summary: Being FWB with Bucky is starting to take a toll on you and you want to tell him, but he's busy fucking you. You want more or nothing at all, but you know he'll run if you tell him that. What does he want?
warnings: angst, smut, profanity, avoidant!Bucky, unprotected sex, the slightest breeding kink but not really (one brief thought akin to it), ass slapping, MINORS DNI, 18+.
word count: 1.5k
a/n: This is just me getting my feelings out about my last relationship that I'm still not over. He was an avoidant man who I fell for, and surprisingly he fell for me too and it worked out for a while until a friend got in the middle of all of it and it went to shit. She is no longer a friend, and he's someone who calls me every now and then to tell me he misses me and then I don't hear from him for weeks. Love my fucking life. Anyway, feel free to write a part 2 of this because I sure as hell won't.
There’s a certain kind of peace you feel when you have him in your bed. When you wake up in the middle of the night and roll over onto your side, your eyes landing on his bare back that’s just barely illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through your thin curtains. Sometimes his vibranium arm is hidden beneath his pillow and for a moment you feel like you’re sleeping next to just anyone. But then you hear that familiar whir of the plates in his arm, the way it lives and breathes, and it lulls you back to sleep, knowing you’re sleeping next to Bucky Barnes. There’s a certain kind of entitlement you feel when you have him inside of you. When he pushes his hips forward, letting his dick slide into you for the first time in weeks, you feel entitled to him. He’s yours and you’re his, even if it’s only just for that moment. Weeks might go by before it happens again, or it may never happen again. You never know with him, nothing is ever set in stone. Lastly, there’s a certain kind of ache you feel when you wake up in the morning to his alarm going off and him already slipping out of your bed. You want to reach out for him and pull him back in, ask him to stay with you just a little while longer, but you know better than to ask for more than he can give. And he can’t give much at all. He doesn’t have it in him.
You bite down on his shoulder as he fucks you relentlessly, your eyes finding the center of the ceiling fan and focusing in on it as you try not to drown in your thoughts. His breaths grow heavier and you feel sweat peppering his back as your fingertips curl into the skin of his sides.
“Where are you?” He asks suddenly, slowing down the pace and propping himself higher up on his elbows to get a good look at your face. You blink twice and swallow hard.
“I’m here,” you reassure him, rutting your hips up into his to encourage him to keep going.
“No, you’re not. You’re in your head,” he replies, staring at you with a gaze so piercing you feel like he can see straight through your head and into the mattress below. You inhale a long, slow breath before lifting your head and pressing a kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck. He tilts his head to the right, giving you better access to that expanse of sweaty skin. You are in your head. You’re thinking about how he’ll fuck you for another half hour before you both fall asleep. You’ll wake up at four-thirty in the morning to his alarm going off and him slipping out of your grasp. There will be a mumbled have a good day and a sleepy you too before your front door clicks shut and he’s gone. Then what? A week? Three weeks? Two months might go by before he texts you a simple hey that you can never ignore. You don’t know if you want to keep going through the same damn cycle anymore. “Talk to me,” Bucky says a little quieter, stilling his hips completely but keeping himself buried inside you. That piercing gaze remains locked on your eyes in the dimly lit bedroom of your apartment. This should be the last time. That’s what you’ll say.
“You should fuck me from behind.” Fuck. At least it kind of rhymed with what you intended to say, right? Bucky blinks at you and narrows his eyes the tiniest bit. He wants to ask more, to dig into you more, to figure out what’s going on inside of your head so he can fix it. Not just because you’ve been damn near silent for the last five minutes that he’s been fucking you and that alone is driving him insane, but because you don’t seem like yourself and he needs you to be yourself. He doesn’t get to see you very often with the way missions keep him on the go all the fucking time, he can’t have you acting weird during the tiny bit of time he does get with you. He can’t have you acting like someone else when all he wants is you when he’s in town and not risking his own life for someone or something else. He needs you. “Here,” you say, suddenly pressing your hands against his chest and pushing him away from you. His dick slides out against his will and you let out a sharp exhale as it does. You’re on your knees in front of him, with your head down lower than the rest of your body in a matter of seconds. Bucky’s left on his knees staring at the back of your head, his cock hard as fuck but his mind a mess.
