to be owned. If you ever ignore him, ever tease him, ever dangle what he wants just out of reach? He whines, begs, claws at your clothes, presses himself against you like an animal in heat, because nothing is worse than being without you.

No Goggles Mark who wants to melt into you. He wants his skin to fuse with yours, his bones to dissolve into your body, his soul to entangle with yours so completely that you’re no longer two people—you’re one. He whispers this against your lips, his voice shaking, his body trembling, his fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to hold himself together, because the thought of not being part of you is worse than death.

Because you are his.

Forever.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

hi lovely! could i request a bucky barnes x female reader fic where the reader is on her period and comes home absolutely exhausted from a long day at work? she's crampy, moody, and just DONE. but bucky is the sweetest and takes care of her in all the best ways (wink wink). a little comforting + spicy combo? soft!bucky being extra gentle and attentive would be amazing. thank you!

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

warning for period sex if that makes you uncomfy. (the blood descriptions aren't really graphic but just in case!)

the door clicked softly as you stepped inside, the quiet of your apartment a stark contrast to the chaos of your day. the relentless meetings, the endless emails, the pressure of deadlines, everything had piled up, and the world felt like it was leaning just a little too heavily on your shoulders. and to make matters worse, your period had hit hard today, with cramps that had you feeling like you were being twisted in every direction.

you kicked off your shoes at the door, your limbs heavy and exhausted, the only thing on your mind being the thought of curling up on the couch and disappearing into a world of blankets and comfort. you barely had the strength to take off your jacket before you heard his voice from the other room.

“hey,” bucky’s voice called, warm and inviting. “you home?”

“yeah,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh as you leaned against the doorframe. the world felt like it was spinning, and you just couldn’t muster the energy to fake being okay.

bucky appeared from the living room, a soft smile on his face. his eyes softened immediately when they landed on you. his hands, usually so confident and steady, seemed to reach out for you with a tenderness you could never get used to. it was usually like this with him. his care never came in bursts, it was always consistent, unwavering.

“long day?” he asked, the concern clear in his voice as he crossed the room toward you.

“yeah,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm. “just... a lot. and cramps. ugh, it’s just... too much.”

he immediately moved toward you, his hands going to your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until his touch made you aware of it. he was always so in tune with you, reading the unspoken signals you never even realized you were sending.

“you want to sit down?” he asked softly, already guiding you toward the couch. you nodded in gratitude, feeling your body practically melt against his gentle insistence. as you sat, he moved to grab a throw blanket, draping it across your lap. his touch was tender, like he was handling something fragile, though you didn’t feel fragile in his care, just loved.

bucky had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, even in your most exhausting moments. he didn’t need to say much; his presence alone was enough. he knew when you wanted space, when you needed silence, and when you needed his comforting touch.

“how about i make us some tea?” he suggested, his voice low and comforting. “i could use a little break, too. you want some ginger or chamomile? or both?”

your smile was small, but it felt like the first real one all day. “chamomile sounds perfect.”

he nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen. you listened to the quiet sound of him moving around, the clink of mugs, the soft hum of the kettle. it was nice. simple. it was the kind of sound that made you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be.

bucky returned moments later, his hands carefully carrying two steaming mugs. he sat next to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between you. he handed you one of the mugs, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“how’s the back, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes searching your face.

“better now that i’m sitting down,” you said, leaning back into the cushions, feeling the warmth of the blanket and tea start to ease your discomfort.

bucky watched you for a moment, his brows knitting together with a protective concern. he’d seen you struggle with this before, but he could never quite get used to the sight of you not feeling like yourself.

“i know it’s not much,” he said softly, his fingers brushing through your hair, “but if there’s anything i can do to help, just let me know.”

his words, simple as they were, were a balm to your soul. you didn’t even realize how much you needed to hear them until he said them. he didn’t expect anything from you, didn’t push you to talk or make you feel like you had to smile. he just gave. and that was more than enough.

“i just need you here, buck,” you whispered, leaning into him a little more, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

bucky immediately wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his embrace warm and grounding. his fingers traced slow circles along your arm, the motion rhythmic and soothing. he didn’t speak for a while, just letting you lean against him and drink your tea in quiet comfort.

the silence wasn’t awkward. not with him. it was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing at once. a peaceful, unspoken understanding between the two of you that you didn’t need words to be comfortable in each other’s company.

“tell me if you want something more, baby,” bucky murmured after a while, his voice a little raspy. his thumb continued its slow, calming circles on your arm. “anything at all.”

you hummed softly, a content sound. “'m good..”

his eyes softened as he looked down at you, his lips pulling into a gentle smile. he didn’t respond with words, just tightened his arm around you in a way that made you feel safe and cared for. his warmth was a shield against the world outside, and in his arms, you could finally let go.

