Summary: John comforts you during your grief. Word Count: 286 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Some fluff and sadness. Mostly sadness. Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, a mother should never have to bury their child. Yet, that was exactly what had just happened. Your only child had been murdered by some… thing right in front of you and you could do nothing but watch, frozen by shock, only able to move when the pool of blood grew cold.
John, your old high school classmate, had burst in at the last minute, saving your life that night, a life you were willing to trade for your child. He talked you out of it, just barely. Hell, you were still thinking about it.
Perched on the edge of your bed, elbows on your shoulders, head hanging down, you were running through all the things you would need to set in place before anything actually happened. You’d need to get your last will and testament updated, cash in your 401k, and –
John walked in and found you, shoulders shaking as you tried to contain your grief-stricken cries. When he said your name gently, you couldn’t keep it together any longer. The dam broke and so did you. He was on his knees, your hands in his, lips ghosting over your knuckles and palms before cupping your face in his hands.
Not caring that your cheeks were wet, he kissed them. “It’s okay,” he murmured before pressing his lips to yours. “You’re alright.”
You let out a sob at that and grabbed his wrists. You wanted to scream out that no, you were not okay, you would never be okay, your entire reason for existing was gone, but you couldn’t speak.
His chocolate eyes were on yours as he kissed you again. “I’m right here. I ain’t going anywhere.”
Summary: Being an adopted sibling to T’Challa and Shuri, the last thing you should be doing is falling for M’Baku, leader of the Jabari tribe. Too bad your heart wouldn’t listen. Word Count: 2,161 Warnings for Series: Fluff, smut, angst Author’s Note: This is my first time writing M’Baku. Please be gentle. This fic wouldn’t be possible without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree, their support and assistance has been invaluable.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
You were standing in front of the mirror, eyes roving over your reflection. You could hardly believe how beautiful you felt and looked. The vibrant colors of your weddingdress stood out against your dark skin, giving you a rich and lush feeling. It was difficult to keep still, the urge to spin was almost too strong to ignore.
Just as you were about to give in, Shuri popped out from behind you. “You have not seen the best part, sister,” she chuckled. She ran her hands along a seam and pushed them into it, making you gasp at the thought of your dress dress being ruined.
“Pockets!” she proclaimed, a giant smile lighting up her face.
You giggled as you shoved your hands into them and tangled your fingers with hers. “I love it, sister.”
“Only the best for you. Just… don’t tell T’Challa,” she said with a wink.
“Thank you,” you said seriously. “For everything.”
Shuri took your hands in hers and squeezed them. “Why do you sound as if we will never see each other again?”
The words were there, teetering precariously on the tip of your tongue, ready to shine a light onto the woman that had raised you, but you could not do that to Shuri. She loved her mother with every ounce of her soul, you did not want to destroy that. Instead, you gave her a tight smile and shrugged your shoulders.
“One never knows when it will be the last time seeing their loved ones.”
Your sister’s eyes grew damp as she hugged you. “I love you, Y/N.”
“I love you too,” you murmured into her hair, returning her painfully tight hug.
Shuri pulled away quickly. “Mother, is something the matter?”
You whirled around to find the queen wiping at her face. “Leave us, child,” she commanded her daughter.
“Go on,” you said after giving Shuri the ring you were going to present to M’Baku during the ceremony.
Once the door was closed, you became incredibly nervous. Why was Ramonda in your room? Did she have plans to keep you from your marriage?
“I will be out of your life in a few hours time, my queen,” you said, barely able to keep the emotion from your voice.
“Oh, child,” she lamented, crossing the room quickly. “I have made quite a mess of things, and for that, I must apologize.”
Confusion washed over you at her words. “What?”
Ramonda pulled in a deep breath, one that you felt in the marrow of your bones. “I have treated you as an outcast for almost your entire life, and for what?”
“I do not know.”
You had gone a lifetime without someone telling you why the woman hated you. All you had wanted was to be part of a family and to be loved. When T’Chaka found you that night, huddled in the corner, curled in on yourself, and weeping, you thought you would finally achieve your dream. Ramonda was not as welcoming as her husband. She shut you out of her heart from the moment she had laid eyes on you, and that hurt worse than watching your parents starve to death in order for you to survive.
There were tears blurring her vision and she swallowed heavily as she struggled to compose herself. “I lost a child that day, a girl. Her name was to be Ayana,” she admitted, a sad smile on her lips.
Your heart clenched in your chest. “I… I had no idea.”
“There were only a handful that knew; T’Chaka, T’Challa, and Zuri,” she explained. “T’Challa was only a child that day, but he remembers everything about it.”
“Not even Shuri?” you asked breathlessly.
Ramonda shook her head. “No, but she will after today. I swear it.”
“So,” you murmured, your mind still reeling with the news of a dead child. “It was nothing I did?”
