What A Neat New Way To Hurt Me Poor Baby, I Cannot Begin To Comprehend How He Must Have Felt But I Feel

What a neat new way to hurt me 😩 poor baby, I cannot begin to comprehend how he must have felt but I feel you captured it quite beautifully. Also this “You can feel him vibrating, the god inside him thrumming bright under his skin” is fucking poetry. 

Request!!- can ou do a smut (Thor x reader) about Thor getting extremely mad that he didn’t go for the he’s and he takes out all his anger on the reader. Due to how hard it was the reader doesn’t speak to thor and confides in Natasha. Leading to Thor being absolutely devastated and ashamed in himself and apologies

okay this is a post-snap, angry thor. it kind of goes with your request but, also kind of got away from me and went in a diff direction…

“Late to the party, little dove,” Thor says – voice dry and brittle as animal bones. The echo of a laugh on the tip of his tongue.

He’s sitting in the corner of his old room at the Compound – legs stretched out in front of him, armor from the battle still holding his torso in place. His left side is burned wickedly. Blood all over his gorgeous face. His arm torn out from his socket and making his back look misshapen.

The physical world isn’t destroyed. Far from it. The grass outside is still green, the trees are shuddering with wind. You wouldn’t know. Couldn’t know.

Unless, you listened closely and heard all of the screams from mothers, fathers, sons and daughters.

Lovers. Lots of dead lovers.

Weiterlesen

This gave me a hug and left me wanting one al the same. Such a lovely piece 💕💕💕

C’mere

Just a quick Bucky drabble for all the bbys who need a hug this week. Me too, my loves. Me too. 💕

“C’mere,” he says.

Softly, from the frame of the doorway. Gentle as you sit hunched over coffee that has long since cooled.

He has a knack for it.

An innate ability to seek it out, really. The gift he never even asked to be given.

It’s in the eyes, he would say. The weight of a soul pressed heavy, that can’t be hidden by subtle shift of muscle.

It’s in the posture even more. That unconscious repositioning of arms folded into a guarded cage over a weary heart.

Small.

Like everything is cold.

Bucky knows it because he has lived it. In his darkest, sober minded moments, the question of his worth a weight that pressed him in and in and in.

“C’mere,” he repeats, firmer now, yet gentle still, as you turn to watch him from your seat at the counter.

There’s a bundle in his arms, a determined set to his stare that vows not to waver.

To fight that armored battle that weighs heavy upon your shoulders, with what he does not know.

Doesn’t matter.

He remains steadfast all the same. Unyielding until you move, and then he moves with you. Mirrored until you meet, heart to heavy heart.

Wordlessly he gestures, presses at the bends of your elbows to unfold your arms.

He clouds your vision in ivory knit. Thick and soft and cloaked with woody spice. The warm comfort of him. Turtled neck pulls snug about your head, skewing your hair and squishing your cheeks. He fishes into the arms of it and searches for your own, grasping your hands before tugging them carefully through roomy sleeves.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

But Bucky pushes the collar down with patient hands. He brushes all errant strands back and away. He cups your cheeks, and he grins.

It breaks the fragile dam that holds back your tears.

And he watches them fall. A needed letting that spills over and down the backs of battle hands. Gentle lips press to your forehead. Chaste, consoling comfort.

And then those hands drop, and those arms snake tight. He pulls you close. The reassuring warmth and weight of him pressing in and in and in.

The tangible mantra that you are not alone.

You are not alone.

“C’mere,” is all he ever says.

It’s enough.

This is the softest thing I have ever laid my eyes upon. Bucky baby, my heart. She touches him like he is a miracle 💕💕💕

sleep- b.b.

wc: 1.1k

summary: bucky’s desperately trying to work out how to live w a brain like his and a heart that’s been through what it has, and he also, happens to be desperately in love. 

He can’t sleep.

He can’t sleep, and it’s not fair to her, it’s not, but he’s sitting in their kitchen, with not enough light and absolutely nothing but work on his mind.

Because this job- he doesn’t know if he can do it. He’s hurt so many people, and every day he looks at hands that have killed, lives with a body that was the last thing so many people ever saw. He’s a murder weapon, an instrument of torture, and this- what he does with SHEILD, it’s-

A drop in a bucket. Could never make up for it, make up for the amount of hurt he’s caused.

She’s the brightest spot in his world, and that’s probably fucking wrong, but there’s so much wrong with him. For the first few months after he’s been himself again, the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes was violence, the only thing he heard was the kind of screams that shatter more than your hearing.

And her-

She’s so unlikely, a blip in his unlikely radar, and he’s been gone for her since the moment she looked at him. She’s graceful, a delicacy for the sake of grace rather than weakness, and she treats him like he’s precious. He’s made of metal and pain and she touches him like he’s a miracle.

Keep reading

Me, realizing I have to actually write my own stories instead of them just magically writing themselves:

The costumes are on point! And the gif you chose! These two are in deep shit and don’t even realize it, also Nat?! Oh no, I smell heartbreak from multiple directions!

Anyways, this was really very sexy, kudos 👏👏👏 also just saw this story is on hiatus, so imma have to check every now and then if inspiration strikes you! Did you feel like a happy ending when you started this story? Thanks for sharing!!! 💕

After School Club : Three

After School Club Masterlist

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader (College!AU)

Summary: A new academic year but a story that’s nothing new. He’s studious and she likes to party. He hates her and she despises him. He’s a virgin and she’s his first.

Warnings: alcohol, angst, language, smut (dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex)

A/N: Hello, loves. I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to write this. The pressure to write has been a little demotivating. But, I found some inspiration (i.e. my party playlist from when I was a student) and here we are. Reblogs and comments are most appreciated. A quick reminder that the tag list for this story is closed.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this.

A dining table rarely used for its real purpose. The scrubbed wooden surface scattered with a layer of open textbooks. Loose pages of stray notes, a messy scrawl and a neat scribble. Two cups, only dregs of cold coffee remaining. A laptop, yours, but it’s relatively untouched. Bucky pleasantly surprised that like him, you find you think better with a pen.

The last couple of weeks have seen little time spent together save for those precious few hours necessitated by the project for Professor Banner. A sea of essays, further reading, seminar prep. Not to mention an onslaught of interrogative questions from Natasha about the night in the bar. Questions he’s so far, lied about through the skin of his teeth. For you, the addition of tennis competitions, swim classes and the odd party here and there. And yet, you seem so much put together than Bucky. You always do.

Keep reading