“okay,” he said simply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “just let me hold you– for as long as you need.”

you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into the kind of quiet peace you could only find in his presence. bucky was everything you needed in this moment: patient, kind, and so incredibly thoughtful. he didn’t try to fix you, didn’t tell you to feel better or to stop being upset. he just let you be. and that, in itself, was the greatest comfort. you had everything you needed right here, in his arms. and for the first time today, everything felt okay. his touch was firm but gentle, as he rubbed soft circles over your back, the pads of his fingers tracing aimless patterns against your shoulders. he knew you probably wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he simply held you close, his heartbeat steady and reassuring. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

your hands gently squeeze his big forearms, his forearms flexed automatically under your touch, the firm muscle shifting beneath your fingertips. he gave you a small smile, his hands continuing to move in slow, soothing circles over your back. “you alright?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a murmur. "cramps are bad.." you mumble, your voice strained from the sharp feeling in your stomach.

his expression shifted, the lines of his face softening even further as he listened to you. he could tell that your cramps were giving you hell, and a protective instinct flared in him. he shifted you gently so that you were nestled even more closely against him, his fingers continuing their soft, rhythmic movements. he made a sympathetic sound, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your shoulder. “i’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “is there anything else i can do? heat pack? more tea?” he shifted a little, trying to get a better look at your face.

you prop your chin up onto his shoulder, giving him those pretty doe eyes. his heart softened even more at the look in your eyes, the expression so impossibly sweet that he couldn’t help but melt. he let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving to tuck stray pieces of hair behind your ear. “oh, there you go,” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. he leaned in a little, tilting his head to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “can’t say no to those pretty eyes,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “name it, doll. tea, hot pack, back rub, foot rub- i’m yours to command.” his hand slid down to gently massage the inside of your knee.

you gently gnaw on your puffy bottom lip, debating whether to ask him, unaware if he would be comfortable. he noticed the way you were gnawing at your lip, your hesitation and need so obvious that he didn't even have to verbalize it. he could see the mix of desire and uncertainty in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking. his hand continued its gentle massaging of your knee, and he met your gaze with a soft smirk. "go ahead and ask," he murmured, his voice tender. his gaze flickered down as you nipped at your lip, and a sharp stab of desire shot through him, his fingers tightening momentarily around your knee. he swallowed a little thickly, torn between wanting to give you whatever you needed and holding back, not wanting to press you when you were in pain.

"um... well i was just wondering... well yaknow..." you nervously mumble, your eyes flicking down to his thighs.

he shifted a little, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. his expression was patient and open, waiting silently for you to continue. he could read the hesitation and shyness in your body language, and he let his hand slide from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb absently tracing the line of your bottom lip, where you'd been biting at it. "go on," he murmured, gentle and encouraging.

"you know there's ways to relive cramps.." you shyly mumble. you hadn't done anything too nasty with him, sex was a rarity in your relationship anyway.

he caught on immediately, his hand flexed at side, fingers twitching, wanting to touch you more. he leaned in a little, the hand that was still on your knee shifting to gently squeeze it, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble. "yeah?" he murmured, "and what would that involve?" he knew exactly what you were hinting at, but he just wanted to make complete sure.

you mumble his name and his heart leapt a little at the sound of his name from your mouth, soft and pleading, and the desire and tenderness in your voice had his self control fraying at the edges. his expression shifted to one of near-overwhelming adoration, his hand releasing your knee to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking over the soft curve of your cheekbone. his other hand slid down to your thigh, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin, and he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "i'm right here," he murmured. you kiss him. and he responded eagerly, his lips moving against yours in a slow, sensual kiss, his hand at your jaw moving to cup the back of your head, holding you close. it was a little desperate, almost as if he wanted to drown out the pain he could sense in your body, replace it with only the heady, overwhelming feeling of wanting and being wanted. he nipped gently at your bottom lip, tugging softly, before his tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the heat of your kiss and the sweetness of your desire.

it had been a long day. and all you needed was some relief. the two of you had been curled up together on the couch, lazily kissing, your body pressed against his. the warmth and the comfort of his body had a soothing effect, and the simple, easy intimacy had slowly been growing more heated, both of you craving the closeness. in a moment his hips had pushed up, slotting between your thighs, and without any words he was guiding you down onto him, your bodies joining and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. he groaned softly, the sound deep and rough in his throat, as you sank down onto him, his head falling back against the couch. he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close, and he murmured your name like a prayer, his eyes closing and his expression going utterly blissed

your body was a soft, warm weight on top of his, your skin a smooth, delicate contrast to the hard muscle and rougher scars of his own. he shifted his hips a little, his hand sliding down to grip at your thigh, a strangled gasp leaving his throat at the feeling of you wrapped around him. your blood slipped down his thick shaft, leaving it's warm mark. "god, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a quiet, rough whisper that was almost lost in the heavy, tension-filled silence of the room. he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips trailing down to bite gently at your collarbone.

he could feel the way you tensed and relaxed against him, the way your body seemed to melt as he filled you, and a wave of affection and protectiveness washed over him. as he felt the pain and tension start to ease from your body, he murmured soft, soothing words, "that's it, sweetheart, i've got you. i've got you." he shifted, his hips moving lazily underneath you, and he groaned silently as he felt you press against him, your bodies fitting together like they were made for this. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you gently but firmly in place, and he buried his face into your neck. your blood gathered into his rough pubic hair, neither fresh-cut nor forgotten, just in-between. it caught in the hair before gravity slowly guided it down his flesh. it didn’t rush. it painted. smearing across the surface of his shaft like thick ink, glinting like a dark ruby under soft light.