“You’d rather do this than talk?” He asks, wrapping a hand around his length and stroking it a couple of times. His hand glides along his shaft easily, it’s still wet from you. He watches your hair move gently as you nod your head, saying nothing in response. He bites down on his bottom lip, finding himself really frustrated with the fact that something’s obviously going on with you but you don’t want to talk about it with him. He lines himself up at your cunt, you feel the tip of his dick pressing against you, almost pressing into you, but he stops himself. “You’ve gotta talk to me.”
“Bucky, you’re here to fuck, so lets fuck,” you snap, dropping your head down onto your folded arms on the bed.
“I’m here to see you…and fuck you, and talk, and do whatever else you want to do. I’m here for you.” Confusion edges Bucky’s voice as he pulls his dick away from you, resting back on his heels with his knees bent. You let out a loud, obviously frustrated groan.
“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”
“Why wouldn’t I mean that? I’m here for you,” Bucky snaps back. His frustration is quickly growing to match yours. He does want to fuck you. He’s wanted to fuck you for the entire past three weeks that he’s been MIA in Bosnia, barely surviving a black op with Sam by his side. But that’s not all he’s wanted. He’s wanted to come and knock on your door, curl up in your bed, and fucking talk. He wants to talk your goddamn ear off honestly, but the second he walks in your door you’re tugging his leather jacket off and insisting he lose the gloves so you can feel his skin and vibranium against your skin. It’s fine, it’s more than fine really, because he wants you naked. But he also wants you in sweats with that ratty little messy bun and no-makeup look you sport in the mornings. He wants you clothed and conversing. He wants you in every way that you come. He just wants you.
“Fuck me and then we’ll talk,” you finally say, still face-down-ass-up in your bed. Bucky heaves a weighty sigh. But he does it. He fucks you relentlessly, not caring if you can take every inch of him or not. He doesn’t care if you scream his name so loud your neighbors call the fucking cops. He fucks you like he’s wanted to for the past three weeks, and like it might be the last time he does. You soak it in, barely able to think straight. You can think just straight enough to imagine this being the final time Bucky’s dick slides home, straight into your cunt. It’s probably the last time, you tell yourself. Because when this is over and you tell him that you want more of him or nothing at all, that you want more than just the once-every-few-weeks filthy fucking sessions, you know he’s going to shut down and run. You won’t hear from him again.
Bucky digs his fingertips into your hips, using his strong grip to pull you back into him as he slams his hips into you. He buries himself to the hilt, letting out a breathy groan before slapping your ass and doing it again. And again. And again. Little time passes before he’s filling you with his cum, making sure it’s in as deep as it’ll go as he slowly fucks his cock in just a little more. It’s not that he’s trying to get you pregnant or anything, but goddamn it would give him even more reason to stay with you. That’s what he needs really, is a reason to stay with you. A reason that’s louder and more potent than all of the avoidant fears in his head telling him to run the other direction when things get too real. As Bucky catches his breath, he slides his cock out of you as gently as he can, but you still hiss as you lose that final inch. Is this really about to be the end of everything?
Omg omg i just freaking love you and your writing so damn much. I just can't. I am not even that big fan of Bucky anymore and it doesn't even matter atp honestly. It's your amazing, amazing writing. You should honestly be published. I am not even exaggerating. You write so damn well. You hook your audience in and you have some goddamn skill in building tension! Like oh my god!
So many people write smut but they don't understand. It's not just writing sex. It's about building the tension up. And you do it so damn well. If i could give out awards, they all will go to you.
I love this. "It's not just writing sex." Just writing about sex would be so mundane. I imagine it would be like writing about the process of someone washing the dishes at the end of a long day. You have to add feeling and tension to it, it's all in the tiny details really. It's somewhat exhausting but so so cathartic to write. Thank you so much for your kind words and support, even if this message is from so long ago and I'm just now seeing it. I appreciate you!
