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The door hit the wall and bounced back, smacking you in the shoulder as Bucky pushed you backwards into the room. Your hands were on his belt, fumbling with the buckle, his shirt was already unbuttoned, hanging open, your fingers brushing the taut muscles of his stomach. His were on your waist, pushing beneath your shirt, his lips on yours, kissing you senseless. You wanted to stop, but you didn’t want to stop. Bucky was a drug you couldn’t resist.
“Fuck,” you muttered. You planted your hand in the center of Bucky’s chest and pushed him away.
Bucky exhaled, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest. He released you, his fists clenched at his sides, a scowl on his face, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read.
You shoved your hands in your pockets and shook your head. “Buck, we can’t do this,” you said. “Not like this.” The words sounded wrong coming out of your mouth, probably because they weren’t true, weren’t what you wanted, weren’t how you really felt. You wanted him, wanted him bad, and you couldn’t stay away from him. The two of you were like magnets, drawn together. At the same time, you knew you couldn’t be with him, you mixed like oil and water. Just thinking about the last time you’d tried to make it work made your head hurt.
Bucky leaned over you, his forehead pressed to yours, his knee pushed between your legs, his lips just barely brushing yours. He let out an unsteady breath as he pulled away, his head falling to your shoulder.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “We can’t do this. Not again.” His lips drifted along the line of your throat.
You bit back a moan of desire and shoved your hands deeper into your pockets. If he didn’t stop, you’d throw all the promises you’d made yourself about ‘never again’ right out the window. “Bucky, please -”
Bucky’s head came up and god dammit, he was smirking. “Call me if you change your mind, doll,” he said and then, he was gone.
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A lot of people thought Tony was an asshole, uncaring, selfish, an all-around jerk. But you knew better; you knew that was a wall he put up, a persona he showed to outsiders. He was really a big softie, not always great at the relationship stuff, but he tried. And he was always there when, and if, you needed him. Always.
The day your mom called to tell you that the dog you’d grown up with had passed away was one of those times. You’d excused yourself after hanging up your phone, hurrying down the hall to the quarters you shared with Tony, quietly closing the door behind you before taking a seat on the bed. Then, and only then, did you let the tears fall, hands pressed to your face, crying quietly.
Less than a minute later, Tony was coming through the door, kicking it closed behind himself, talking some nonsense about a trip into the city for shawarma, unbuttoning the cuffs of his tailored dress shirt, rolling them up, not looking at you, not seeing your shaking shoulders or wet cheeks. Once he finally turned your way, he took a step back in surprise, stricken.
“Y/N?” he murmured.
You couldn’t hold back the sobs as you reached for Tony, reached for the one person in this world who grounded you, who made everything better. And he was there, kneeling at your feet, notched between your legs, your hands in his, gently kissing your knuckles, the palms, each finger.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Tell me what it is.”
You mumbled some vaguely incoherent explanation, but it was enough for the billionaire; he only needed to know that you were upset, that you were hurting. He cupped your cheek in his hands, his thumb caressing your cheekbone even as he rained gentle kisses over your cheeks and your lips.
“It’s okay, baby,” Tony said, gathering you in his arms and stretching out on the bed, curling himself around you. “It’s gonna be alright. I’m here.”
Summary: You don’t know what you’d do if something happened to Steve. Word Count: 336 [tags under the cut] Warnings: Angst, 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.
Your heart had dropped the moment contact with Steve was lost. This… it couldn’t be happening, you couldn’t lose Steve, not now, not when you just found him. It had been a whirlwind; almost dying, only to be saved by none other than Captain America. At first, you thought it might just be the Florence Nightingale Effect; falling in love with the person that saved your life. But as it turned out, Steve was falling for you, and fast.
The mission was supposed to be easy, simple smash and grab; kill all the bad guys, save the prisoner, but something went terribly wrong. The signal went dead ten minutes from the compound, and every second dragged by as if it were an hour.
It was smothering, the thick silence that surrounded you, whispering into your ear that Steve wasn’t going to make it, that he had died without hearing that you loved him. The cold tendrils of fear gripped your heart and squeezed, its ragged nails tearing into the muscle. And just when you thought you were going to fall to the floor, the door opened, and Steve walked… well, limped in.
With tears streaming down your face, you ran to him, colliding with him a long moment later, the pair of you grunting at the impact. You’re on your toes, kissing him frantically, your hands pressed against his back, nails gripping at the torn fabric of his dark suit.
Steve’s shoulders bowed as he curled around you, his hands on your face, wiping away the tears. He’s murmuring something between each kiss, something you can’t focus on right then, because it’s not important. What was important was that Steve wasn’t dead, he was there, with you, holding you close, heart pounding in time with yours.
When the calluses of his fingers scraped against your back, digging into the soft flesh as if he were trying to pull you into him, you broke down and sobbed, comforted only by the promises he whispered into your ear.
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Steve moaned, his body tensing, his eyes rolling back in his head, a shudder running through him. He sprawled over you, his chest heaving, his face buried against the side of your neck. Your limbs were tangled with his, arms intertwined, your foot hooked around the back of his thigh, his fingers twisted in your hair.
He pushed himself to his elbows, his hips still nestled against yours, every inch of you still overly sensitive, the slightest movement sending a tingle of need through you, despite the multiple orgasms you’d had. He kissed you, soft and easy, unhurried, the corner of your mouth, a brush across your lips before he rolled to his back, tucking an arm beneath you and around your waist, keeping you tight against his side. He dragged his fingers up and down your spine, kissing your temple and grinning when you squirmed a little, your breasts pressed against his arm.
Your lips were against his neck and you were peppering him with kisses, up and down the line of his throat, over his shoulder and chest, taking your time, memorizing every mole, every mark, every scar, even the taste of his skin against your tongue. You didn’t want to forget anything about Steve or this moment, any moment with him. You ended at his mouth, leaning over him, your lips pressed to his, sighing as he rolled to his side, his body flush against yours, the kiss deepening.
When you finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against Steve’s chest, smiling to yourself as his fingers continued dancing along your spine.
***My work is not to be posted on any other sites (Wattpad, AO3, etc) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine***
Coming home after a long mission was always a relief. Home was after all, the place where Clint was most comfortable, where he could sleep uninterrupted, eat his favorite foods, put his feet up and watch some mind numbing movie, or just relax for the sake of relaxing. But it wasn’t just the relief of being home, it was being able to see you, to kiss you again after days, weeks, or months apart. Nothing was better than that first kiss hello.
The minute he stepped through the door, the only thing that mattered was getting you in his arms – duffle bag tossed aside, bow and arrows dropped to the floor, his sole purpose was getting to you. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing, in that moment, you were his. Clint wouldn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, picking you up and spinning you in a circle, moaning as your scent filled his head.
Once you were back on your feet, Clint’s hands interlaced around the back of your neck, his thumbs on your cheekbones, then and only then would he kiss you, his mouth slanted over yours, his tongue dancing across your lips until your mouth opened and you granted him entrance. His hand would inevitably slid into your hair, cupping the back of your head as the kiss deepened, until you were nearly bowed backwards from the force of it.
By the time he let you go, you were blushing and giggling, both of you breathless. Clint’s hello kisses were always the best part of his return.
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