“Child, no,” the queen gasped, cupping your face in her hands. “In my grief, I did the worst thing possible; I took it out on you, and never once thought of the pain I was inflicting.”
Tears fell from your eyes, which Ramonda swiped away with her thumbs. “I am so sorry, my child.” She pulled you into her arms and held you tight, weeping openly, just as you were.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she implored, anguish and mourning rushing through her.
You held onto her and nodded. “I forgive you, mother.”
Ramonda choked on a sob and, for the first time ever, called you her daughter without any resentment lacing her words.
M’Baku stood at the border of the two lands. He was wearing dark pants, a deep blue tunic that fell to mid-thigh, and a white fur around his shoulders. You smiled at the realization that he and your brother matched.
“Yes,” T’Challa whispered into your ear. “It was done on purpose. We wanted to show unity within the tribes.”
You hugged him tight. “Thank you, brother.”
After returning the hug, he pulled back and nodded at Ramonda. “You two seem to be getting along.”
Looking over your shoulder, you waved the queen. “She told me, T’Challa,” you explained. “And she apologized for how I was treated.”
“I am happy that everything is resolved,” he admitted, a weight having been lifted from his shoulders.
“She does plan on telling Shuri,” you told him, his hand flexing on yours. “Shuri is strong and compassionate. She’ll understand, brother.”
He gave you a knowing smile. “Come,” he announced loudly, holding his arm out for you to rest your hand on. “Let the wedding commence.”
There was a swarm of butterflies in your belly as T’Challa walked with you toward the man you knew you belonged with for the rest of time. M’Baku smiled as you approached, his dark eyes drilling into yours, his eagerness barely contained. You could see that he wanted to bolt across the border, pluck you from the ground, and kiss you senseless, but there was a ceremony to be had, and Mother was a stickler for doing things according to tradition.
Shuri was at your other side, her hand held out, the ring you had crafted for M’Baku lying in her palm. You retrieved it and kissed her cheek, giving her a wink before she backed away.
Dropping a kiss to your cheek, T’Challa placed one foot over the border so that he was straddling it. “Today we celebrate the union of our tribes, tribes that had been enemies for thousands of years,” he called out so that every person in attendance could hear.
M’Baku stretched out his arm, holding out his hand to your brother. “I am M’Baku of the Jabari tribe,” he boomed, his thunderous voice sending a shiver down your spine. T’Challa took M’Baku’s hand and placed yours atop it.
“I am Y/N of the Panther tribe,” you said, voice shaking, your nerves getting the better of you.
T’Challa pressed his other hand into the palm of M’Baku’s, effectively sandwiching all of your hands together. He elaborated on his earlier statement about the joining of tribes, words that were strong and powerful, words that brought the people of Wakanda to tears.
Once your hands we released, M’Baku took hold of your hand and slid a ring made of vibranium onto your fourth finger, vowing to love and protect you until the end of time. He gave your hand a squeeze before dropping it so you could pull his ring from your pocket.
You held his hand in yours, once again marveling at the size of it. He could do so much damage with it, brutally defending his people, the ones that he loved, and yet, he could bring you so much pleasure with it. Repeating his vows, you slid the dark wooden ring onto his finger. There was a line of vibranium running through it that thrummed when it came into contact with yours. Both of you sucked in a breath at the sparks that danced along your skin.
T’Challa clapped in approval. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”
M’Baku took your face in his hands and pulled you up to him as he bowed his shoulders. Your mouths met in a sweet and loving kiss that would have grown passionate in the blink of an eye if it had not been for your brother.
“And now, we celebrate!”
M’Baku carried you into the bedroom the two of you now shared. His large hands were roaming your body, tugging at the voluminous material around your legs, careful not to rip it as he wanted to see you wear it again, but eager to rid you of it, to get you naked and vulnerable, to devour you. After the fur fell from his wide shoulders – at your urging – M’Baku grabbed the hem of his tunic and yanked off, tossing it to the floor.
“Your turn,” your husband growled.
At his instruction, you turned around and sucked in a breath as he pulled down the zipper, exposing your back. He slid his fingers beneath the fabric at your shoulders, his callouses scraping along your skin as he pushed your dress down. Once it pooled around your feet, you turned to face him, your hands coming to a rest on the buckle of his belt.
You had just undone the buckle when he hauled you off the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist as he stalked toward the bed. He had waited long enough, he wanted you, and he wanted you immediately. He laid you down and pressed kisses into your skin, nipping at the spots he knew made you gasp. You were a panting, writhing mess by the time he reached the apex of your thighs.
M’Baku looked up at you, a devilish smirk on his face and a gleam in his eyes. The two of you may have been well versed in each other’s bodies, but tonight he was going to prove just how well he knew you. With a wink, he dipped his head and licked a broad stripe between your folds, pulling a moan out of you that neither of you recognized. He liked it so much, he did it again, and again, and again.