Posting something a little different as I sit here writing smut on the side. If anyone else is going through the grief of an absolutely horrid loss or breakup, send me an ask with a metaphor about how it feels to you. I want to see how creative some of you are.
I’ll only write specifically for Bucky BUT I can write non-specific smut without any descriptors or names for your general enjoyment and real-life fantasies. Let me know what you all want to see and I’ll work on it!
A/N: I wrote it on a whim as a release for myself, it was meant to be fiction but it really ended up being mostly non-fiction. It's pretty much something that actually happened between myself and the guy I'm currently going through a really shitty break-up with. So anyway, enjoy my pain lmfao.
warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, speeding/reckless driving, passive suicidal ideation, let me know if I missed any warnings...it's been a very long time since I've done this
It’s loud. It’s really fucking loud in his head as he tugs on his shoes and pulls a leather sleeve over his vibranium arm. It’s a little quieter when he starts up his bike and the roar of the engine penetrates past the voices and images swirling around in his mind. It’s quieter still when he hits the highway, letting himself relax a little when he hits a hundred miles per hour and knows that if he were to lay his bike down right now, at this speed, he probably wouldn’t wake up. He’d lose so much more than an arm and maybe he’d finally be at peace. Hating the way he’s thinking, he accelerates more, reaching a top speed of a hundred and fifty miles per hour before he starts decelerating and taking the soft right curve in the road that his body has begun to associate with relief. He’ll feel better soon.
You’re pacing back and forth in your kitchen, holding your phone in one hand and scratching the back of your neck with the other. Why was his text so cryptic? Would it be so cryptic if you knew him better? If you could read him? That makes sense actually. You can’t read his text because you can’t read him. Your eyes flit downward once again, reading the text for probably the eighteenth time in the last fifteen minutes.
James: Do you keep your door locked?
Is he planning on showing up and just walking in or are you in some kind of unforeseen danger that only he seems to be aware of and he’s insinuating that you should lock your door? You replay your last interaction with him in your head, just to make yourself even more unsure of everything. He came over two weeks ago on a Thursday night. He was quiet, you didn’t know each other very well, you still don’t. Not much was said but a hell of a lot was done. Images flash in your head of skin on skin, your fingers tangled in his dark hair, nails scratching down his back, teeth sinking into his flesh shoulder. You remember the glint of the streetlights flowing through your window and reflecting off of the gold crevices of his vibranium arm. It was kind of beautiful, you’d thought in the moment. But then he left. He left and you haven’t heard from him once. You haven’t seen him like you usually do on your morning runs. He was just a ghost doing ghost things. He haunted you for one night and you never thought you’d see him again.
The oddly familiar hum of an engine somewhere in the street below makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You let your phone lock before setting on the kitchen counter and ending your pacing episode. It’s him. You know this feeling.
Bucky’s head gets quieter with every step he takes up the many flights of stairs to get to your apartment. He’s only been there once but he remembers it well. It’s the only place he’s ever found silence. Or maybe it was you and not your apartment that provided the silence he so desperately sought. Either way, he can feel it settling in now. When he reaches the door that he drove a hundred and fifty miles an hour to get to at nearly midnight on a fucking Thursday, he hesitates just for a moment. You never texted him back. Should he knock? Or did you get the message, understand his intention, and leave the door unlocked for him? His hand is turning the handle before he has a chance to make a rational decision and maybe not so boldly break into some girl’s apartment. But you’re not some girl, and this is a very rational decision for him to make. He’s seeking peace, and you’re the one he finds it in.
“You can’t just send a text like that.” Your voice soothes every aching muscle in his body the second you speak out. He’s only stepped one foot inside when you start on your bullshit. He closes the door behind himself and punctuates your sentence with the sound of your lock clicking. “We don’t even know each other, we slept together once and I haven’t seen you since. I should’ve locked you out.”
“You didn’t,” Bucky points out flatly. His blue eyes settle on where you’ve sunken into one side of your couch, holding a pillow in your lap with your legs criss-crossed over the beige piece of furniture. He leans against your front door, inhaling deeply and letting his eyes fall shut as every voice but yours fades out of his mind.
