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How does construction worker Bucky handle the heat? Does he ever get grumpy about it?
- Zombie
Oh not well. He's an autumn kind of guy. Bucky doesn't do well in the heat. He likes to strip down to his boxers the second he steps in the house.
The doors' still swinging shut when he starts pulling his shirt over his head. He's complaining about the fact that it was 80 degrees before noon today. And you're trying to focus. To be sympathetic. Pay attention. But there's a faint bead of sweat traveling down his chest, weaving a slow path between his abs and you can't help yourself.
"My eyes are up here," he teases, making his chest flex under the soft overhead lights.
"Uh huh. You know I should probably join you in the shower—", you say, stepping closer, placing your hands on his thick, corded biceps. Softening your expression into one of concern, voice soft as you continue. "—to make sure you don't pass out from heat exhaustion."
Bucky grins. Gets hard. Because yesterday he told you that the two of you had to shower together to conserve water. The day before, it was because he didn't want you to get lonely. The fact that you're making up an equally bad excuse makes him want you even more.
As he tosses you over his shoulder, the same one you're going to be biting down on when he has you pinned against the shower wall, Bucky realizes he doesn't mind spending all day in the heat if it means he can spend his nights finding new ways to cool down with you.
Making sure that he won't pass out because of the heat is a very important task!😌And if he would actually find ways to cool me down, that would be very much appreciated.💜
If you’re also melting somewhere out there, consider this your daily dose of fan-powered emotional support. And don’t forget to stay hydrated. Happy Caturday 😽🤍
Sexy September Scribbles Day 3: "Sweetest Pussy I Ever Tasted"
A/N: This is Day 3 of the #SexySeptemberScribblesChallenge. This is a Muse Fic. Let me know if you like this one by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Ari is a menace. Exotic fruit; Ari gets you there without even touching you.
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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
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The balcony was cluttered with empty glasses and a plate of exotic fruit, the city glittering beneath you like a jeweled blanket.
Ari lounged in his chair like he owned the skyline.
He picked up a mangosteen slice, teeth sinking into the pale flesh.Juice spilled down his wrist, glistening in the low light. His tongue followed it slowly, dragging across his skin with deliberate indulgence.
“Mmm.” His eyes found yours, blue and knowing. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
You choked on your drink. “Ari!”
His grin was shameless. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, pulling off with a wet pop that made your thighs clench.
“What? I said fruit.”
His gaze lingered at your hemline, then slid back to your flushed face.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re acting shy.”
His laugh was low and pleased. He licked another slice obscenely, tongue curling until you forgot to breathe.
“Don’t worry, Muse,” Ari murmured. “The fruit’s good.”
He popped it between his smirking lips.
“But your cunt? Unforgettable.”
Your pulse skipped as he plucked another piece, fingers glistening.
“Funny thing,” he mused, “fruit never measures up. Sweet, sure. Tart, sometimes. But never warm.” He bit down, juice running over his knuckles. “Never dripping.”
Your breath hitched. He licked a long stripe across his hand, catching every drop.
“Never the way you gush when you’re about to break.”
“Ari…”
He chuckled.
“Don’t pretend. You’re thinking about it.”
“When I say sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, I mean it. I catalogue every drip, every cry you try to hide.”
He sucked his thumb clean, grin wolfish. “Unforgettable.”
Your whimper gave you away. He rose, shadow falling over you, tilting your chin up.
“Sweetest thing,” he whispered, then leaned down to kiss you hungrily.
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Summary: Steve may or may not have an issue with typos.
Word Count: 300
Warnings: Slight jealousy, crush, humor, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 31 of the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: “I said behave… not that I expected you to listen.” ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Steve smiled to himself as he watched your fingers fly across the keyboard. You insisted on typing up the mission report. Something about how there would be less typos if you did it. For a man out of time, his typing wasn’t that bad.
But he had to admit he was happy that he had more missions with you since it was an excuse to spend some time together.
“Should I put in here that you reprimanded me?” you asked, looking away from the screen.
He sighed. “I reprimanded you because I had to,” he replied.
It wasn’t that he wanted to, but it was part of his job.
“You said, ‘if you have the shot, take it’ and I did.”
“And I said behave… not that I expected you to listen,” he muttered.
“Behave was an interesting word choice.”
He gritted his teeth. “You didn’t have to flirt with the target,” he said, jealousy seeping in before he could stop himself.
You began to type again. “You know, you don’t have a problem when Nat or anyone else flirts, Cap.”
That was because they weren’t you.
Steve didn’t have a chance to respond since Bucky walked through the door. “Got a second, Stevie?” he asked, giving you a nod.
The blonde frowned, wondering what he needed. “What’s up, Buck?” he asked once he was in the hall.
“So, you two…”
The tips of Steve’s ears warmed. The gang knew about his little crush on you. He couldn’t lie to them.
“What about us?”
Bucky smirked and held up his phone. “You said in the group chat, ‘we really boned during our last mission’.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Bonded. We bonded.”
Okay, he was bad with typos.
“Better delete it before she sees it… but Sam already took a screenshot.”
Fuck.
The muse wanted some humor for our last scribble. 😂 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
a/n: i'm not sure about this one but it's definitely angsty
The Asset was tired.
For weeks now, he’d been running, searching, looking for answers he couldn’t quite remember the questions to; there was a hole inside his chest he didn’t know how to fill, none of the fragments he carefully collected enough to explain the longing he felt. Home, he thought, was a person, but he still didn’t know how to return to it.
It was as if the man from the bridge was still haunting him, blue eyes and furrowed brows, whispers at the back of his mind constantly reminding him that there was something there that he just couldn’t reach, fantasies or memories or something in between, and a voice that felt strange and familiar at the same time.
Bucky?
The Asset kept running, even though most days he didn’t quite remember whether he was running towards something or just running away; from the past, maybe, or something even worse than that.
Don't hurt me like this!😭 Your wording is so great.
For weeks now, he’d been running, searching, looking for answers he couldn’t quite remember the questions to; there was a hole inside his chest he didn’t know how to fill, none of the fragments he carefully collected enough to explain the longing he felt. Home, he thought, was a person, but he still didn’t know how to return to it.
simultaneously wishing i were a woodland fairy, a maiden in the scottish highlands who is actually a selkie, a victorian naturalist who scandalously wears pants, a 1960s schoolgirl by the sea, a friendly forest witch, a reef-dwelling mermaid, a ghostly gothic heroine, or maybe a cat
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