You clutched the blankets as he continued devouring you, pushing his wide tongue harder, flicking the tip just inside of you, teasing you mercilessly until you were ready to scream. With his hands on the back of your thighs, he pushed your legs up and out, opening you wider as he finally pushed his tongue into you, growling at the taste.
“Yes,” you hissed, your back arching off the bed, your thighs shaking as he used his knees for leverage, driving his tongue deeper, his nose pressing into your clit.
M’Baku set your foot onto his shoulder and slid his middle finger next to his tongue, using them in tandem, driving you higher and higher until you screamed his name as you came. You were sure you saw galaxies being born behind your eyelids, your entire body thrumming with each explosion.
Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses were pressed to your shaking body as your husband crawled up it, his heavy cock swinging, nudging the inside of your thighs with every move. You had not yet opened your eyes, had not started to come down from your high when he entered you inch by gloriously thick inch.
With a feral gleam in his eyes, M’Baku inched in and out at your urging, your nails scraping down his muscular back, a cry trapped in your throat, carnal need roaring through you. He had you coming quickly, every inch of you thrumming, quaking, like a freight train was barrelling down on you.
M’Baku’s thick thighs spread as he pushed his knees into the bed, using it as leverage to open you even wider. He let loose a growl that went straight to your pussy as he sank deeper yet. The new angle was tighter, your slick channel squeezing his sensitive cock-head, and it had him flying over the precipice with a booming shout of your name.
He kissed you fiercely as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you tight to his chest as he fell to his side. You were limp against him, your entire body aching in the best way possible.
“I did not hurt you, did I?” he breathed against your lips.
You hummed as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “No, my King. I am not hurt.”
A large hand was on your hip, squeezing the aching muscles deliciously. “I did not mean to. I just cannot control myself at times.”
“My love,” you mused, resting your hand against his cheek. “You have not hurt me.”
“Good,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering closed before he kissed you sweetly.
Reaching behind his back, M’Baku tugged a blanket over the pair of you since you had started to doze even while he was kissing you.
Title: Shiny Summary: Bucky teases Thor Word Count: 284 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Language Author’s Note: Y’all can thank @flamehairedwritings for these drabbles. I love you! Based on this cartoon.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Steve was sitting down, back against the wall, legs stretched out on the grass. “You’re enjoying that way too much,” he chuckled.
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, punk,” Bucky sassed with a shake of his head, an amused smirk on his lips.
Thor chittered loudly in irritation as he tried jumping up the brick wall to get the circle of light. When he landed loudly on the ground, his tail jerked back and forth as he waited for the light to move.
It had started almost an hour ago. Bucky reached up to scratch the back of his head, and the high-in-the-sky sun reflected off his metal arm, sending a ray of light onto the wall next to Steve. Thor had been trying – and failing – to get it ever since.
Bucky barked in laughter when he held the light over Steve’s head and Thor scrambled onto Steve’s legs, using his wide shoulders and head to vault himself along the wall.
“Fuckin’ cat,” Steve hollered, shoving the large feline away as soon as it landed.
“Shuddup,” Bucky teased. “Not like you won’t heal.”
Thor was meowing angrily, darting around in the tall grass as he sought out the little ball of light. He would plop down, wiggle his hips, his fluffy tail flickering back and forth, and launch himself at it, landing where it had been with his front two paws. Bucky snorted when Thor pulled open his paws to find absolutely nothing, just the trampled grass. Large eyes settled on his owner’s boyfriend as he chittered.
Steve laughed when Thor caught sight of the light once again, and tore off after it, grass flying through the air. “I could watch this all day.”
Summary: While on a mission, you and Bucky are overrun, and the communication between you and the Avengers is lost. Word Count: 3,789 [so many] Warnings: Mention of past emotional abuse / trauma to the reader, praise!kink, dirty talk, explicit sexual content that borders on rough sex Author’s Note: I have absolutely no idea where this came from. Thank you @climbthatmooselikeatree & @captain-rogers-beard for your amazing beta assistance.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
“God damn it,” you snarled, pushing another mag into your gun. “We’re completely exposed.”
Steve’s voice erupted in the comm. “I can’t get through. There’s too many of em.”
Bucky was suddenly beside you, blood dripping from his vibranium fingers, a wild look in his eyes. “This way,” he ordered, reaching for you.
“Get down,” you screamed, thrusting your arm over Bucky’s right shoulder and squeezing the trigger.
Bucky ducked as the bullets whizzed past, spinning around to face the oncoming gunfire, a feral yell spilling from his lips. He raised his weapon and returned fire before barrelling towards the bushes. You were right next to him, emptying two more mags as the pair of you brought down another wave of HYDRA agents.
“- say – thing!” It was Sam, but the connection was full of static.
“I can’t hear you, Sam,” you said slowly, hoping that you could time it with each burst of static.