“But I should have,” you quip back, squeezing the pillow between your hands. You narrow your eyes at the man.
“What were you doing?” His question catches you off guard. A few seconds pass without you giving him an answer and suddenly his blue eyes are on you again and he’s stepping away from the door, moving further into your apartment. He heads for the kitchen, keeping his hands shoved into the pockets of his very worn-in leather jacket.
“When?”
“When you were reading my text but not texting me back.” He reaches the kitchen and notices your phone sitting on the counter right beside the sink. His eyes cast downward, noticing the way your wood floors are slightly more weathered in a straight line through the kitchen. You walk back and forth here a lot. A lot.
“What was I supposed to say?” You drop the pillow onto the couch and slowly rise to your feet, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re wearing cotton sleeping shorts that are a little too short for a casual surprise guest and an oversized t-shirt with no bra underneath. Bucky hears your movement and turns around in the kitchen so he’s facing you from about twenty feet away. He closes the space by two feet as he exits your kitchen, but stops there. You close the space by just one foot.
“No,” Bucky advises.
“That would’ve sounded like an invitation,” you point out, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I was coming over regardless.” There it is, that warmth that starts somewhere deep inside you and quickly spreads outward until even your cheeks are warm. He senses the change in your demeanor, in your mood, and he’s already planning to take advantage. Bucky takes a few more slow steps forward until you’re both in the living room, separated only by your coffee table.
“What if the door was locked?”
“You would’ve let me in.”
“I would have?” Your voice takes on an incredulous tone, bringing a smirk out of the man with the vibranium arm who’s still towering over your little coffee table.
“You did last time.”
“That was two weeks ago.”
“I’ve been out of town.”
“Without any phone service? It’s 2026,” your tone is flat and devoid of amusement. He exhales deeply and runs a hand through his already messy brown hair.
“Yeah, believe it or not, I couldn’t text or call you. But I thought about it.”
He really did think about it. Every fucking second of down time he got on that goddamn mission was spent thinking about the night he shared with you. He wanted to text you, or call you and hear your voice. He wanted to leave whatever shithole city he and Sam were hunkered down in and climb that ungodly number of stairs to get to you and experience exactly what he’s experiencing right now. Peace. The voices in his head are gone in this moment. The self-hatred that he constantly feels washing over him, drowning him on land, it’s gone. He knows it’s a temporary relief and that the moment he walks back out the door, it’ll all hit him just as hard as before, but for right now he’s at peace in your presence and he can’t even begin to figure out why.
You could call bullshit. You could say that in this day and age no one is without phone service unless they’re stranded in the ocean or in the middle of a fucking desert. But for some reason, you believe him. You actually believe that he would’ve texted or called you if he could have. Maybe that’s why you step around the coffee table and stop right in front of him. His eyes are even more intense up close. You look up at him through your lashes, feeling anxiety coming off of you in waves as he stares into your soul. That look from anyone else would unnerve you, it would make you look away, make you feel too exposed. But when it’s him? It feels like some kind of release.
Bucky maintains eye contact with you in that perfect, breathable silence as he shrugs his jacket off and tosses it onto your beige couch. His hands find the curve of either side of your jaw and his lips are on yours shortly after. Thursday two weeks ago is repeating.
“It’s so fucking quiet with you,” he whispers against your lips, before pressing his to yours again and snaking his tongue in between them. You know exactly what he means, because as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth every thought in your head melts away. He brought peace when he stepped into your apartment uninvited. You grip the fabric of his t-shirt in both hands, pulling him into you harshly. It’s just inspiration for him. Bucky’s hands quickly move to your hips and he’s effortlessly lifting you off the ground, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist in seconds.
Just like last time, he’s leaning over the foot of your bed and placing you down on the mattress softly. He stays on top of you, only letting half of his weight rest on you. You pull against him, wanting more, but he won’t give more. He’s too careful about hurting you. He breaks the kiss momentarily to tug his shirt over his head and just before he crawls back over you, he catches you staring at his arm. It’s always been the gold crevices that catch your attention. They’re so not him. The dark vibranium matches his vibe, but the gold is such an attention-grabber you wouldn’t think he’d be okay with that.