"stay— still—" you moan out. and he immediately obeyed your command, going perfectly still underneath you, his hands gripping you a little harder, his body tense and expectant. he let out a soft, strangled groan, the unexpectedness of your command sending a sharp jolt of need through him. he was desperate to keep moving, but he would wait and obey your every word, his eyes half lidded as he looked up at you, breathless and tense.

he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the effort it took him to keep still. his hands flexed once, involuntarily, on your thighs, the desire to move almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to remain obedient, to do as you told him. he could feel the heat and tension building between the two of you, like electricity crackling in the air, and his head fell back against the couch cushion as he let out a low, strangled groan.

half a hour passed like this, with you sitting on his lap, his body trembling with the effort of keeping still. his expression taut with need, but he obeyed your command to remain motionless. the only sound in the room was the harsh breaths the two of you exchanged, and the occasional whine or gasp that escaped his lips. it was a slow and torturous pleasure, the sensations building and building with no release, and bucky could feel the tension and anticipation coiled tight in his stomach. finally, finally, you let him move. he didn't need to be told twice, his body moving before his mind could even catch up. his hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he began to move beneath you. he was desperate, rough and almost feral in his movements, his control snapped clean in half as he finally, finally got the friction he craved. he let out a sharp groan, the sound low and ragged, as he found a fast and steady rhythm, his body moving with yours as he chased his pleasure. your blood came thick, still spilling slow and hot, like something torn open too suddenly. it didn't trickle it gushed, still coating his shaft in a deep, slick red that clung to his skin, and the couch. he shuddered against you, hips rocking hard against yours, a low groan came out his lips as he found his release, the pleasure washing over him in a wave so intense it had him seeing stars for a moment, his vision going white and his back arching up of the couch. his lungs screaming for air as he panted desperately, the pleasure and tension slowly easing. he fell back against the couch, body shaking slightly, the aftershocks of his release still lingering along his nerve endings. as he finally relaxed, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded, his face flushed. you're both lying still together, your bodies tangled up on the couch in a mess of limbs and bloody skin. sweat glistens on both your bodies, the smell of sex heavy in the air. between your bodies, a sticky, bloody, wet mess of release slowly oozes down both of your thighs. bucky is panting softly against your skin, his body still trying to come down from the high, his hand rubbing up and down your back in a gentle, soothing motion.

his breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the soft, shaky gasps as he tries to catch his breath, his body still trembling a little. he lets out a small, soft moan, his hand grasping at your hip, his fingers just barely pressing against the skin. he's still holding you close to him, his grip firm and protective, as if he wants to keep you close and never let you go. he's trying to find words, but he's still too speechless from the intensity of his orgasm, his mind hazy. your bodies are both still shaking a little, the aftershocks of your lovemaking still lingering on your skin. he finally speaks, his voice still gruff and rough, a low sound against the sensitive skin of your neck. "you alright?" he murmurs sweetly, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his touch unexpectedly gentle. that rare kind of gentleness he only ever showed you.

"feel better." you mumble, a soft relieved smile on your face, your cramps subsided for now. he nodded, "good, that's good, sweetheart." he murmured, his voice a little rougher than usual, still tinged with the echoes of the intense pleasure he'd experienced just moments before. his gaze was soft and tender, his expression almost adoring as he looked up at you, his eyes drifting over your face, taking in every little detail.

you exhaled slowly, sinking into the softness of the moment, the weight of the day finally peeling away.

you brush your fingers through his hair, it was soft, a little damp with sweat, sticking up in places from your touch. a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned down, slow and unhurried, resting his head lightly on your belly. you felt him breathe there, felt the way his whole body relaxed against yours like you were home for him, too. neither of you said anything for a while. there wasn’t much that needed saying.

eventually, he shifted just enough to press a delicate kiss to your before curling up beside you, pulling the blankets over both of you with that one strong arm of his. his other hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing without a second thought. he whispered something into your hair. you smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you sank into his warmth. bucky pressed another kiss to your temple, and then you both went quiet again, wrapped in soft blankets and softer love, the storm of the day left behind. you were tired, still, but you didn't feel alone. never with him.

I’ve just now realized that it has to be what I’m thinking as well, he visited the HYDRA facility in Siberia when he went into the

The dark blue ominous lighting and the handle bars behind bucky looks like similar to this ⬇️

me after getting my appendix removed: omg. stigmata.

Do you know how fucked up your team has to be for Bucky Barnes to be the most stable member

Kimi Antonelli getting his first pole and breaking the youngest pole sitter record by 2 years and then GETTING THE HELMET STUCK ON HIS HEAD AS DRIVERS COME YO CONGRATULATE HIM AND HE ASKS THE PIRELLI GUY FOR HELP 😭😭😭

can duolingo fucking stop

this is what happened right