“Fuck.” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you after him. “There’s a place we can hide,” he announced. “Come on.”
You were barely able to keep up, feet catching on various foliage, but Bucky’s hand was tight on yours, yanking you along. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the brutal pace. Besides, there were agents in pursuit. You had nowhere else to go.
“Almost there,” he yelled.
“Pick me up,” you ordered. “Over your shoulder.”
Bucky didn’t hesitate. He pivoted on his feet, wrapped an arm around your waist, and slung you over his shoulder like you were a bag of dog food, resuming his race towards whatever shelter he had previously found.
With your hand on the small of his back, you pushed, locked your elbow, and started firing. It wasn’t the best way to do things, but it was better than nothing. The agents fell to the wayside, but it took entirely too much ammo.
“I’m out,” you shouted, shoving your gun into the holster on your hip. Thankfully, the last bullet took out the last agent, for now.
Bucky careened to his right at the last possible second, releasing you from his grip at the same time. You slid from his shoulder, rolling out of the fall like you were tumbling at the gym. You shot up and ran after him, crying out happily at the sight of a cabin. Sure, it was rundown and had seen better days, but it was someplace the pair of you could wait for the rest of the team.
The door slammed behind you, a chair lodged under the knob, and Bucky ran down the hall, secured the back door in the same manner all before you could catch your breath. He tore off his jacket and the bulletproof vest Steve had made him wear, bullets dropping to the floor like loose change.
“You alright?” he panted, though he wasn’t nearly as out of breath as you.
You could only nod as you gasped for air. It wasn’t that you weren’t in great shape, you were, but all the adrenaline and the impromptu three mile dead run was taking its toll. He went into the kitchen and found a glass, turned on the water, and washed it. Thankfully, the water was clear. Hell, even if it wasn’t, you might have drained the glass anyway.
“Thanks,” you rasped.
After your third glass, Bucky grabbed your glass and filled it again, only he didn’t hand it to you. It was his turn to empty the glass quickly. His eyes roamed around, searching, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon or maybe he was looking for a weak point in the structure that the agents could use should they find your location.
Shifting on your feet, you pulled off your gear and set it on the counter.
“Steve, can you hear me?” you tried your comm, even though you had heard the last burst of static, knowing that whatever had happened, all communication between you and the Avengers had been cut off.
“Won’t help,” Bucky murmured. “Can’t hear us.”
“I figured that out, Buck,” you snapped, dragging a hand over your sweaty face.
Bucky pushed away from the counter and stormed out of the room. There was a door slamming in the back of the cabin that made you jump. Sighing heavily, you filled the glass and drained it, peering out the small, dirt-smudged window. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, but by the time your eyes snapped back into focus, the sun had started to dip lower on the horizon.
“It’s gonna get dark soon,” you announced loudly, thinking Bucky was still out of the room.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said, so close that you yelped and jumped.
You spun around to face him, hand on your chest, eyes wide with panic. “Christ, Buck,” you murmured.
He shook his head and backed away, hands held up. “Sorry. There’s a bathroom and bedroom in the back. It’s got clean towels, clothes. Some should fit you.”
You watched as Bucky turned and walked away, his shoulders tightening, metal hand balled into a fist, and it made you feel like shit. Without another word, you strode into the bathroom and slammed the door. Not even caring if it was warm or not, you turned on the water, ripped off your clothes, and stood under the stream of water, watching as blood – not yours, thank God – and dirt swirled down the drain.
You’d been working with the Avengers for over two years, no special powers or abilities, but you turned out to be one badass with a weapon; put anything in your hands and you could kill with it. They had been helping you hone your skill, become an assassin of sorts, but you worked for the good guys, so it was a wash, right?
Bucky had just been deprogrammed and given a clean bill of health when you met him last year, and Steve thought it might be a good idea to have you pair up, train together, work through your similar issues together. While Bucky had been a puppet for HYDRA, you were dealing with having suffered from extreme mental abuse at the hands of your husband. It had gotten so bad that you were one second away from taking your own life. And then, out of nowhere, Steve entered the picture and saved you.
Dried off and wearing a pair of baggy sweats and long sleeved shirt, you were surprised at how clean the bed was. You were expecting dusty, moth-eaten blankets, but they weren’t. You dropped onto the pillows with a sigh and threw your arm over your eyes. Since the adrenaline was long gone, you should have been tired enough to fall asleep, but for some reason, your body was still buzzing, your mind still racing.
You sat up on the edge of the bed and hung your head, your damp hair hanging in your face. You weren’t going to get to sleep anytime soon, so you pushed up and walked out of the room. You found Bucky, sitting on the couch, legs propped up onto a table, his head lolled back. He sat up as soon as you stepped into the room, the board under foot creaking, and he had a gun aimed at your head.
It took a split second for him to realize it was you. “Shit, Y/N. I… I’m sorry.”
