So Lemme Get This Straight. Bucky Asks Steve If He's "keeping The Outfit", And Steve Decides On The Spot

😫😫😫

Keep your eyes on the road (aka an unexpected sex pollen adventure)

Summary: Honestly, this is what Bucky gets for not listening to you.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only. Oral sex while driving, sex pollen, sex in a car, bad language, Bucky desperately needing to bang. Also please do not try to replicate this unless you are in fact with a super soldier who has super reflexes, as blow jobs while driving should probably be attempted by super people. 

A/N: Is this really my first time writing sex pollen? Yes it is. Is Bucky being needy and desperate kinda fun? Yes it is. Did I enjoy writing this? Yes I most certainly did. I hope you enjoy it too. ;)

*****

The thing is, you told him you didn’t feel like coming on this mission.

And you told him not to open that container with the giant blood red skull on it. 

And you told him to to wear a mask.

And you told him to let you drive, but he shouted something about you being a passenger princess before unceremoniously shoving you in the getaway car.

So yeah. You told him all these things.

The thing is, Bucky fumes, glaring at the swerve of headlights advancing in his rearview mirror - he really needs to learn how to fucking listen.  

“Shit, shit, shit!” He slams the accelerator to the floor and the car gives a sickening lurch. Beside him, you crack your head on the window, trying to buckle your seatbelt and swearing at the top of your lungs. 

“Bucky what the hell’s the matter with you? Just drive.” 

“I’m trying,” he snaps. He can feel the flushing prickle of sweat beading down his neck. Rubbing a shaking hand down his face, he blows out a harsh breath. “Why in god’s name is the heater on? Turn that shit off, I’m burning up over here.”

Craning your neck, you watch the headlights gaining. Fumbling for the Glock taped under the seat, you shoot him a confused look. 

“The heater isn’t on, it’s freezing in here. I told Steve to fix it and he ignored me because he's a giant asshole.”

Eyes locked on the road, Bucky reaches blindly for the window handle, hurriedly rolling it down. A blast of cold air rushes through the car and he gulps in relief.

“Better, much better,” he mutters. He squints into the rearview mirror again, mentally calculating the time between headlights and taillights, when he feels a twisting wrench in his chest. It sends bursts of heat skimming under his skin, snagging every nerve along the way. A panicked whine slips through clenched teeth. Alarmed, you turn back and meet his wild eyes, sweat now pouring down his face.   

“What the - what’s wrong? Bucky? Talk to me!” 

When you grab his arm, he visibly recoils. 

“No no no, don’t touch me, don’t - ah holy fuck, don’t touch me. If you do, I can’t - I’m gonna put the car in the ditch.” 

“You’re scaring me Bucky, what is this?”

He says nothing, deep in thought as his brain runs through the mission on warp speed, trying to identify something, anything, that could possibly -

Wait.

Oh.

Crap.

It's like a sucker punch when he realizes.

“The gold dust that flew out of that container, did any of it touch you?”

“You mean the one I told you not to open but you did it anyway because you can’t follow directions? Bucky what is wrong, you need-“

“Answer me,” he snarls. In the dashboard glow, you see his face pale. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. “Sorry, sorry, just - please answer. Did any of it get on your skin?”

Baffled, you shake your head.

“No. None of it touched me, it just hit you.” 

Bucky nods, relieved. 

“Good, okay. Okay. Think I know what this is,” he grits out. Another shudder wracks his body and he grips the steering wheel so hard it squeals in protest. “HRNE-75.”

Your response is a blank stare.

“Am I supposed to know what random letters and numbers mean?”

“It’s a stimulant.” 

“Like caffeine?”

“No, like a drug.” You can hear him breathing faster. “Like a - like an aphrodisiac.”

Still a blank stare.

“What kind of aphrodisiac?”

“People call it sex pollen,” he says flatly. “It makes you horny. Like - really fucking horny. And it hurts like hell unless you do something about it.”

“Well, okay. We’ll figure that out when we get home, but for now - “

“I can’t - I don’t think I can wait until we get home,” he interrupts. Sweat soaks the collar of his shirt and he shifts uncomfortably, glancing down. Following his gaze, you can see his cock straining against his jeans. 

“Jesus Christ. Bucky if you’re in pain, just pull over and let me drive, you can jerk off in the backseat.”

“We don’t have time to pull over, that fucker’s right behind us and if we don’t get us past Steve’s stupid check point, we’re gonna lose him and then the whole mission is wasted and I got sprayed by some bullshit horny dust for no reason and I’m sweating so much right now and I think I’m going to throw up, my dick hurts so fucking bad!” 

His voice reaches an hysterical pitch and you press your lips together, choking down the laughter. 

“Okay okay, I got it. So if you come, does that stop the pain?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t matter,” his shoulders slump miserably. “We can’t stop yet and I can’t jerk off and drive at the same time. Maybe under normal circumstances I could do it, I mean sure I have done that before because sometimes I get bored driving, but I just don’t have that kind of focus right now baby, I don’t.” 

Tremors are rattling through his entire body now, as he fights for control. As he shifts his hips, unconsciously searching for some kind of friction to offer relief, an idea pops into your brain.     

“Hey. Let me give you road head.” 

His hands slip on the wheel and he double-takes. 

“Wha - road head? Like - what does that mean? Like you’d give me a blow job? While I’m driving?”

If this were any other situation, you would tease him mercilessly for the way his voice squeaks, but you smother the urge. Plenty of time for that later.   

“Of course. If it helps.”

“But you mean, you’re going to suck my dick? While I’m driving?”

“Love the emphasis on the important words. Yes, I’m going to suck your dick, while you’re driving.”

Bucky bats the idea around, debating whether you’re actually serious and whether he is probably definitely going to drive down a highway at - he checks the speedometer - 145 miles per hour, while you suck his dick. Another wave of heat roils through him and he stifles a groan. Glancing at your expectant face, he gives a shaky nod.

“You’re sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckle your seatbelt and scoot closer to him.

“It’s not a hardship Buck. You know I’m your dick’s number one fan.” Carefully popping the button on his jeans, you tug down his zipper and he pushes up his hips, struggling to help. The slight pressure on his aching cock already has him whimpering. “Just drive careful, alright? If I die because you wreck Steve’s car while I’m sucking your dick, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Bucky breathes. “Careful. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Grasping him firmly, you lower your head and take his dick all the way down in one smooth move.

“Oh my fucking god,” he shouts, eyes fluttering. “Sweet shit that’s good!” 

He keeps one hand in a death grip on the wheel, while he places the other against the back of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. Bobbing up and down, your tongue strokes along the ridges of his cock and you feel him swelling impossibly thicker. Tightening your lips, you suck hard, dragging slowly up  and he croaks out a garbled plea.   

“Keep going, keep going, please keep going.” Beneath your practiced mouth, his entire body begins to vibrate and he grips the back of your neck tight, chanting desperately. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, holy fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He thrusts up, holding your head tight as he comes down your throat. When your fingers scratch along his thigh, his foot inadvertently pushes the accelerator harder. The car climbs to 155 miles per hour and above you, the sound of ragged panting fills the car. 

Releasing his dick with a soft lick, you look up and Bucky chokes at the sight of your spit slick, swollen lips curving into a smile.

“That was fast. Feel better?”

He breathes a whispered yes, but you can still see the red flush still spreading down his neck. He swallows hard and grimaces.  

“Helped. Definitely helped. Still hurts, but better,” he says faintly and you see his cock is still rock hard. “It’s okay, it’s enough for now, I appreciate the - “

Rolling your eyes, you lean down and take him back in your mouth. Slipping a hand between his legs, your fingers carefully cup the heavy weight of his balls, squeezing gently. The rest of his sentence fades, melting into a rush of fervent praise.

A luscious ache settles in your belly, feeding off the hot desire you feel sparking through him, at the filthy words you hear him whispering above you. If you weren’t driving down a pitch black highway at a completely inappropriate speed, you’d consider reaching down to take care of yourself, but since you’re already flouting the most basic rules of automotive safety, you figure you should keep your hands on Bucky’s balls instead.

Of course, that doesn’t stop you from rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

Bucky glances over at your movement, a deep growl rumbling in his chest at the sight. He didn’t think anything could make him harder at this point, but the image of you so turned on by giving him a blow job, does the trick. He grinds his teeth, dangerously close to just pulling over and saying fuck this ridiculous mission. Rubbing his hand between your flexing shoulder blades and slowly bobbing head, his rasping voice carves into you.

“Does this make you feel good? Doin’ this for me? Fuck me, wish I could help you out right now. You’re so damn good to me baby. Moment we stop this car, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

With his dick buried deep in your throat, your enthusiastic hum of agreement vibrates deliciously and he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. Everything feels incredible. Your tongue curling around the head of his cock, sucking gently on the tip, before sliding back down. The way you swallow around him, the squeeze of your throat, so hot and slick and tight. It feels so god damn good and he’s close again, one more second - 

The transmitter sitting in the console squawks to life, an ear piercing siren shocking you both from the lust fueled haze. You jerk off Bucky’s dick in a panic and he nearly screeches at the loss. Scrabbling with the device, he smashes the green TALK button.

“What?! What the fuck do you need, I’m busy.”