“What is it?” He asks, placing one hand on the bed on either side of your head and dragging one knee up between your legs. He hovers there, with his head cocked to one side, analyzing you as he waits for an answer. You bite your bottom lip and drag your fingertips from his bare collarbones down his chest until you can loop them into the belt loops of his jeans.
“The gold. Why gold?” You have to know. Bucky squints his eyes at you. His gaze drifts from your eyes, off to the side where his dark vibranium hand starkly contrasts with your white bedding. In an instant, he’s rolling off of you and resting on the mattress beside you. Now you’re both staring up at the ceiling fan as it swirls around and around above. He knows what the gold symbolizes. He never really thinks about it. He takes his arm off every night now, covers it up across the room, and tries to do anything but think about it.
“Why gold…” Bucky repeats under his breath. He chuckles lowly before holding his vibranium arm up in the air. Just like last Thursday, the streetlights shining in your bedroom window glint off of the gold in the slightest way, accenting it. “No one’s ever asked.”
“I’m asking,” you remind him. You roll over on your left side, coming to face him with your head propped up on one hand. You don’t know much about him, hell you haven’t tried to learn much about him, why is this something you need to understand? You lean forward and gently press your lips to the side of his neck. He sighs into your touch, tilting his head to the opposite side to give you access to even more skin. You keep peppering his neck with kisses, clean and smooth at first, until you let your tongue peek through your lips. You start sucking and licking, tasting him as he ponders your question.
“The gold peeking through the vibranium is supposed to symbolize the old me. The me that ran around New York in the forties, throwing punches in allies and walking away with a girl on each arm. The me that’s still there but is just too deep and too buried to dig his way back to the surface. Sometimes bits and pieces of him peek through the darkness, but I’ll never be completely him again. There’s always going to be a darkness surrounding me.”
You don’t stop kissing. You start working your way down his chest, dragging your tongue down his sternum as you process his answer. His breaths come in quicker now, and not just because of what you’re doing with your mouth or where it’s heading, but because of everything he just said to you and the fact that you’re not swaying. You didn’t stiffen, you didn’t tense up, you didn’t get up and turn the lights on and tell him to leave. You get to the waistband of his pants and you start unbuttoning and unzipping them before tugging them down his hips. He lifts his hips and lets you pull them down along with his underwear. Fuck. His breath hitches in his throat when his dick pops up against his stomach and you quickly take it in one hand, stroking from the base to the tip twice before circling your tongue around the tip. He looks down at you and lets out a loud groan. You look so fucking pretty when you use your mouth on him like that. He finds himself letting his flesh hand rest on the back of your head, not pushing you down any further but giving you that reassurance that you’re doing everything he wants you to be doing right now.
“Fuck…just like that,” he says in a breathy voice, hooded eyes staring down at you as you let his cock sink deep into your throat. You gag slightly when it hits the back of your throat but don’t pull back and he curls his fingers into your hair. “Goddamn.”
He’s in awe of you. He’s in awe of the way you can ask him such a deeply personal question and instead of running away at his absolutely insane answer, you get closer to him. You put his cock in your mouth and you suck and you make him feel good and he doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s supposed to do with that. His head’s still quieter than ever. He might be falling in love, he thinks for a second, as you gag on his cock once again and your nose brushes against his lower stomach. He lets his head fall back and his eyes close for a second before he feels your palm press against the back of his flesh hand that’s still tangled in your hair. You’re asking him to push your head down. God fucking damn. Only a few more seconds go by before he's holding your head still and fucking your face like you wanted. It’s bliss really, feeling Bucky’s cock repeatedly hit the back of your throat and hearing his breathy groans and praises as if he isn’t the one doing most of the work.
“Fuck, baby.” Bucky rasps, before tugging you upward by his grip on your hair and shoving you toward the middle of the bed as he gets out of the way. He’s got you face down ass up in seconds and he’s ripping your shorts and panties down your thighs abruptly. You bury your face in the bed as you listen to the sound of his jeans hitting the floor. “I’m not going to be able to hold back.”