“I… no, don’t be,” you stammered, your heart thundering in your chest.
His head fell back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping the gun onto a small table next to the couch. “Scared me.”
You sat on the other end of the couch, your legs tucked under you, hands in your lap, fingers toying with a loose string. “If you, uh, if you want to sleep, I’ll take watch.”
Even though he yawned, he shook his head. “Can’t sleep.”
“Me either,” you lamented.
You tried to look anywhere but at Bucky, but it more difficult than it sounded. He was so… stunning. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges, okay, a lot, but he had such a pure heart, he really did. Of all the evil things HYDRA had him do, Bucky was still able to hold onto his humanity, his soul, and for that, he deserved a god damn medal.
“Hey,” you murmured. “You change the sheets?”
If you weren’t mistaken, Bucky smiled. “Didn’t think you’d want to sleep in a pile of dust.”
“Thank you.”
Bucky turned to look at you, his eyes piercing through you. “You’re welcome, doll.”
You were surprised when he didn’t look away. He wasn’t much for eye contact, especially with a woman, but there he was, looking at you as if it were for the first time, and it took your breath away, made you shift in your seat, made crimson color your skin.
With a shy chuckle, you looked down at your hands. Two years was a long time to go without touching another human being, let alone a male, and that didn’t include training and fighting, that was completely different. Besides, if you were being honest with yourself, it was a lot longer than two years. It had been two years since Steve killed your husband, but the last time your husband said he was no longer sexually attracted to you was five years before that.
“What’s’a matter?” Bucky asked, voice low and calm, as if he were going to scare you.
You wiped away a tear and stared hard at your finger, wondering when in the hell that started. “No- nothing.”
Bucky pulled his legs off the table and sat sideways on the couch, facing you, left knee pushed into the back cushion, arm draped over the couch. “You can tell me, Y/N. I won’t… judge, or anything.”
“How much, uh,” you started, your throat thick. “God, this is going to sound so egotistical. How much has Steve told you about me?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Not much,” he admitted. “Just said you were in a shitty place in your life.”
“He tell you that he killed my husband?”
Bucky nodded at that. “But if Cap’s gonna kill a guy, he must have had a damn good reason.”
“True,” you huffed, still unwilling to look Bucky – the man that you found wildly attractive – in the eye.
“Take your time,” he assured you, hand coming to a stop on your knee and giving it a squeeze.
So you did. It took a long stretch of time before you could even utter the horrors of what you had survived, and they were nothing compared to the missions you worked with your team. Those were on another level, something you could compartmentalize, shove into a box and lock it away, deep in the recesses of your mind. But mental abuse? That was a different ballgame entirely.
“My uh, my husband was abusive,” you divulged, and it came out in a rush. “Not physically, as if that makes a difference.”
You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s hands flexed or the way his shoulders quirked. “How long?”
“Long as we were together. Well, not in the beginning, but that’s how they get you, huh? Lay it on nice and thick, get you right where they want you, and then, WHAM, start tearing you down brick by brick.” You scraped a shaking hand over your face, wiping away the tears that started to fall.
“And no one did anything?” Again, the flexing of his hands, which was sort of hypnotic.
You shook your head. “Nah, he had everyone convinced that he was a good guy, that he was going to take care of me for the rest of my life, that we were a perfect couple,” you you said bitterly.
Bucky slid closer, until his knee was pressing into yours, but he didn’t say anything. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he knew you wanted to get everything off your chest.
You told him about the time when the two of you were newlyweds and you were at the local grocery store. Someone came up to you – turned out to be a guy you went to high school with – and he started talking, seeing how you were doing after a handful of years, asking a bunch of questions.
“God, he was so mad,” you scoffed.
“What happened?”
Your eyes filled up with fresh tears. “He reminded me who I belonged to, that no one else wanted me. He ‘reminded me’ until I couldn’t walk for two days.”
Bucky’s eyes flashed as anger coursed through him. “He hit ya?”
“No,” you choked out, a hand over your mouth, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.
“Jesus,” he snarled. Without warning, he pulled you into him, your legs draped over his, a hand buried in your hair, the other working up and down your back. You melted into him, trying to curl in on yourself as you cried, wetting his shirt with your tears.
You latched your arms around his neck, dug your nails into his skin and cried, mourning the loss of the child that you were and the life that had been ripped away from you. Bucky hauled you into his lap so you were straddling his thighs, and he held you while you cried, rocking gently, whispering hushed reassurances in your ear.
“What did I do?” you cried. “In a past life, I must’ve done… some… something.”
Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple. “Baby girl, no,” he argued gently. “You did nothing wrong, I promise. It was all him. He was the one that fucked everything up.” You didn’t believe him, you couldn’t, not after hearing the exact opposite for seventy-five percent of your life, but Bucky wasn’t going to give up.