“Calm down there, speed racer,” comes Steve’s breezy voice. “Just letting you know we pulled the guy over. Turn around and come back so we can - “

Steve’s voice is abruptly silenced when Bucky crushes the transmitter with an easy squeeze of vibranium fingers. He flings the shattered splinters of plastic into the back seat and slams both feet on the brakes. The car fishtailes across the road, before skidding to a stop in a spray of gravel. Throwing it into park, he flips the lever under his seat and slides back with a mechanical thunk. Scrambling to pull his pants down all the way, he spreads his legs wide and takes his dick in hand. His eyes are dark, blown black when he turns to you.

“We’re safe. Get your pants off and get over here. Now.” he barks. 

Grinning at him, you tug on your tac pants, shimmying easily from the stretchy black fabric and clambering into his lap. There is no pretense. Bucky lines himself up and yanks you down, filling your cunt in one rough thrust. You’re so wet, he slides in easy. 

“God, Bucky,” you hiss. “That feels so good.”

He tugs on your shirt, pulling everything off until your breasts are bared. His mouth finds a nipple, teeth gently scrapping and tugging, greedily sucking the sensitive peak between his lips. He moves your hips faster, lifting and dragging you down on his cock over and over, until he jerks you down one final time, slams his head against the seat and comes with a long, guttural moan. Deep inside, you feel him pulsing over and over, until you can feel it dripping down your thighs, hot and sticky. 

Head tipped back, he struggles to catch his breath and you can see his heartbeat jumping wildly at his throat. When he finally opens his eyes to meet your questioning stare, you can see.

His eyes are still dark. 

“Need more?” You smile gently, smoothing sweaty hair from his forehead.

He swallows hard and then nods slowly.  

Rocking your hips, you grind down on him and lean in for a deep kiss, sliding your tongue against his. Bucky gives a shuddering sigh, sinking back into the feel of your body rolling against his. Warm hands stroke lightly down your spine and you can feel the thick, heavy weight of him growing hard again between your legs. But waring with the pleasure, a nervous tension seems to grip him.

“Bucky. I’m not made of glass,” you admonish. Licking delicately along his earlobe, he mumbles a string of apologies and your lips trail down his neck, pressing a kiss against that fluttering heartbeat. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. Use me however you need. Make yourself feel good. Just make me come before you’re done. Deal?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says, shivering uncontrollably at the heady combination of your cool breath and fiery words. “I can do that. ‘Course I’ll do that.”

His hands slide up your back and hook over your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your collarbone. He holds your body firmly in place, thrusting up into you and simultaneously rocking your hips forward. The angle is perfect and you moan at the feel, dizzy with desire as his cock rubs that spot inside just right. 

The sounds filling the car are purely pornographic. Wet skin slapping, Bucky grunting with every hard snap of his hips. The feel of his calloused fingertips stroking up your belly, between your breasts, pressing divots into your skin. He stares up at you, his eyes heavy and hooded and utterly adoring, relishing the sight of you grinding your pussy against him. His hand slips between your legs, stroking over your clit, rubbing fast tight circles. He smugly drinks down the breathless gasps he coaxes from you.   

“Bucky, I think - I think I’m - ”

The words falter when your hand slams into the car roof and your head falls back, eyes drifting closed. Lust slaps him hard as he watches you come, writhing above him, your voice cracking when you moan out his name again and again.  

“That's it, there you go baby,” he whispers roughly. The vision is breathtaking. Stunning. He figures maybe he could get used to sex pollen and a perpetually aching dick if it means he gets to see you like this.

He was already close (again), but the pure pleasure in your face is enough to knock him over the edge. He buries his face between your breasts, pinching your nipple and licking over your skin and your fingers tangle in his damp hair. You hold him tight as he gasps out your name, emptying himself inside you one more time.

And this time, finally, you can feel some of the spring tight tension disappear. His skin is still hot, but the shivers begin to diminish. Rough hands still grip your hips, but it feels controlled. The manic lust begins to fade, leaving a smoldering fire in his chest.   

Bucky tips a weary head back and meets your amused expression. A smile tugs the corner of his lips and he shakes his head. 

“God damn,” he sighs.

Scratching your nails lazily along his scalp, he leans into your touch, humming like a contented, if slightly feral, kitten. 

“Feel better?”

“So much better,” he murmurs. “Sorry that went completely sideways. Wasn’t really expecting that. Obviously enjoyed it, but still. Unexpected adventure.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead you laugh.

“Next time, maybe don’t open the can with the giant red skull on it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

A comfortable silence settles. Bucky trails his fingers down your arms and you eye him thoughtfully.

“So, do you think they’ll come looking for us?”

“Maybe. Eventually. What should we do while we wait?”

There is a moments pause. And then you begin to roll your hips against him again and Bucky feels the electricity flare to life once more.

“We keep going.”

*****

literally every day i say to myself “wow i’m having a really bad one today” like girl i think this is just your life.

STRANGER THINGS PORN LINKS

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 800 celebration edition !! ࿐ྂ

includes: steve, eddie, jonathan, billy, 001/peter, jim, enzo/dmitri

warning: these are twitter links that contain porn !!

navigation | masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ steve harrington

roommate!steve eating you out while you’re reading

riding steve while he pounds into you

dom!steve fucking you hard from behind

69 with coworker!steve

best friend!steve fingering you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ eddie munson

doggystyle with best friend!eddie

sucking eddie’s dick in the bath tub

eddie not being able to resist you as he comes on your ass

roommate!eddie breeding you full

slow sex on eddie’s couch

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jonathan byers

riding best friend!jonathan in his room

jonathan eating you out on his couch

breeding + squirting with jonathan

being tied up while choking on jonathan’s dick

missionary with neighbor!jonathan

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ billy hargrove

reverse cowgirl with roommate!billy

giving coworker!billy a blowjob after work

car sex with billy

overstimulating sub!billy

doggystyle with enemy!billy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 001/peter ballard

enemy!peter pounding into you from behind

dom!peter spanking and fingering you

sucking best friend!peter’s dick

coworker!peter making you squirt in the bathroom

reverse cowgirl in your pretty clothes

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jim hopper

dom!jim making you choke on his dick

doggystyle with jim

slow sex with jim after work

jim making you scream by using a glass dildo

rough sex with neighbor!jim

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ enzo/dmitri antonov

sitting on dmitri’s face

giving boss!dmitri a blowjob

neighbor!dmitri fingering you

bathroom sex with dmitri

dmitri fucking you from behind against the wall

Found Archive Item: original photograph of James J. Barnes and Steven G. Rogers, circa 1945

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Archive Series

Stucky Avengers  +  Cards Against Humanity

as someone who’s genuinely scared of thunderstorms because my family’s house caught on fire during one. this is amazing

Thunderstorm

Summary: Your biggest fear is thunderstorms. To anyone else, it’s just an irrational fear, but to you… a more sinister reason is behind the fear.

Words: 908

You might be an Avenger, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have fears like a normal person. While granted, you don’t fear much, your biggest fear just so happened to thunderstorms. Much like the one going on right now. It’s close to midnight now and every other person is home with their families or on a mission this week. Only you and Bucky had stayed behind to keep eyes on things. Neither of you had anywhere to go anyhow.

One particular crack of thunder sends a jolt through you so badly that Bucky, who was walking back to his room, comes barreling through your door upon hearing you scream.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” he is assessing the room, trying to figure out what’s wrong. When his eyes land on your shivering form, he takes a step closer to you.

“Doll?” he says gently. You jump at his voice before flinging yourself into his unsuspecting arms. Bucky is quick to brace himself in the two seconds he had and lifts you into his arms effortlessly. “Tell me what’s going on doll,” Bucky murmurs in your hair. Another round of thunder vibrates the bedroom floor, your limbs tighten around the super soldier. “Oh,” he whispers understanding now. Scooping up your favorite blanket you always have on movie nights with the team, he carries your shaking form to his room just as the electricity flickers out. “I’ve got you doll,” you vaguely hear him tell you. You’re not sure when Bucky sat you down in his bed, so all you know is that you refused to let him go. “I just need to light a couple candles,” Bucky tells you, “Then I’ll get in with you, okay?” Carefully, you manage you release your hold from him. Thunder continues to rumble outside- keeping you on edge. Making quick work of lighting the candles, he is by your side and crawling into bed with you. “Okay doll,” Bucky says softly, “I’m yours. Let’s get comfortable, yeah?” ‘I’m yours’? If only you knew at that moment, your shiver wasn’t one of freight. Just as Bucky situates himself and wraps you up in his arms, the loudest crack of thunder sounds throughout the Avengers Tower. “I’m right here doll, you’re safe,” Bucky soothes, his hand rubbing up and down your gently. Burring your head into Bucky’s chest, you will the storm to pass quickly. Bucky keeps you secured to his chest as your body sits between his legs. He’s acting as your own personal safety net. It’s something you’ve craved for since you were a small child. “… I’m scared of fireworks,” you can hear Bucky telling you. “Fireworks” you manage to say, your voice cracking. Bucky smiles softly as he realizes his talking helped break through the fog you had gotten lost in. “And snakes,” he continues. “Why fireworks,” you sniffle, peering up at him. “They remind me of the war,” he explains softly. “Snakes is just because they’re able to digest you whole before you realize it’s happening.” “I don’t care for snakes either,” you supply. “It’s the scales for me though.” “And thunderstorms?” Bucky inquires. “I watched my family be murdered during a really bad thunderstorm… nobody could hear any of our screams because of how loud the storm outside was,” you tell him hesitantly as you had never actually shared anything about your family, which now makes sense to Bucky. “It’s stupid- “ “Don’t say that” Bucky cuts you off firmly. “It’s not stupid. It’s understandable.” You shrug slightly. “I feel like it is… I mean- “ The thunder grows louder and shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. You’re basically trying to crawl into Bucky as you whimper. “Look at me doll,” Bucky says softly, gently moving you to straddle his lap. “Breathe with me,” he commands you. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. “Good job, just like that,” he encourages. “I’m right here with you.” “I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he reassures you. “I’m right here, just focus on my voice.” And that’s what you do. You focus on Bucky’s voice soothing you. You focus on his scent. And you focus on breathing in and out slowly. “Good girl,” Bucky praises. “Go to sleep. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.

