Not Done Yet But I Post For May 9th— May Thy 9th Chip And Shatter ❤️

bf/husband!bucky is SO old fashioned

bro grew up in the 1920’s/1930’s/1940’s

he thinks bouquets of flowers are very romantic

he bought a second-hand phonograph for you two to dance

he pays for the dates at the restaurant

a real gentleman 😔

also he forgets to wear a condom when you don’t remind him

MACKINNON WOOOO

so uh

part 2

RESIDENT EVIL

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

CHRIS REDFIELD

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

H.U.N.K

｡⋆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.

Bucky who’s really good at calming u from bad dreams cause he gets them all the time himself🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ he knows all the tricks

aerial u literally sent this in yesterday and I already wrote it .. um I may have gotten a lil excited oops

bucky barnes x fem!reader, 1.1k words

Bucky has had his fair share of nightmares. For years he suffered through them alone — every night without fail, he’d wake trembling and sweating, swallowed up in the pitch black, his heart thudding so loud it was all he could hear. He’d either stay awake until morning or force himself back to sleep only to relive it all over again.

These days he has you, and it’s better. The nightmares haven’t ceased, though they’ve lessened significantly. And on the nights when he does wake up with his heart in his throat, you’re always there, either peacefully asleep next to him or half awake, reaching for him in the dark like you can read his mind. Sometimes you’re awake enough to rub his back or give him a half asleep hug. It helps more than Bucky would ever admit to you.

Tonight’s different. Bucky wakes up not to his own trembling, but to yours instead. You’re sitting up in bed, stiff as a board but shaking like a leaf. Bucky, a light sleeper at the best of times, is on you like a hawk.

He says your name and rushes to sit up, giving himself a wave of vertigo for a few seconds. He blinks it away, eyelids heavy and body heavier. His hand finds your back in the dark. “Honey, are you okay?”

It’s a dumb question. You’re shaking all over and he thinks he can hear you crying, though he can’t properly see your face. He feels you turn towards him and manages to find your arm, wrapping his hand around it.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your voice trembles, too. It splits Bucky’s heart clean in half.

“What’re you sorry for?” He murmurs, not expecting an answer. He rubs your arm, not harsh but rough enough to help with your shakes. He gives your bicep a squeeze. “Bad dream?”

Your silhouette nods. “Yeah,” you say thickly.

Bucky hums. “Okay,” he says softly. The quiet fear in your voice panics him, but he keeps his head for your sake. “You’re okay, I’m here. Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s pretty sure talking about it helps, or at least it has for him, though he knows the feeling of wanting to forget the dream ever happened, rather than having to relive it by talking about it. He lets you decide.

“Um,” you swallow hard and scrub at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Not right now?”

Bucky wants badly to take your face in both hands and wipe your tears for you, but his other arm is on the dresser across the room, the dim moonlight reflecting on the smooth metal. He doesn’t feel like getting up, not when you’re this upset. Instead he pushes his good hand over the hill of your shoulder and finds your jaw.

His thumb slips over the apple of your cheek where he pushes away a few rogue tears. “Okay, that’s alright, doll. Do you want a hug?”

You nod viciously. “Yeah, please.”

Bucky gets his hand on your shoulder and tugs you towards him, pulling you into his chest. You push your arms around his waist, screwing your hands into his shirt like he’s your lifeline. He sure tries to be.

You press your cheek to his collar and mumble something that sounds like, “Thanks.” Bucky would ask what on earth you’re thanking him for, but you’re still trembling and he’d rather deal with that first.

He rubs your back diligently. Up, down, and up again, over and over until you’re not shaking anymore. It doesn’t take long — by now he knows exactly how to calm you down, knows exactly what works best. He slots his chin over the top of your head and holds you tight to his chest.

He’s completely willing to stay like this all night, until dawn slips through the gap in the curtains if that’s what you want, but it’s only a few minutes before you’ve stopped trembling. He’s about to ask if you want some water when you speak up.

“It was the same as always,” you say, so quiet he barely hears you.

Bucky guessed as much. Your nightmares nearly always consist of the same thing and they all revolve around him — he gets hurt, he dies, somebody comes to take him away, he disappears and you can’t find him anywhere. He hates that your brain is cruel enough to conjure up such scenarios, hates that it scares you so much, and hates that there’s nothing he can do about it.

He rubs your back some more.

“Yeah? M’sorry, honey.” He untangles himself from you and gets his hand on your jaw again, cupping your cheek. He studies your face though it’s partly obscured in shadows. You’re still beautiful even half swallowed up by the dark.

“Nothing’s happened to me,” he tells you firmly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m safe.”

You nod like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I know,” you say feebly.

The fear still lingering in your voice makes Bucky’s chest ache. He strokes your cheek, still damp with tears. “I promise, okay?”

He doesn’t know how many times he’s promised the same thing, more than he can count, but he intends to keep his promise. Nothing’s going to happen to him (or you for that matter), he intends to stick around as long as he can.

You nod around his hand, “Okay.”

Bucky pushes his fingers up into the space behind your ear and tugs you forward, palm to your pulse point. He ducks his head to press his mouth to your forehead and holds you there for a moment, breathing you in. He can smell your apple shampoo and the soapy laundry detergent scent that clings to your pillows. You take a deep, shuddering breath under him and then your shoulders go lax.

“Do you want some water?” Bucky asks after a long beat of silence, still half-kissing your hairline.

You shake your head no. “Just wanna go back to sleep. Will you keep hugging me?”

Bucky’s heart gives a tug, not unfamiliar but it aches anyway.

“Of course, doll.” He encourages you back into bed with him, laying down with your head on his shoulder and your arm draped over his stomach.

You curl into him, so close he can feel your heartbeat where your chest is pressed to his arm.

“Sorry for waking you,” you whisper, tilting your face up towards his neck.

“Don’t,” he murmurs. Sleep is overrated. Plus, he wants to be woken up when you need him. He’d rather lose sleep than know you’re suffering alone. “Nothing to be sorry for, doll.”

He pulls his arm round your waist and dips his head to kiss your hair again. You fall silent, and not long after, your breathing turns steady. Bucky stays up for a little longer, watching you in case you have another nightmare, though he won’t tell you that in the morning.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

pricefield au but max is steve and chloe is garrett from the minecraft movie

thinkin about how BUCKY BARNES would use that metal hand on you in so many ways. fingering you to overstimulation with those cool, metal digits. those nipples hardening under the cold touch when his fingers meet them. that hand wrapping around your throat hard enough only to feel your pulse. lord save me i need him so bad ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

LANDESKOG OH MY GOD I THIKK I JUST BLACKED OUT FROM JOY. IM NAMING MY FUTURE CHILDREN, CATS, EVERYTHING AFTER THIS MAN.