He took your face in his hands and swept away the tears with his thumbs. “Y/N, you…,” his pupils did this weird thing where they blew out, making his already oceanic eyes turn darker, “you are an amazing woman. You’re kind, and gentle, and smart, and wickedly talented. Not just with a gun, but in everything you do. And it kills me that you don’t see any of it, but what kills me the most is that you don’t see -” his voice broke under the realization of what he was about to say.
“What, Buck?” you rasped. “What don’t I see?”
A sad smile tugged at his lips. “Me, Y/N. You don’t see me.”
You about choked on a sob when he said that. “Buck, I do see you.” And just like that, the tables turned.
Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head, his hair falling into his face. “Not the way I see you,” he admitted under his breath.
Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest when he said that. You could tell him that you had seen him since the very first day, the raw emotion on his face, the fear he held that he would hurt someone, even on accident, that he was a threat to the entire team, that he was not to be trusted; you saw all of it, and more. You saw the love that he was capable of giving if someone were to stick with him through the valleys among the mountains.
Bucky wasn’t a monster, he was an angel.
Just like you, he wouldn’t believe it, he needed to be shown, not told. Pulling in a shaky breath, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his. His eyes flew open, but he didn’t pull back, he just… stared at you, trying to see if what was happening was real. The fear that he would push you back was knocked away. You closed your eyes and tipped your head, sighing at the way his chapped lips scraped yours in the process. In that moment, his demeanor completely changed.
Bucky drove his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, moaning at the way you kissed him back. It was passionate and had a sense of urgency to it, as if he would die if he didn’t get to kiss you. Your hands were in his hair, tugging on the chestnut strands, earning a nice growl in the back of his throat. He grabbed the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt and yanked it off, throwing it to the floor as if it offended him. At the sight of your bare breasts, Bucky honest-to-goodness whined in appreciation, and it drove a shudder down your spine that rolled your hips.
With his help, you returned the favor of removing his shirt. Yeah, you had seen him shirtless hundreds of time, but those were at the compound while you sparred. Right then, he was exposing the one thing that made him insecure and, in his eyes, less human, less deserving. You traced the dark pink scars with your nails and fingertips, smiling softly before bending down to press a kiss against the puffed skin.
You weren’t sure if the choking sound Bucky made was because no one had ever dared show him such compassion, or for another reason, whatever it was, you liked it. He grabbed your hair and pulled you up, kissing you fiercely, possessively as his other hand worked down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, and into the front of your pants. You reared back as the cool metal of his hand slid between the slick folds of your pussy.
“Jesus, doll,” he purred. “This all for me?”
You gripped the back of the couch as you rocked your hips, throwing your head back at the way his fingertips teased your hole. “Bucky,” you whined.
He dipped his head and pressed kisses to your neck, along each collar bone, and finally to each breast. While lavishing them with attention, he continued to stroke you, your slick covering his metallic digits, his fingers never fully entering you, just enough to drive you crazy with desire. You were just about to demand that he do something when his middle finger pushed deep inside you.
“Yes,” you hissed, your back arching, your hips rocking.
Bucky bit down on your breast, just shy of your nipple, pulling blood to the surface without breaking the skin. He stroked you lazily before pushing in another finger, the pad of his thumb seeking out your clit.
Panting, you looked at him and begged to be fucked. “Please, Buck. I need you,” you almost wept.
He surged up and gave you a bruising kiss as he pumped his fingers, dragging them deliciously against your already fluttering walls, scissoring them, stretching you, preparing you for his cock. When you ripped your mouth away to breathe, to address the fact that you were going to come, he sat back and watched.
“That’s a good girl,” he moaned. “Such a fuckin’ sight, watchin’ you come, baby. I got’chu,” he vowed, fucking you furiously with his fingers.
At his words, the coil in your gut snapped and you came with a cry of his name, your nails tearing into the cushions, your knuckles – along with your vision – gone white. It was the first orgasm you’d had – not by your own hand – in the last seven years, and fuck, it was intense, so naturally, you whined when Bucky’s fingers left you.
“It ain’t over, doll,” he smirked, holding you to his chest as he stood and carried you into the bedroom. He laid you down, pulled off your pants, then his, and then he was crawling up your body, pulling in a deep breath when he buried his nose in your short curls.
“Shit, I could spend all fuckin’ night here,” Bucky said, his tongue darting out to savor you. “Taste so good, baby girl, but I bet you feel even better.”
You were whimpering as he dropped kisses to your stomach and breasts, his tongue and teeth teasing your nipples, tugging on them, sending a jolt of pain through you. Unable to wait much longer, you grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him savagely, notching your thigh on his hip at the same time.
Bucky reached down and spread the wide head of his cock against your pussy, coating himself with your arousal, and then, with a twitch of his hips, he was pushing into you, stretching you around his thick cock. You had no doubt in your mind that Bucky would have been proportionate, but shit, he spread you to the point that you weren’t sure you were going to survive.