______________________________________________________________

You wake up later in the morning the next day. Bucky has you tucked securely into his chest; arms wrapped around you gently. You don’t even recall falling asleep last night. “Morning doll,” Bucky’s raspy voice says. “Morning Bucky,” you reply, sleep still coating your voice thickly. “Sleep good?” “Better than I have in a long time,” you reply honestly. “Me too,” Bucky agrees. “I normally have nightmares.” You suddenly become aware of the position the two of you are currently in. “I’m sorry,” you begin to pull away and untangle yourself, but Bucky doesn’t like that idea so much as he simply pulls you tighter against him. “Don’t go getting all shy on me now doll,” Bucky tells you halting your movement. You blush bright red but settle back down. “Would you like to go on a date?” Bucky asks, somehow keeping his nerves at bay. You giggle. “Well we’ve already slept together so why not,” you look up at him shyly.

he’s so cute

if the fates allow

pairing: avenger!captain america!steve rogers x tall!shield agent!female reader

summary: steve rogers accidentally got drunk at the avengers tower christmas party, and you're the one tasked with helping him get to bed. it's a good thing you have plenty of practice keeping your crush on him a secret.

warnings: sexual tension, steve is drunk, reader is conflicted (nothing happens while steve's drunk), feelings are expressed, kissing, sleepy cuddling, i think that's pretty much it!

word count: 2.9k

a/n: here's my december 13 fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!" tried to keep this one short and sweet so that i can catch up, so if something doesn't make sense, just ignore it i guess! also this is my first time writing a specifically tall!reader and that was nice since i'm on the taller side 😅 hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

“I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!”

Steve Rogers’ voice was louder than it needed to be, and so close to your ear that you winced a little. You kept walking, a massive arm looped around your shoulders while you half-carried the ungodly large body of Captain America and tried not to think about how good he smelled.

Why exactly you had been tasked with helping the very drunk Steve Rogers to his quarters after the Avengers Tower Christmas party was still a bit of a mystery to you. You’d seen Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark with their heads bent close, like they were conspiring about something, and the next thing you knew, Bruce Banner was asking you to help Steve get to bed.

The phrasing of the request had sent your heart skittering in your chest, even under the less-than-ideal circumstances of its reality. You’d had a crush on Steve Rogers since you’d met him as part of your SHIELD assignment to Avengers Tower, and you liked to think you’d kept it secret from everyone.

But, well, you did work with spies for a living, and you had a feeling Natasha and Tony’s conspiring had something to do with your predicament.

You’d tried to protest Bruce’s request. Sure, you were one of the taller female SHIELD agents, but you were by no means the strongest person on your team, especially when it included Brock Rumlow. But apparently everyone else had gone home or they were helping someone else, and you were the only one who could do it. 

Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” had been playing from the sound system of the Avengers Tower lounge as you’d made your way over to where Steve lay sprawled across the entire length of a sofa. He was singing along to the Christmas song—loudly and off-key—and nerves and excitement had fluttered through your belly like snowflakes on a winter wind.

You’d shoved your emotions away and put on the professional mask you always wore around Steve, pasting a polite smile on your face as you leaned over him and told him, in a not unkind voice, that you were going to help him get to bed. 

He’d given you a dreamy smile and did his best to help you lift his large body from the sofa while you’d ignored the way the snowflakes in your tummy had swooped at his happy expression and close proximity. 

With one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other holding onto his wrist so his arm wouldn’t fall from your shoulders, you lifted a leg and kicked the elevator call button with your foot, only remembering to check to make sure no one was around after you’d done so. 

Oh well. If you’d flashed someone with the move, the most they’d see under the short skirt of your cocktail dress was the gun strapped to your thigh and the shapewear the tight, clingy garment had required you to wear. Thankfully, no one was around except the super-soldier draped across your shoulders, his head propped sleepily against yours.

“Of course it was spiked, captain,” you said, picking up the thread of the conversation he’d started. Your voice was patient and professional, if a little cold. “It was Stark’s Christmas party—he spiked all the egg nog with Asgardian liquor.”

The doors of the elevator slid open soundlessly and you huffed a sigh of relief as you dragged Steve in. You made sure he was propped up against the corner of the elevator, then stepped away to hit the button for his floor. As discreetly as you could, you wiped some sweat from your brow before turning back to Captain America. 

The expression on Steve’s face drew you up short. He was…not frowning exactly. Was that a…pout? 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes poring carefully over Steve Rogers’ familiar features—the little pinched line between his brows, the dimmed sparkle of his blue eyes, the protrusion of his lush lower lip. You forced yourself not to linger on his mouth, even though it looked particularly inviting…

Yes, that was definitely a pout, you decided. 

Before you could wonder about what you’d said to garner such a reaction from Steve, he was talking. Or, rather, muttering.

“I don’t like it when you call me captain,” he grumbled.

The elevator was nearing Steve’s floor so you moved closer to him again, ignoring the way your body warmed when you pressed into his side and lifted his arm over your shoulder. The fresh scent of him wrapped around you like the most delicious blanket, and you wanted more than anything to be able to breathe it in until it lived permanently in your lungs.

“What should I call you then?” you asked, mostly to distract yourself from your body’s reaction to Steve. He was drunk, and you needed to get yourself under control.

You tried to pull him out of the corner, but you didn’t have enough leverage and instead of budging the big super-soldier, you bounced back into him, landing against his hard chest with a surprised little “oomph.”

Before that moment, you’d known, in theory, that you were only a couple inches shorter than Steve Rogers. But it was easy to forget because he had such a large presence, and he could very easily toss you around that mats of the Avengers Tower gym with his super-strength. 

However, in that moment you learned that the minimal height difference between you and Steve Rogers had a consequence you hadn’t considered. When you fell against his chest, your face was almost perfectly level with his—specifically, your mouth was almost perfectly level with his. 

You could taste the Asgardian rum on Steve’s breath and the thought of closing the distance and licking it from his lips was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around your shoulders and hauling you even closer. “You should call me Steve.”

Your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his body and your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing. His blue eyes were dark, even under the bright lights of the elevator, and they were fixed very firmly on your lips—but they were still glazed from all he’d had to drink.

“Steve,” you said, his name soft and tortured as it fell from your lips, your eyes dropping to his mouth. 

You knew you couldn’t kiss Captain America while he was drunk, and you knew that if he tried to pull you any closer, you’d have to push him away. But you wanted so desperately to close the distance between your lips, the desire felt like it might incinerate you from the inside out. 

The ding of the elevator arriving at Steve’s floor brought you back to reality and you jumped away from the super-soldier, shaking your head at yourself as you grabbed his arm and heaved his weight onto your shoulders. You dragged him out of the elevator on stumbling feet, your mind spinning with what you’d almost done—what Steve actually had done.

For all the time you’d crushed on Steve Rogers, he’d never shown any indication of reciprocating your feelings. He’d always been just as professional and aloof as you’d been, and you’d taken that to mean he didn’t have any interest in you outside of work. But you were beginning to rethink your assessment…

Thankfully, Steve remained quiet and well-behaved for the trip down the hall to his quarters, and getting him inside seemed a bit easier after your practice with the elevator. You half-carried him to his bed and it took only a little push to have him sit down on the soft mattress.

Somehow, the movement left you standing between Steve’s spread legs, his arm curled around your waist from where it had fallen off your shoulder. His face was close again—closer than it should’ve been as he looked up at you from where he sat.

“Pretty…” he murmured, the fingertips of his free hand reaching for you but hovering just a hair’s breadth away from touching you. “You’re so…pretty.”

Heat suffused your cheeks and you ducked your head. “Steve,” you whined softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, trying to extricate yourself from his hold. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, your name falling sweetly from his lips. He brushed his thumb over your cheek so gently, it made your knees wobble.

You’d managed to get some distance from him, but the sound of your name made you stop. You looked at Steve, and his eyes were still slightly glazed from all the spiked egg nog he’d drank. 

You huffed a laugh that was sad and humorless. Of course the only time Steve had shown any interest in you, he was drunk.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk and maybe I’ll believe you, Steve,” you said, a little forlornly, and pulled his hand away from your face, dropping it in his lap. 

Stepping backward, you broke out of his hold, ignoring the way he was pouting again.

“Stay with me,” Steve said, his fingers catching the tips of yours as you turned away. 

The desperation in his tone halted your retreat. When you looked at Steve again, his eyes were a little clearer, and his expression was pleading. You didn’t know if it was the best idea to crawl into bed with Captain America while he was drunk. 

You were pretty sure he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so nothing would happen, but you worried about your heart. If you spent a whole night sleeping in Steve’s bed, breathing in Steve’s scent, it would be that much harder to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him. And you couldn’t seem to imagine he had feelings for you, despite what he’d said.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. His face was washed in the dim light of the New York City skyline filtering in through the windows, and he looked like a work of art come to life, flawlessly gorgeous features and perfectly expressive eyes.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and were helpless to resist his request.