“Is that what you think I want?” You question, unable to stifle the light laugh that follows the end of the sentence. A firm slap lands on the right side of your ass and your back stiffens for a second before you relax again.
“I’m just saying.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“I was sore last time too, I like that. It’s a good reminder.” You feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance and you do your best to relax, knowing he’s big and he’s going to make damn sure you take the whole thing at once.
“Yeah?” There’s no pause between that single word and him burying his cock so deep inside of you so suddenly that you scream. You really scream. You know your neighbors fucking hate you. They’re probably hating Thursdays entirely now. Your mind empties as he fills your cunt with every inch he has. “There you go, just take it.” He’s setting an unforgivable pace in less than five seconds flat, slamming into you over and over again while your bodies make the most obscene noises. You end up closer to the headboard than you started and you reach up to it for support, which only makes it bang against the wall even harder.
There isn’t a single thought in either of your heads as Bucky continues to fuck you relentlessly. Refusing to so much as slow down until he’s filling you with his cum and then fucking it in even deeper. It doesn’t even drip out of you when he finally pulls out and collapses on your back, this time letting all of his weight rest on you.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, your body shaking as the adrenaline crash begins.
“I know,” he whispers back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You did so good.”
“I didn’t do anything,” you giggle back, wiggling your shoulders underneath him.
Oh, you have no idea. You have no idea that you did everything he’s needed you to do for the last two weeks. And he isn’t even thinking about you sucking his dick or letting him fuck you from behind. You cleared his head. You made him feel like those little gold crevices in his arm cracked a little wider and a little more of his old self came out.
You made James feel like Bucky again, and you did it all before any clothes came off. You did it simply by letting him exist in your presence.
bucky barnes x female reader fwb blurb...maybe it'll be more one day
word count: 678
A/N: I found this little excerpt of dialogue in my notes, apparently I wrote it in September of last year and never did anything with it but I'm in a little fucked up fwb situation irl right now so I felt inspired to throw it out here. I might use it in a full story one day but for now...
song inspo:
“What the fuck do you mean you love me?” The question leaves your lips in a harsh, heated rush. You can feel warmth creeping up to your cheeks and you know anger is written all over your features right now. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and turns his back to you for a moment, seemingly calming himself down before he turns his blue eyes back on you once more.
“What do I mean? What the fuck do I mean? Do you think I’ve just been fucking the shit out of you every chance I get because you’re the convenient option?” The room doesn’t feel big enough for this fight. You cross your arms over your chest and say nothing, choosing only to narrow your eyes at him. “It ruins me. Every single time you let me have you like that, it ruins me and I feel like some piece of shit who promises himself he’ll get sober tomorrow but then he drives past a bar the next day and he can’t help himself. You’re intoxicating. You’re intoxicating and I wish I didn’t love you, but I do and if I have to deal with it then so do you.”
“It’s not love. Comparing me to the alcohol that an alcoholic can’t resist sounds a whole lot like anything but love. That’s a toxic relationship that ends with one person left behind and leaves the other with long term damage.” You spit back, chest heaving beneath your still crossed arms.
“Stop talking, let me talk.” Bucky quips, taking one step toward you. The room seems to shrink in size, though he’s still six feet away. You shake your head and briefly turn to glance out the window behind you, wondering if you’d survive the jump. When you turn back to face Bucky, his gaze has softened but there’s still a flame burning in his eyes. “I love you. I’m not asking you to love me back, I never expected that from you. I just need you to believe me when I say it, because I can’t walk away from this with you thinking I only ever wanted to fuck you. I wanted all of you, but I took what I could get. I love you.”
“You have to stop saying it.” Your voice wavers and Bucky feels something shift. The tightness in his chest becomes increasingly harder to ignore as he struggles to keep his breathing at a normal rate.
“Why? If this is the only moment I’ll ever get to say it to you, why should I stop?”
“Because the more you say it, the more believable it is.” This time, your voice cracks. You let your arms fall to your sides as your resolve begins to crumble.
“I love you.” He repeats, keeping his eyes trained on yours.