“It’s okay, doll,” he purred into your ear. “You can take it.” With a shuddering exhale, you nodded, nails digging into his skin, spilling his blood until his pelvis touched yours.
Hot breath blasted against your neck. “So… fuckin’… tight,” he praised, his shoulders shaking as he forced himself not to move.
“Slow, Buck,” you told him, your voice small and thin.
Bucky pressed a kiss to your pulse point and did as instructed, inching himself in and out, again and again until you were begging for him to go faster, harder. The headboard was hitting the wall with every powerful thrust of Bucky’s hips, his shoulders bowing, the small of his back dipping down, his thighs spread wide, knees digging into the mattress. You weren’t going to make it much longer, and neither was Bucky, not if the way his hips just faltered had anything to say about it.
You snaked a hand between your bodies and worked at your clit, sending you screaming into the abyss as you came unraveled. Bucky let loose a feral snarl as he bent down and sucked hard on your shoulder, his teeth dangerously close to piercing your skin as he marked you, claiming you as his. He came a handful of sloppy thrusts later, driving his hips down, burying himself to the root as his cock swelled and twitched, sending an aftershock through you, making you gasp.
Bucky’s mouth sealed over yours and he held you to him as he rolled to his side, dragging your thigh over his hip, keeping your bodies locked together for as long as possible. After kissing you languidly, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers carding through your damp hair.
“What?” you chuckled, feeling self-conscious under his gaze.
“I need you, too,” he murmured, breath hot against your lips, heart hammering in his chest.
Tears filled your eyes at the realization that no man had ever said they needed you. Wanted you, yes, but that was completely different than need.
You gave him a small kiss, smiling against his lips, and promised, “Well then. It’s a good thing you’ve got me.”
Summary: Your high school boyfriend breaks up with you. Word Count: 340 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Teenage heartbreak Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Dean didn’t like to show it, but he wasn’t always a hardass. In fact, he had quite a big soft spot, especially when it came to his baby brother, even more so when it came to you. He would hold the doors open for you, shooting you a wink as you passed by, his hand would almost always be on the small of your back as the two of you walked up and down the halls of the high school. He had even been there for you when your grandmother died, holding your hands, an arm around your shoulders, whispering words of comfort against your temple, not caring that his shirt was soaked with tears.
So why was he breaking up with you?
“Dad got a job,” Dean explained, his voice thick, eyes wet. “We leave tomorrow morning, early.” He brushed away your tears with his thumbs.
“Why so soon?” you hiccuped, your hands on his wrists, tethering yourself to him.
With his lips in a tight line, Dean shook his head. You could tell that he didn’t want to go, that if his father allowed him to stay, he would, in a heartbeat, but there was no arguing with John Winchester. You hadn’t even met the man, but you knew how it was having a Marine for a father.
He pressed his lips to yours, feather-soft, moving slow, taking his time, as if memorizing the way you felt and tasted. You melted against him, whimpering against his lips as your heart started to break. You were dizzy, drunk on Dean’s kisses when his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing was as ragged as yours.
The both of you were killing time, standing there, hands on each other’s arms, neither of you knowing whether the other was pushing away or pulling closer. You watched as he closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, tears streaking down the sides of his face.
With a clench of his jaw and a huff of air out his nose, Dean stood tall and walked away.
Summary: Dean’s appetite never fails to amaze you. Word Count: 196 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Post-sex fluff and silliness Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Besides the mind-blowing sex, cuddling with Dean post-coitus was the highlight of your evening, or morning, or whenever the sex happened to occur. This latest time found the two of you in your own motel room – not the skeevy kind, on a queen-sized bed – thanks to your blue-ribbon hussle.
You rolled with Dean to your side, his fingers curling into your hair, his lips constantly moving, against yours, brushing against your cheeks and throat, jawline and ear. You’ve got your hands on his back, nails scraping against his overheated skin, drawing nonsensical patterns.
With a stuttering breath, you pushed your head into the pillow and tangled your legs with Dean’s. He drug his knuckles down your neck and chest, chuckling when you gasped.
“What’sa matter?” he murmured, his lips trailing up and down your neck.
A content hum left your lips. “Jus’ tickles.”
Dean settled into his pillow, his jade eyes drilling into yours. “Know what sounds good?”
“Mmm mmm. Tell me,” you rasped, your fingers wandering aimlessly along his arm, up his shoulder, and into his hair.
“Pie,” he announced with a wink. He kissed the tip of your nose before shoving out of bed.
Summary: You and John can’t seem to stop fighting. Word Count: 172 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Angry fluff? Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
You and John were like oil and water, unable to see eye to eye on most things, always in each other’s faces, yelling, arguing, wanting to bash in the other’s head. You didn’t know why he got under your skin so easily, but he did, and it seemed that all he had to do was open his mouth and say something. It didn’t seem to matter what he said, it always ended up in an argument. Well, not always.