“OK,” you whispered, twining your fingers with his and giving his hand a small squeeze while you smiled shyly. 

Steve beamed happily at you and then flopped back on the bed. A grin was still fixed on his face while he kicked off his shoes and fought to pull down the blankets so he could slide under them.

You bit back a laugh at his gleeful reaction, shaking your head as you went to the bathroom to clean off your makeup and strip out of your gun holster and shapewear. Thankfully, your dress was comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

When you returned, you found Steve passed out under the covers still wearing all of his clothes. You took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, softened in sleep, and then slipped into bed beside him, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

It took you a little while to fall asleep, but the quiet, steady snores coming from Steve helped lull you, and eventually you drifted off.

The soft wintry light of the morning sunrise was just beginning to peak over the Manhattan skyline when you roused, your body bathed in a nearly overwhelming heat that came from something pressed against your back and banded around your waist.

It took you a long, groggy moment to realize the source of that heat was Steve Rogers.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer and wrapped himself around you because one of his arms was curled around your waist while his broad chest was pressed flush against your back. You were so close together, you could feel his steady heartbeat against your spine. 

You must’ve shifted even to wake him because you heard the tenor of Steve’s breathing change. He buried his face in the back of your head and took a deep breath before letting out a contented sigh. 

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, the words muffled and barely discernable. His arm squeezed tighter around your waist, dragging you even further into the wondrously warm cage of his body.

The sound of you sucking in a sharp breath was loud in the silent bedroom and Steve suddenly tensed. Quick as a flash, he removed his arm from around your waist and shuffled back a few inches, giving you space. 

Cold flooded in, even while you were still buried under the blankets, and you had to fight off a shiver. You missed his warmth, but you also needed to understand what was going on. You took a deep, steadying breath and then rolled over, looking at Steve warily. 

He was propped up on one arm, his blond hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. But his blue eyes were clear and curious, watching your reaction with interest. 

“What did you call me?” you asked in a trembling, hesitant voice. It probably wasn’t the first question you should’ve asked, but you had to know if you’d heard him correctly, and if he’d known he was talking about you when he’d said it.

Steve must’ve recognized the uncertainty in your voice or on your face because his expression softened and he lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the air next to your cheek. He was deliberately not touching you, and you had the urge to close the distance and feel his warm contact.

“You said to tell you you’re pretty when I wasn’t drunk anymore,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep. His eyes had been wandering over your features, like he was trying to memorize the way they looked in the wintry morning light, but his gaze caught yours before he went on. “Well, I’m not drunk and you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve.” His name was a soft, desperate sound, your heart racing into a gallop as you tried to process the fact that Steve Rogers thought you were pretty. 

Before your mind had caught up, your hands were moving, reaching for Steve, eager to drag him closer. Your fingers were curling around the lapels of his dress shirt and you caught a glimpse of his crooked smile before you were both closing the distance between your bodies, his mouth slanting to yours for a kiss.

Heat and pleasure filled your body and soul, and you kissed Steve Rogers for the first time, your lips pressed together ungracefully in your excitement. After a few moments of blissful fumbling, you settled into a rhythm that was as delicious as it was delightful, made all the more breathtaking by the way you could feel Steve’s reverence for you in the way he held you.

It was a long time before you came up for air, and when you did, you laughed giddily when you saw the way Steve’s eyes were glazed over, a dreamy smile curling his lips, and you knew your expression matched his. He was drunk on kissing you, just as you were drunk on kissing him.

Steve dropped one last sweet kiss to your mouth and then he rolled you onto your side, tucking you into the warmth of his body while you both faced the windows, watching the sun rise over Manhattan. You were for a moment quiet as you enjoyed being with him, but something still bugged you. 

“I still don’t understand why Bruce asked me to help you to bed,” you said, your fingers playing with Steve’s hand that was clasped in yours. “But I’m glad he did, since it led us to this.” You pressed a kiss to his palm, marveling at how even that part of him smelled fresh and wonderful.

At your comment, Steve made a rough sound in his throat, something halfway between a cough and a laugh. It piqued your curiosity and you turned your head, catching his eye over your shoulder.

“That might be my fault,” he admitted, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I may have confessed to Nat that I think you’re pretty—and she’s been trying to set me up for ages.” 

Suddenly, everything from the night before clicked into place. Natasha and Tony’s conspiring, the way your SHIELD teammates were all otherwise occupied, the fact that Bruce—the least devious, and therefore, least suspicious of all the Avengers—had been the one to ask you to help Steve. 

It was all a very elaborate setup, and you had to feel a little impressed with Natasha, even as you rolled your eyes because it didn’t need to be so complicated. She could’ve just asked if you were interested, and then set you two up on a normal date. Instead, she’d concocted an elaborate scheme, just to get you and Steve alone. 

But you had to admit, it did work…

“You Avengers can never do anything the easy way, can you?” you teased, grinning at Steve over your shoulder. You reached back, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him close enough to brush a kiss to his lips. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Steve murmured playfully against your mouth, kissing you more deeply before settling back down on the bed. 

For the next little while, you watched the December sunrise with Steve Rogers, basking in the feeling of being in his arms while he idly hummed “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in between brushing delicious kisses to your neck. 

You did have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed.

december daze challenge masterlist

this had me kickin my feet n shi

Same Lonely Night

summary: Your roommate Bucky Barnes hears you pleasure yourself and moan something he never thought he would be into. That forces him to face his feelings for you.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

word count: 2.6K

warnings: 18+, masturbation, fantasies, daddy kink, no mention of y/n

A/N: This is the second part of A Lonely Night. This time we are seeing Bucky's POV and what comes next. You don't have to read that part to understand what's going on but if you want to, you can find it on my blog/masterlist. I planned this as a 3-part story and I hope I'll maintain my inspiration and motivation to write the last part. Wish me luck!

Thank you so much @notafunkiller for beta-reading and editing. You are the best!

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Read more tag starts after the second paragraph of the story.

Bucky’s head is resting on the shower wall while the water is running down. His flesh hand is still wrapped around his cock, but he doesn’t move it. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he’s trying to calm himself down. 

He really had no intention to listen to you. He was just watching the news mindlessly, but his enhanced hearing turned into a curse the moment he heard you taking a sharp breath. He couldn’t help but focus on the noises you made. That’s when he started to hear the way you were touching yourself. Every stroke, every rub, every muffled moan… 

He knew what you were doing was private and he had no right listening to it, but he couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t. How could he? You were so needy and subby. Even in your fantasy, you were begging. He wondered what you were imagining. Who were you begging? Your crush? Maybe you have been seeing someone.

That thought had never occurred to him before. You were always in your element, working, chilling at home, doing whatever you enjoyed in your spare time, and occasionally going out with your friends. You never brought someone home. Not yet at least. So he never questioned if you were seeing someone or not. Even if there was someone, he wouldn’t know, and that thought suddenly hurts him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Your moans bring him back to reality. If you are seeing someone why are you so needy? Are you just that greedy or has it been that long? He’s certainly hoping for the latter. That’s something he can relate to, and it's probably been much longer for him. That’s why he can’t stop listening. That’s why his cock is painfully hard. Normally he would just remove himself from the house, and give you some space instead of creeping like this.

“Oh please, fuck me.” He would do anything to be able to do that. Anything. Just to be in that room with you, taking his time exploring your body and satisfying your needs. Even just the thought of it drives him crazy. “Fuck me, daddy, please.” 

That surprises him on so many levels. He never thought you would be into that. You look pretty innocent. He wouldn’t assume you would have such dirty fantasies. Fucking an old man… Are you into older men or is it just a little fantasy you are playing? Maybe you are seeing someone old. Maybe that’s why your mind goes there. He doesn’t know. He has no idea what’s going on in your private life, and every word that comes out of your mouth confuses him even more. It creates more problems, but the biggest one is, when he heard daddy, his dick twitched with excitement. So it makes him question himself, too. Is he into younger women or is it because you were the one saying it? The latter somehow seems more likely. Yet all of that doesn’t change the fact that he’s listening to you and getting hard just because of it. 

“Yes, yes, yes. Right there.” He hears how your head falls onto the pillow while your whole body is shaking, and how much you are enjoying it. He knows this is his cue. He should just remove himself from the living room so he won’t get caught with a hard-on. He doesn’t miss a beat. Quickly, he turns the TV off and runs to the bathroom. 

That’s how he ended up here, head pressed against the cold shower tiles, thinking about the way you said daddy over and over again. He is trying really hard not to give in, but his cock is aching with need. A part of him thinks he should just give in. It’s not such a big deal. Everyone masturbates. You just did. Three fucking times! That thought makes him groan. If you can come three times just by masturbating,how many times could he make you come? 

So it’s not even a conscious decision when he starts to stroke himself when he starts thinking about making you come. He can’t stop himself from imagining how you would look under him or on top of him. It doesn’t matter which position. He just wants to feel you. Your moans are echoing in his head while he caresses the top of cock. Just one stroke and it makes him tremble. He can’t remember the last time he felt this turned on. He can’t remember the last time his whole body heated up like this, just at the thought of someone. But you aren’t just anybody. You are you.