“Fuck you.” You say with a small shake of your head. He takes another step forward, watching carefully as you remain still.
“I love you.” He says again.
“Fuck you, Bucky.”
“I still love you.” His feet carry him forward until there’s only a foot of space between you. He stares down at you for a long moment, wondering how likely it is that you try to jump out of the window if he reaches out and touches you. Fuck it. The fingertips of his right hand ghost up your left arm, following the curve of your shoulder up to your neck. His palm presses against the angle of your jaw as he brushes over your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Warmth pools low in your stomach and your eyes flutter closed.
“I hate you.” You whisper with closed eyes. He feels the breath of your words against his thumb.
“That’s okay, I love you.”
“Bucky…” He leans in and presses his forehead against yours, bringing his vibranium hand up so he’s cupping your face in both palms now.
“I’ll stop saying it.” He assures you, letting the tip of his nose brush against yours ever so slightly. “But I won’t stop feeling it.”
hi! i just came across your fic blurred lines and oh…. my goodness. i just spent a full hour reading it and oh my days i love it so so so much. you write so beautifully and i can actually SEE the story playing out in front of my eyes like i actually fucking lived it. and the tension????? i have no words. i love it.
i especially appreciate how you don’t use specific descriptions of the reader’s physicality. i’m a black woman & you wouldn’t believe the amount of times i get pulled out of the fantasy because of “fair skin” or “running his fingers through her hair” (though the fanfic market is getting better at this).
sorry i went on a mini tangent there but ANYWAYS. i love it and i love your writing and i love you. <3
Oh my goodness I love you.
As a very unsure writer, nothing feels better than when someone says they can picture my story playing out in their mind. I live for the books I find that leave me feeling like I’m living in some virtual reality for hours and I always hope that my writing gives that experience to some of you.
I’m also absolutely floored at your second comment. I try really hard to continually improve in the area of leaving out physical descriptors about the reader in my writings. If you read some of my older works, I’m not always very good at it and I still slip up here and there or write things that I don’t realize aren’t universal experiences (for example, being able to easily run your fingers through your own hair). I see a lot of posts on Tumblr where people mention physical things that pull them out of a fic and I try to make mental notes and remember what not to use in my own writing. If you ever have any suggestions on how to continue improving on this so no one feels like my reader isn’t written for them, please feel free to inbox me.
Thank you so much for reading such a long story and leaving such a sweet, uplifting message in my inbox. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to it, I’m hoping to be more active here this month!
I’m still writing, I’ll start posting again soon hopefully.
I’ve been dealing with a lot of disinterest in doing anything besides sleeping outside of work because people just keep fucking dying at work, which sucks when you’re doing everything right to save them. I’ve had a few good saves and a few hopeless cases that have been making my writing a little more angsty all on its own.
We have two works-in-progress:
1) A long fic with a very psychologically unhealed Bucky Barnes, where he falls for you even though he knows Steve has wanted you for months. There’s a lot of sneaky sex and some enemies-to-lovers/enemies-with-benefits type of thing. There’s a lot about PTSD in this one because I figured if I’m dealing with it irl I might as well let it bleed into my writing.
2) Something a little different where Bucky is again pretty fresh out of being the Winter Soldier, mistakenly puts a knife through your chest, and of course…realizes he needs to stay the fuck away from you. He thinks he’s a danger to you, even though he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He just can’t seem to listen to his own rules and ignore your existence.
I’ll try to post some snippets in the next couple of days to gauge interest 🫶🏼
YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD I'M GONNA CRY-
honestly wondering how tf did i not find you blog any time sooner.
You’re so sweet for this, thank you so much 🥹😭 I didn’t start writing fanfic until toward the end of last year when I made my first post here. I haven’t been around super long. I’m so glad you found me and enjoyed whatever you might’ve read 🥹🖤
I would like to write and post more than I do but it’s easier for me to write longer stories and post them as one long fic versus writing small chunks and posting individual chapters. I suck at commitment. Hopefully my masterlist has plenty to keep you entertained until I do post again! Thank you again for your kind words!!