A good majority of the time the arguments ended with you in John’s arms, pinned against the wall with his hips, your body curving up, arching into his solid body. His large hands would be pawing at your ass while yours were on the collar of his button-down shirt, yanking him impossibly closer.
John’s forehead would press to yours as the pair of you panted, gasping at the thick air between you, your skin sparking like a live wire. It was during these times where you agreed on everything without saying a word.
Summary: Things have changed since the last time you saw Sam. Word Count: 336 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Fluffy fluffing fluff Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Sam had been gone for almost two months, getting stitched up, Dean had said. And he had been right, Sam was getting stitched up, from the inside out. Turned out, Sam’s soul had been missing, and shoving it back in was harder than anyone imagined.
Staying back had been your choice, it would have been too hard to see Sam going through everything Dean had described on those nightly phone calls. There was no way you could have handled it. Especially since things had gotten a bit more complicated.
Hunting with the Winchesters had been a roller coaster. They’d roll through town, stop by for a home cooked meal and a comfortable bed, head out the next morning with you in the back seat. You’d be back home about a week later, bidding the brothers goodbye. And then, one night, four months ago, you were drunk, and Sam… God, Sam. He might have been soulless at the time, not that you knew about it, but he was so goddamn stunning as he worked on Baby with Dean.
With your inhibitions lowered and your filter doused in vodka, you approached the bronzed god and started chatting him up. It was the best night of your life. Three weeks later, Dean called, said something was wrong with Sam.
You were standing on the front steps, nervously wringing your fingers together, watching the dark dot grow larger as it approached. Sam was the first one out, long hair shining in the setting sun, eyes swimming with uncertainty.
“Hi,” you breathed in greeting.
He smiled, one corner of his lips tugging higher than the other. Without asking, not that you would have told him no, he dropped to his knees and pressed kisses to your swollen belly. Sam’s large hands were on your hips and the backs of your thighs. He was holding you up without even knowing it.
With your hands in his hair, carding through the silken strands, you choked on a sob when he muttered, “Hi, baby.”
Summary: Despite picking out a movie, Steve doesn’t want to watch it. Word Count: 222 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Making out Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
The pair of you were supposed to be watching a movie, but Steve obviously had other ideas to how he wanted to spend time with you. The room was dark, the television screen was the only illumination in the room, and the two of you were casting shadows on the wall.
It started with his arm over your shoulders, the way his fingers swept back and forth, sneaking under the sleeve, the calluses pulling goosebumps to the surface. You turn and look up at him, finding that his azure orbs are already on you. He doesn’t say anything, just traps your chin between his fingers and dips his head down, catching your lips in his.
Steve is gentle as he pulls you onto his lap, his hand on the small of your back, the other curling in your hair, holding it back, trapping it to the back of your neck. You curve into him, your nails scraping through his hair, tugging on the short strands as the kiss continues.
There’s nothing rushed about it, no hurry to tear each other’s clothes off and ravage one another; not this time. It’s languid, almost lazy, the way your lips work together, your tongues moving in tandem.
You stay there, perched on his lap, getting high of his kisses, until long after the credits roll.
Summary: Bucky is mad when you cut short a mission. Word Count: 327 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Angry fluff, language Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
“Why would you do that?” Bucky raged, striding toward you down the long hall.
You scoffed loudly and rolled your eyes hard enough that the tears that were forming disappeared. “Gee, Buck. I don’t fucking know. Maybe because I was petrified of losing you!”
“That doesn’t give you cause to abort the mission.”
Shit, you had never seen him so angry, but angry was a better look on him than death. You would do it again. No questions asked. God, you were so goddamn angry at him, you could just scream.
“Fuck you, Barnes,” you snarled, shoving at him the second he stepped within your air space, but Bucky’s steps didn’t falter.
He grabbed your shoulder and hip, and yanked you into him, the solidness of his chest making you grunt. His lips were on yours and his tongue was in your mouth as he kissed you savagely. You grabbed his shirt and twisted your fingers in it, your nails catching in the threadbare cotton. Torn between shoving at him and pulling him into you, you growled into his mouth.
Bucky backed you against the wall, pinning you against it with his hips. The merciless kiss continued, his beard burning your chin, his fingers digging bruises into your hip and the back of your neck. One of your hands carded through his hair, the strands like silk against your skin.
With a gasp, Bucky pulled back and stared at you with lust-blown pupils. With a bemused huff, you shook your head and pushed up, brushing your lips against his. The air was tearing in and out of both of you, catching on your hair, thickening the already tangible mood.
Rather than move, grab your hand, and walk with you to your shared room, Bucky stayed there, a thigh nestled between your legs, one hand flat against the wall, your hand on his back, your face in the crook of his neck, his cheek resting against your hair.
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