Maybe it’s because it has been ages since he had sex. Perhaps it’s because of his growing crush on you. He tried to control those feelings, thinking he was too old for you. He thought you would never look in his direction. Why would you? You are intelligent, beautiful and so cute. Like all these qualities aren’t enough, you are always so thoughtful. You always ask if he wants your leftovers, or if he needs help with anything. He knows he wakes you up at night sometimes. His nightmares are loud, but you never complained. Not once. You always let him watch the news even though you would rather watch something else. You even lent some books to him. They were in such good condition he couldn't believe his eyes. It was like reading a brand-new book. So yeah, he really tried to act like it was nothing but a silly crush, but after hearing the way you moan daddy he can’t stop himself anymore. It was as if you awakened something inside him.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he take his time or just get over with it? He keeps his fingers loose, stroking himself up and down slowly while his head still rests on the tiles. Even with minimal effort, it feels so good. He gently cups his balls, massaging them and imagining you are the one doing it. You are the one touching the most intimate parts of his body. You are the one ready to satisfy his growing need.

“Oh fuck.” A moan escapes his lips. The shower is running and you don’t have a super hearing like him, so he knows he’s safe. Still, it feels like it’s something he shouldn’t be doing. He shouldn’t be touching himself. He shouldn’t be moaning like this, yet you are so beautiful and needy… He already wanted you before hearing how you sound in bed, but now he wants you even more. He wants to be the one to bring you pleasure. He wants to be the one that satisfies all your needs so much that you would never need to touch yourself. Unless it’s to tease him.

He’s feeling guilty. So fucking guilty, but there’s no way he could stop now. Imagining you does something to him. There’s this primal need in his abdomen, building up.

His fingers tighten around his cock, moving faster than before, and he presses his lips together, trying not to make a sound. He keeps rubbing on that one sensitive part of his cock and finally, he starts coming with a choke. He keeps stroking himself, thinking it will be over soon, but it doesn’t end. There’s so much come that it surprises him. His hands continue pumping and his come paints the bathroom tiles immediately. He takes a deep breath when he’s done, trying to collect himself.

It feels like his head is spinning. He had been masturbating for quite some time, but he doesn’t remember the last time it felt this good. He opens his eyes, trying to ground himself, and all that shame he feels comes rushing in while looking at the mess he made. He groans loudly and then reaches for the showerhead. It doesn’t take long for him to clean the shower and then himself with the thought of you is still on the back of his mind. He is soaping himself, scrubbing, and then rinsing while trying to convince himself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just masturbation. It’s normal.

Of course, he knows how normal it is. It’s like breathing, eating, or drinking water. His body needs it so he gave in, but listening to you and touching himself while thinking about you… That’s where he crossed the line. He knows it, yet he can’t bring himself to wish he never heard you. He might be a creep or a pervert, it doesn’t matter. Your voice, the way you sound while coming, and the way you touch yourself are stacked in his memory forever. It’s something no one can take away from him.

Sighing, he steps out of the shower. Drying himself doesn’t take too long. When he steps into the living room, all that welcomes him is silence. You are still in your bedroom, God knows doing what. The TV is off, and nothing seems to have moved since he ran to the bathroom. So he’s safe. You haven’t heard or suspected anything.

Quietly, he goes back to his room, finds something to put on and just looks in the mirror. Is he really too old for you or is that all in his mind? He doesn’t look older than 35, but that doesn’t change when he was born.

What if you are into that, though? What if you really like older guys? That would change everything, wouldn’t it? You would like that he’s older than you. Maybe you would even call him daddy, just like you did in your fantasy. That thought makes the blood rush back to his cock, making him feel the arousal running through his veins once again. Like he didn’t masturbate in the shower a couple of minutes ago. 

He knows his anatomy by now. He knows he’s able to get hard again pretty quickly thanks to the super soldier serum, but he hasn’t been this horny for a long time. Especially not because of the thought of someone, but the thought of you calling him daddy… 

Jesus… It makes him so hard!

Sighing, he drops his whole weight on the bed and closes his eyes, fighting the urge to touch himself again. It’s for the best if he stops thinking about you and focuses on something else, isn’t it? He tries to think of something, anything that could take his mind off of you, but nothing, absolutely nothing is more interesting. Nothing he tries to focus on lasts. His mind goes running back to you, imagining how you would look the moment he would push himself inside you. How your mouth would open, how you would throw your head back, and how wonderful it would feel.

That thought does it. It breaks his resistance. All the effort he put into not touching himself again goes out of the window, especially once he imagines you saying “Harder, please, daddy, I need it harder.” His hand goes under his boxers, slowly toying with his cock. It feels like he didn’t touch himself today, and the need is even stronger now. After a couple of strokes, he realizes he can’t move his hand properly like this, so he pushes down his shorts and boxers at the same, creating some space for movement. 

He looks down at his cock, already oozing with precum. His flesh hand moves on top of the head and smears it all the way down, making it easier for him to play with himself. He sets a steady rhythm, testing what feels right, but his precum isn’t enough to make it enjoyable. That’s when he reaches for his nightstand and takes out the bottle of lube. His metal hand works fast, opening the bottle and putting a generous amount on hisnhand, before he puts it back and starts to touch himself. 

Now it feels much better. His hand works seamlessly from the top to the bottom, repeating the same movement a couple of times. He tries to get lost in his fantasies but something feels off. He isn’t sure what it is because what he’s doing is enjoyable. Something is not enough. Maybe he should work faster. So that’s what he tries. His hand starts to move faster on his cock, but that’s not helping. 

He’s pretty sure this is what his body wants especially because he’s still rock hard. Should he be more gentle and take his sweet time? That doesn’t seem to work, either. Does he need a tighter grip? Maybe, but he can’t do more with his flesh hand. He glances at his metal hand for the first time since he started. He never used it to pleasure himself before. The flesh looked and seemed more appealing than metal, yet right now it’s not enough.

There’s a first time for everything.

He reaches for the lube once again. This time he uses his flesh hand and pours some on his metal one as he tries to convince himself that this is not a bad idea.

He goes right back into touching himself, just with his metal hand this time. It feels different, really different, and surprisingly okay. It doesn’t feel as warm. The texture is completely different yet it somehow works. His fingers start to work faster, his thumb brushing over the head and, thanks to the lube, it starts to feel much better than he ever expected. His reluctance slowly fades away and he decides to test how fast he can move his metal hand and how much his cock can actually take it. As he paces up, pleasure starts to build so unexpectedly. He takes a deep breath but keeps moving his hand. His head is now thrown back while with the flesh hand, he cups his balls, gently massaging them.

“Oh god…”

He doesn’t realize that he's just said that out loud. He just keeps working on himself, letting his whole body relax under that pleasure. He really didn’t intend to focus on you this time, but here you are again, in his mind. The image of you on top of him… You with all your charm and cuteness, touching him, making him feel this good while he takes your nipples into his mouth and sucks them until you can’t take it anymore. It drives you crazy, so you beg him to fuck you. Just like you begged while touching yourself.

“Please, please, please… I really need it, please…”

He can hear it so clearly like you are here and really begging him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make that really happen.

“Anything you want, doll.”

His fingers move like they have a mind of their own. He knows he should slow down a little, make this one last a bit longer because it feels amazing, but his metal hand isn’t listening to him.

“Oh fuck, fuck.” 

He knows he’s about to come. He can feel it. It’s right there, just a few strokes away. He loses his damn mind imagining you under him, split open, and getting railed by him. God, that would feel so fucking good! You looking at him with those big beautiful eyes and begging him for more… Then your name slips out of his lips like it’s the most natural thing to say at that moment. 

Right when he’s about to come, a loud noise comes from the living room. Like something has just got shattered into pieces. His eyes fly open. He grabs his shorts and puts them on quickly, tucking his freaking erection away, and opens his door to see you standing there with an oversized T-shirt on. The glass you were probably holding is on the ground, but you don’t seem to care about that. You are looking at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Shit! She heard me.

OML i need bucky in the forest rn

In The Woods

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 8,769

Warnings: Smut, excessive camping details (not sorry), felatio, teasing, idiots to lovers, and Bucky being a whole slut.

Listening to: Love You Madly by Cake

Summary: You like camping and Bucky does not understand why, so he tags along on your next trip.

Author's Note: THIS IS A REPOST. And it's my work, I can do what I want with it. So, if this is giving you that deja vu feeling, it's because I posted this on 01/23/23 at 5:30pm CST. only time I'm warning about that.. if I do another.. we're calling it a Repost Party. LFG.

Shaking your head as you swallowed the mouthful of cheap red wine, you finally were able to say, “You are so fucking wrong.”

“Camping is boring and miserable,” Bucky said with a shrug, then glared at you, “Doesn’t matter how you try to dress it up; not having access to a toilet just isn’t how I spend my downtime.”

“Okay, first: gross,” you say as you set the now empty glass down. You lean forward and wave at the bartender before turning back to Bucky and explaining, “Your only experience was in the dark ages or during Dubya-Dubya two. Neither of which is what I do, and I have a great time, even without indoor plumbing.”

By the time you were leaving the bar and heading back to the compound, Bucky was going to be joining you on your next solo camping trip. You weren’t quite sure how this happened, but it is what it is. 

You really did love camping and went as often as you could, usually on solo trips. Getting away from the compound and all the nonsense it involved was a necessity. If you could, you’d live in the woods, but you didn’t have that option yet. Your big dream was building your own cabin, and you knew you’d get to that eventually as long as you didn’t die on a mission. For now, going out to the land that Tony let you use every couple of weeks was enough to take the edge off and make the superhero nonsense worth it. 

🐌

Stiffly sitting in the passenger seat, Bucky was nervous. He’d seen how little you’d packed, the majority of which was food, and didn’t think he’d be able to endure a whole weekend in the middle of the woods. Sleeping on the ground wouldn’t be an issue, but he didn’t know how you managed to get everything you needed into such a small backpack. 

The loud music that you were singing along to wasn’t bad, though. Plus, you had packed enough alcohol for both of you to drink, even getting some Asgardian stuff from Thor so Bucky could ‘properly enjoy camping’, as you put it. He wasn’t even sure how this had started, but he’d agreed, and it was too late to go back now.

You tapped the steering wheel, dancing a little in your seat. Bucky had never seen you like this, and it was why he was nervous. You always seemed to be in a better mood when you came back from these trips, but not like the giddy creature sitting next to him currently speeding down the highway. 

He didn’t mind; if anything, he liked seeing a new side to you after working with you for so long, but it had him worrying about screwing this up or making it weird. On the very unlikely chance that he enjoyed this, he didn’t want to make it, so he couldn’t come again. Not as often as you went, but maybe a couple of times in the summer would be nice, assuming that camping with you wasn’t as awful as his other experiences. 

Toward the end of the drive, you pulled off to take him to your usual lunch spot: some sketchy-looking drive-in on the side of the almost deserted highway. Bucky didn’t realize drive-ins were still a thing or that you’d insist on going. 

“What do you want?” you asked, grinning as you turned down the music for the first time since starting the trip. 

Bucky shrugged, “A couple burgers? Doesn’t look like they have much else.”

Ordering enough food to feed two super soldiers, even though Bucky was the only one in the car, he was taken aback by how quickly you ate. Finishing two cheeseburgers and your own bag of fries before him, you were back on the road, still happily sipping on the strawberry shake you’d ordered. 

Bucky had anticipated trying to make small talk or gossiping, but you didn’t seem interested in that. The first time you’d spoken to him since gassing up the car was asking what he wanted for lunch, almost four hours into the trip. His expectations had been tossed aside as he tried to enjoy the music and not have to force conversation. 

🐌

Pulling off the dirt road and parking the car, you turned to Bucky and smiled as you killed the engine and got out. You didn’t bother locking the doors; no one else was around out here. Tony had a house a couple of miles south, but you stayed far away from that. No need to give Morgan ideas about the fort you were building. Maybe when she got a little older, Tony would let you take her out and build one of her own. That was how you learned all this stuff, and you had been going camping with your family since you were able to walk.

You connected one of your earbuds, popped it in your ear, and pulled open the hatch on the back of your car. Shouldering your backpack, you left the food in the back of the car since it was cool outside and started walking to a spot that would work for the tent. You didn’t want to freak Bucky out by making him sleep outside without a tent, even if he’d slept in worse places. Better to make this as user-friendly as you can for his first time camping for fun. 

“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked as he walked a little ahead of you. 

He sounded uncomfortable and was walking too fast. Nothing about being out here was about moving that fast. You had to run around like an idiot and jump off buildings to earn a paycheck, so you had no intention of moving faster than a casual stroll until you were back at work. 

You sighed before you said, “No plan, really. Need to get the things setup; then I’m going to go work on my fort.”

It didn’t take long to set up the tent, even with Bucky trying to take over. Any time he would reach to grab one of the rods or a stake, you let him have it. If he wanted to rush through things, that was his problem. Eventually, he’d see that it was about enjoying the process and not getting as much done as possible. You weren’t interested in mindfulness or living in the moment, but you did like moving at a more natural pace and not being shot at. 

Once the tent was done, Bucky looked over at you like he was awaiting orders. He brushed his hands off on his pants before he asked, “What next?”

You zipped the tent up after grabbing the gear you’d need: your ax, pocket knife, folding saw, and a bundle of cord. With your eyebrows raised, you walked past him and patted his shoulder, “Whatever you want, big boy.”

He turned but didn’t follow you as he asked more silly questions, “Where are you going?”

“Fort time!” you shouted, holding your ax over your head as you walked into the woods, putting your other earbud in.

Your fort was less than 200 feet from where you’d set up camp, but you did need to do some maintenance before picking what to work on first. A few of the supports were loose, and you needed to be cautious about how much of the cord you used. You had certain rules about fort building and camping that you’d picked up from your dad, namely: only bring what you need, no going back for extra, don’t leave nature worse than before you were there, and don’t cut down any trees if you can avoid it.

By the time you got the maintenance done, you were looking for deadfall and not finding much. Making larger and larger circles around your fort, you were getting worried. It was fall, and you never used every dead tree. Other animals and plants in the woods needed the deadfall, and it was important to leave some behind. 

You had planned on redoing the roof this weekend, but that wasn’t going to happen now. Confused, you walked back to where you’d set up camp and saw something you hadn’t expected. The closer you got, the more interested you were: Bucky was chopping wood. 

Pulling your earbuds out, you popped them in the case and then shoved them in your pocket as the disappearing deadfall mystery was quickly solved. You stopped near Bucky and watched as he split the last long piece in half. Not going to be working on your fort at all this time or for a while.

As he bent to pull one half over the spot he’d chosen to use as a chopping block, he finally noticed you. Standing up and nodding at you, he said, “Figured you’d be at your treehouse for a while.”

“It’s a fort, and, uh….” you didn’t want to discourage him but weren’t sure how to explain that he’d completely stripped a rather large area of an important resource. Exhaling sharply, you tried to think of how your dad would have handled this. 

Bucky looked concerned as he asked, “Something wrong?”

“No, not really, just—” you sighed. He wasn’t going to be coming out here again anyway. No point in raining on his parade since it wasn't the end of the world. Shaking your head, you said, “It’s nothing, just finished sooner than I thought.”

“That’s good,” he said, and you could see him getting ready to ask another question. 

Cutting him off, you put your sharp and pointy things away except for your pocket knife and said, “I’m gonna go out on the lake for a while.”

Bucky gave up on being a lumberjack, slamming your larger ax into a log before following you, “It’s too cold to go swimming, isn’t it?”

“Not going swimming,” you said, pointing at the shed Tony had let you put up out here, “Canoe.”

“Oh. Have fun,” Bucky said, sounding less than pleased as you walked away again. 

Bucky had insisted that he knew how to do this, and it was pretty obvious he didn’t know how to relax. You had even gone as far as listing some different activities for him to do, which he seemed somewhat interested in. You didn’t think he’d want to do things together, but maybe you’d been wrong. 

Shrugging it off, Bucky was a grown-ass man who had proved he was more than capable of asking for what he wanted. You didn’t need to coddle him if he didn’t have the balls to ask to join you while you looked up. Staring up at the sky, regardless of the time, was the best. If you had your music and something nice to think about, even better.

🐌

Bucky stepped on the last rock, pushing it down into the ground as much as he could before taking a seat on one of the larger logs he’d found. Looking out at the lake for at least the hundredth time, he saw your canoe and you lying down in it. He didn’t think anything was wrong or that you’d fallen asleep, but he didn’t understand why you’d lay in a canoe in the middle of a lake for this long. Maybe he had intruded or ruined something, but you were too polite to say anything. 

Instead of staring at you, which felt an awful lot like spying or peeping, he started stacking up the wood he’d cut again in a better spot and a little neater this time. If you weren’t back when he was done with that, then he’d go down to the shore and see if he could get your attention. 

Bucky didn’t like this. The fresh air and knowing that there wasn’t anything out here, but a bunch of squirrels and birds was great and all, but what was he supposed to do? Yes, you’d explained a number of things he could do, and you’d offered to show him some stuff, but he’d turned it all down. He didn’t want to encroach on your alone time and thought that was the right decision. 

Now that he was out here, he could feel how much he was imposing on you. Clearly, coming out here was something you did alone. He didn’t even remember how the stupid argument had started or how it led to him stacking old, dead wood in a pile for a second time, but he knew why he did this. Bucky was usually able to ignore his feelings, even though he wasn’t supposed to, but being out here with you had him dealing with something he had been avoiding. 

It’s the same reason he’d argue with you at the bar or hope he got paired with you on missions. He was too old for any of this and knew that he was not your type. You’d definitely had eyes for Steve, or you did at one point. Bucky and Steve had always been very different physically. Not that Bucky even bothered getting bent out of shape over this; he was past all that stuff now, even if certain parts of him disagreed with his complacency. 

Instead of bothering you, he would figure out how to entertain himself. Once you come back, he’d even suggest that you camp how you normally would and just pretend he wasn’t there, making this as easy on you as possible. He knew you didn’t use a tent; you probably slept in your treehouse, so he could take the tent. If you needed the tent, then he was fine sleeping in the car. 

By the time you were dragging your canoe on shore and flipping it over, Bucky had made up his mind about how to fix this: he’d leave. You didn’t need him here, and he didn’t want to force you. At some point tonight, he’d bring up having you call someone to come get him; it was for the best.

🐌

Walking back to the tent, you were growing concerned. Bucky was sitting on a log and staring at the small fire he’d made, looking like he was about to cry or throw up; it was hard to tell with him sometimes. 

As you got closer, he looked up and had a tight, forced smile on his face before going back to the fire. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, but if he liked fire, then you weren’t going to complain about the nice coal base he was making.

“How’s it going?” you asked, hoping that he wasn’t as miserable as he looked.

Bucky cleared his throat before replying, “Good.”

Lies and slander, you thought as you went to the tent. Kneeling at the entrance, you grabbed your backpack and started digging. Pulling out your basic cooking stuff and the two compact chairs you’d purchased for this trip, you headed back to the fire. You set everything on the ground and started putting the first chair together as you said optimistically, “You got enough wood for a week out here.”

“Yeah…” he said as he turned and looked at the impressive stack anxiously.

“It’ll get used, no worries,” you said as you finished one chair and moved on to the next. Once you had both done, you picked them up and walked over to Bucky. Tapping the log he was sitting on with your foot, you held a chair out as you asked, “Hungry?”

Thankfully he took the chair, and when you pulled out the cooking grate from the pouch, he was curious again. It was almost like being with a kid with all the questions he asked, but when the steaks were brought out, he was back to being a very hungry super soldier. 

“I don’t normally bring this kinda food, but it’s a nice break,” you said as you arranged the coals and put the grate over a good spot. 

“What do you normally eat out here?” he asked, leaning forward and watching as you seasoned both steaks before putting them on the fire. 

Wiping your hands off on the towel tied to your belt, you shrugged, “Dehydrated stuff, like an MRE, or I’ll fish.”

Once he had food in him, Bucky seemed less sullen. You didn’t want to pester him about his feelings; you knew better than that. He never came back from therapy in a good mood, and you were far from a psychiatrist. Chatting a little as he kept the fire going, you were mostly silent as the sun started to go down. 

Slapping your hands on your knees after a long stretch of silence, you leaned forward and asked, “The sun's finally going down. Do you want the surprise or a drink first?”

He didn’t reply right away, narrowing his eyes at you before he said, “Not to be rude, but I’d rather not have any surprises.”

“Same time, then,” you said cheerily, not letting his perpetual bad mood affect you as you got up to go to the car. 

It was parked a decent way away from where you’d set things up, but it was a nice walk. You grabbed the two paper bags; one had the alcohol, and the other you’d hidden from Bucky. Even if he was being a grump about this, you still wanted to do the little stuff your parents and friends did. Never anything too crazy, but whenever you had someone new, then what you had in the other bag was necessary, along with alcohol if they were an adult. The first time camping wasn’t always pleasant for some people who weren’t used to being outside all night, but you’d yet to find someone immune to this particular treat. On your way back, you grabbed a nice stick and debated on whether or not you should tell Bucky about what you’d named the stick.

Handing him the flask of Asgardian liquor, you took out your bottle of wine but put the other paper bag next to your chair away from him. Bucky was watching you closely, and you grinned, “What?”

“Just get it over with,” he said, leaning back too hard in the nylon and aluminum chair and making it creak ominously.

“Nope, you don’t want to enjoy this, so now you can suffer,” you said as you grabbed Pierre, the stick, and started sharpening the tip. Was this a bit much? Yes. Was it also entirely necessary? Absolutely. The look on his face alone made it worth it as you sharpened Pierre. 

Before he was able to panic about what you might do with a sharpened stick, you were digging in the bag next to you. Pulling out two marshmallows, you couldn’t fight the smirk as you stuck them on the pointy end of Pierre. Then you grabbed a graham cracker, snapped it in half, and broke off a piece of chocolate. Setting the almost s’more on the log you’d been using as a small table before holding the stick over the fire. 

You could feel his gaze boring into you as he tried to pretend like he wasn’t dying to ask what you were doing. It took a few minutes of tense silence before the marshmallows were ready. Adjusting your hold on the stick so you could use the two halves of graham cracker to get all the gooey, toasted marshmallow off, you placed the finished s’more on the log before starting the process all over again. 

Once the second one was done, you glanced over at Bucky and giggled. His eyes darted from the s’more on the log up to your face, and he looked so guilty; it was priceless. You let him sulk as you counted to ten in your head before grabbing your bottle of wine. After taking a long drink, you caved and held out the first s’more. He’d had plenty of time to give in, and that wasn’t going to happen, so you took pity on him.

When he didn’t move, you said, “Try it.”

Still silent, he cautiously took the s’more and turned it a few times as he studied it before glancing back at you. You were almost halfway done with yours, leaning back as you happily chewed. Bucky brought it to his face to smell it when you’d finished yours. Before making another s’more for yourself, you got up to grab your Bluetooth speaker from your backpack. 

Sitting back down, you pulled your phone out and got it set up so you wouldn’t have to endure any more of this silence. You didn’t normally listen to music when you were out here and loved how quiet it was, but with him, this felt like torture. Any time you started thinking, he’d sigh or adjust in his seat, and your thoughts would be back on him. Letting your mind drift when Bucky was here wouldn’t end well.  

As difficult as Bucky could be, you thought he was still likable. Maybe too likable. You could never pin down what it was about him because it was never the same thing. One day it would be his eyes; the next, his voice when he’d yell at someone or make little grunting noises while running; then, by the afternoon, it’d be his thighs. You didn’t try to analyze this, just did your best not to make it weird while you were working and enjoy the view, which had been spectacular today. Today it was his back. Perfectly toned, the shirt he’d worn did nothing to hide what was underneath, and it had been on your mind while you stared at the clouds in the canoe. 

🐌

A couple of hours later and you were probably drunk as you finished giggling through another story. Bucky was considering taking the bottle of wine away from you, but he was feeling the effects of the Asgardian liquor and wanted at least two more s’mores. Making them didn’t seem hard, but he wanted the ones you made and didn’t think you’d cooperate without your wine. 

It wasn’t lost on him that you didn’t bring the steak and sweet things out with you but had done this specifically for him. He knew that trying to get someone to come pick him up had been a bad idea, and he was happy he hadn’t done anything other than think about it. 

“But the best thing—nope, sorry,” you cut yourself off, reaching into the paper bag to grab more marshmallows. Then you added, speaking more to yourself or possibly the marshmallows, “Forgot who I was with, and he doesn’t need to know about that.”

“Just tell me,” Bucky said, knowing he shouldn’t take another sip but did anyway. He didn’t get to drink this often and missed this feeling when the sharp edges of reality started getting soft and dull. Screwing the cap back on the flask, he pointed out, “You told me about the skinny dipping and leeches on some guy's balls. Not sure what you could say that could be worse than that.”

You groaned as you held the marshmallows over the fire, “Fine, but you don’t get to be weird about it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, shaking his head. Bucky wanted to know now because you hadn’t had any qualms about telling him anything else once you started talking. 

Taking a deep breath, you started, “Probably my favorite thing to do when I’m camping is…yeah, I can’t tell you. We aren’t those kinda friends.”

“You have to now,” Bucky said, keeping an eye on the marshmallows, so you didn’t burn them again, “Otherwise, I won’t go camping with you anymore.”

“You don’t want to be camping now,” you said, carefully turning the stick, so the marshmallows heated up evenly, “And after I tell you this, you’ll probably want to leave.”

Bucky was getting more curious and not able to hide it like he usually could. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he stared at you and waited. 

You finished making him another s’more, then grabbed the half-drunk second bottle of wine. Glaring at him as you uncorked it and took a generous drink, then you jumped right in, “Sex in the woods. The first time was in high school. I was camping with some friends, we had some alcohol, and one thing led to another….”

This was worse than the leech story but in a very different way. Bucky needed to adjust how he was sitting, and you kept talking, “It’s the one thing I miss about before being recruited. Just going camping with some friends, getting shit-faced, and absolutely railed against a tree.”

Pointedly staring at the fire and trying to keep his face neutral, Bucky didn’t know what to say. He knew that some people on the team had their fun, but even after all the progress he’d made, that was one thing he hadn’t rekindled. Taking care of himself when things came up was one thing, but trying to find someone never seemed right, like he didn’t deserve it. 

He also had the same reasons that the others did: dating was impossible. Tony had Pepper, Nat was with Bruce, Thor had Jane, Wanda Vision, Clint was married, and even Steve had found someone, but no one who was still single tried to date civilians. It would never work, and he felt uncomfortable lying about his age. 

“Too much for you, Buckethead?” you asked, ripping Bucky out of his thoughts.

“What did you—no, just don’t have anything to add to the conversation,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as uncomfortable as he felt. 

Then you gasped, holding your hand over your mouth before saying in a scandalized voice, “You’ve never—”

“I have!” he shouted, realizing that he needed to end this before it got worse. Leaning toward you, he said in a carefully controlled voice, “Just not like that.”

You thought for a moment before you hesitantly said, “But, you’ve done it since… you know, coming back.”

“It’s none of your business, but no, I haven’t,” he said, not sure why he offered that information. 

“Why not?” you asked, looking offended at the mere idea that someone would refrain from sexual activity after being a human weapon for half a century.

All Bucky did was shake his head and focus on the fire. When he reached to grab a couple more logs, you said, “Nothing wrong with it. I guess unless you already have someone, once you're an Avenger, getting laid just isn’t an option.”

That had his mind trying to put something together, but he was buzzed and couldn’t figure it out right away. Bucky knew that the pieces were all there, but they didn’t fit together, and he had no idea what this particular puzzle was supposed to be. 

He hadn’t noticed how long you’d both been quiet until you started talking again, “Not that it’s any of my business, but you’d be surprised how many options you have. Agents alone, it’s staggering.”

Not what he had expected, but he wasn’t too drunk to be rude, “Could say the same about you.”

“Pfft, no man wants to get manhandled,” you said, and if Bucky wasn’t mistaken, there was something like hurt in your voice. 

The pieces were starting to come together, and he knew that letting you think like this about yourself wasn’t right. Adjusting in his chair, s’more uneaten in his hand, Bucky said, “Among the agents, maybe, but I’ve heard a few things.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know about Steve, and he only said that to be nice,” you said, grabbing the wine again. 

Bucky knew for a fact that Steve had not been trying to be nice when you were put on the spot at that party a few months ago. Steve had felt awful about not asking you out when Natasha had told your secret. 

Steve was happy, but Bucky knew that if the two of you were single at the same time, Steve wouldn’t hesitate. It wasn’t until you’d been asked why you didn’t bring a date to that party and Natasha had done what she did that Steve said anything, but this had the final pieces of the puzzle falling into place. 

“Not just Steve,” Bucky offered cryptically, not sure why he didn’t just come out and say what he wanted to say. 

You seemed to be thinking, scrunching your nose before you asked, “Loki?”

Bucky shrugged; he didn’t know much about Loki but wouldn’t put it past him if you asked. He registered that he hadn’t been the first single person you’d thought of but did his best to keep that to himself. After avoiding even a quick look in your direction, he heard your giggle and started to panic. 

“Not happening, Buckingham,” you said as you grabbed your phone. The song changed abruptly before you added, “I don’t need your charity.”

“Charity?” Bucky asked, but you were standing and picking up your bottle of wine. When you grabbed your phone and the speaker, Bucky was up and said, “You aren’t running off again. You’ve had too much—”

“You aren’t the boss of me,” you said confidently as you almost dropped your phone. Shoving it in your pocket, you added, “I’m going to the dock and look up.”

🐌

You didn’t know how long you’d been laying on the dock with Bucky, but you also weren’t thinking about time right now. After you’d gotten comfortable, you were enjoying the music, singing along quietly to yourself. 

“Didn’t know you could sing,” Bucky said, but it didn’t sound like he was talking to you. 

“I can’t,” you said but went back to it. 

You couldn’t be bothered to care about much right now. Even Bucky following you down here, insisting that he was keeping an eye on you, didn’t matter. He didn’t lay down right away either, just stood for a little while, but when he did, he was close enough that you could feel his warmth even though he wasn’t touching you. It was nice, but you were trying not to think about it.

“Was it just Steve?” Bucky asked; apparently, he was determined not to enjoy this. 

You didn’t know what he was asking, so you answered his question with a question, “Just Steve, what?”

He touched you. Nothing weird, but it still felt weird as he nudged you with his elbow and said, “You know.”

“Oh,” you sighed, and the wine made it seem like a great idea, to be honest, “No, but I don’t really think about that stuff unless, uh… yeah.”

Not being able to see his doofy face made this easier to talk about, but it was still not something you wanted to do. You couldn’t believe you were actually having this conversation with Bucky. 

“Same,” he said like you were at a sleepover and enjoying some girl talk. He didn’t stop either, adding in an almost wistful tone, “But sometimes….”

“Sometimes what?” you asked, probably faster than you should have. 

He chuckled before he answered bashfully, “I dunno. Sometimes things pop into your head… um… during that.”

You nearly fell off the dock. You sat up and, with a wicked grin, asked, “James Buchanan Barnes, have you had impure thoughts about one of your teammates?”

He glared up at you and said defiantly, “Yeah. So have you, now lose the judgemental tone.”

“Who?” you asked, desperate to find out you weren’t above begging, “You gotta tell me.” You weren't thinking anything other than getting some juicy gossip now. Better than getting your hopes up for no reason. 

“You really wanna know?” he asked, not able to look at you as he sat up. 

Bucky was so close now, even though you’d been closer, just not on a dock, at night, alone. You knew he’d ask you the same thing once he gave it up, and you did not have a good answer. He’d been the only interest you’d had for a while. The whole thing with Steve, which was strange to have brought up out of nowhere, had just been an excuse. You didn’t want to give Nat any good information, so you picked tall, blond, and taken. Steve was nice enough, but he was not Bucky.

Bending his knees and wrapping his arms around them, he was staring straight ahead as he said, “Not sure I should tell you.”

“Tease,” you hissed before laying back down. You didn’t want to seem like you were actually mad. You were thankful he’d spared your feelings as you added dismissively, “But suit yourself.”

You had reached for your phone when he leaned over and said, “Is saying ‘I’d rather show you’ too cheesy or—hmph.”

Not hesitating, the second those four words left his mouth, you were jerking him down to kiss him. It was friggin’ glorious like you were drowning in him. When he pulled back, a strange, almost dazed look on his face, you thought you’d turn into mud and seep through the boards of the dock and dissolve in the lake. 

He searched your eyes for a moment before he asked, “So… who was yours?”

He’s an idiot, you thought as you said, “You’re an idiot.”

“And you have terrible taste in men,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away. 

Even in the moonlight, you could see his eyes darting down to your lips. You didn’t want to try to figure this out or sort out what you’d do after tonight; you had a better idea. Holding your hand up, you tapped his forehead before slowly dragging your finger down the bridge of his nose to his lips as you said, “I do, but I’ve come to terms with it.”

He spoke as you traced along his jaw, “This is probably a bad idea.”

“And he’s grumpy again,” you sighed after talking to the lake, pushing yourself up and snatching your stuff before turning and walking back to land. 

You could hear him scrambling to get up and nearly falling into the frigid water, but he didn’t, so you kept walking. It didn’t take him long to catch up to you, and then he was talking fast, “I’m not grumpy. I just don’t want to make working together weird.”

“It’s been weird the whole time,” you point out before stopping. He was a few feet away, and you gave him a thorough once-over before you asked, “Were you lying?”

He looked genuinely stunned, and it took him a moment before he shook his head, “No, were you?”

“No,” you replied immediately. Bucky couldn’t even look at you, his head turned away, but you weren’t backing down as you took a step toward him and asked, “Then what’s the problem, Buckle?”

It was like he was having an argument with himself, and you were thoroughly entertained by how you could almost tell what he was thinking by his expressions. Closing the distance, you knew nothing was going to come of this, and you just wanted to push him a little further before going back to the fire. You’d both laugh about this later as you whispered, “C’mon, show me how a girl’s supposed to be treated.”

His face was slack as he slowly turned his head to look at you. A fraction of a second before you were going to shove his shoulder and start laughing this tension off, he grabbed you. His hands kept you in place as he kissed the life out of you. Kissing him again, but this time because he started it, was better. You didn’t think dissolving in the lake was a good way to go anymore, but turning into mud on this path would be perfect. 

Bucky pulled away to take a breath, his hands still on either side of your face as he said, “Steve’s gonna kill me.”

“Steve never stood a chance,” you shot back, enjoying the pained expression on Bucky’s face. 

Guiding you backward as he spoke, “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” you asked, grinning up at him. 

“Givin’ me ideas, doll,” he said as your back hit a tree. He didn’t stop moving, though, pressing you against it as he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “This isn’t going to be just tonight.”

“Yeah?” you were practically vibrating with excitement, drinking in every word he said. 

“Or this trip,” he added, your knees starting to feel weak. He pressed his lips to yours before he asked, “That work for you?”

All you managed was a dreamy, distant-sounding, “Uh huh.”

“You’re all mine,” Bucky said, barely loud enough for you to hear, but you heard it. 

You weren’t able to reply as he scooped you up. Leaning against the tree as your legs wrapped around his waist, you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again. His lips parted, and even if this was all that happened, it was easily the best you’d ever had on a camping trip. 

Your tongue circled his as your hands found the back of his head. He broke the kiss again, but only to start kissing your neck, his stubble only adding to your pleasure. Head falling back against the tree, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Please don’t stop.”

Bucky chuckled as he moved a little higher, nipping your earlobe before he said, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, “Wasn’t planning on it. You sold me on this camping stuff.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, pulling his head back to kiss him again before you demanded, “Lose the shirt.”

You didn’t loosen your legs when his hands left you, leaning against the tree and gripping him with your thighs. Bucky smirked as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it behind him onto the path. When his arms were around you again, you barely noticed he was carrying you. You were too busy running your hands along as much of his back as you could reach, and it was better than you’d imagined in the canoe earlier. 

Once you noticed you weren’t still against a tree, you were pulling your own shirt over your head and dropping it somewhere behind Bucky as he walked. He groaned again, taking his eyes off of the dimly lit path to stare at your sports bra, which had been a mistake. 

As he tripped, Bucky managed to turn so that he landed on his back instead of you while you unhooked your legs and placed your hands on his chest. It was only a few seconds, but with all the training you’d both had, not getting hurt from falling on the ground was easy. 

He didn’t miss a beat, pulling you down on top of him as soon as he landed. Planting one hand on your ass and the other on the back of your head, but you didn’t let him kiss your lips again as you asked, “You okay?”

“Never been better,” he said against your neck before trailing kisses lower. 

The hand on the back of your head moved between your shoulder blades, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He was pinching and pulling at the back of your sports bra like it would magically open for him when it was a pullover. 

Pushing yourself up, shaking your head as you pulled it over your head. When you looked down at Bucky he was staring at your tits like he hadn’t seen any in a long time, and you realized he probably hadn’t seen any in person for maybe seventy years. His appreciative leering was sweet. 

You took his right hand, lifting it to your lips before wrapping them around his middle finger. His hips lurched as his jaw dropped, but he regained control of himself enough to say, “You are asking for trouble, doll.”

With a pop, you pulled his finger from his mouth before joking, “Keep calling me that, and I’ll ruin your life.”

“It’s yours to ruin,” he said, pulling you down before he saw your reaction. 

It was hard to think with him kissing and sucking on your tits, but you still heard what he’d said. All the strange almost-feeling things he’d said were rattling around in your head as his left hand grabbed your ass firmly and his right was teasing your nipple. You tried to shake it off. He couldn’t have meant it. Bucky, like Steve, still said weird shit like they were back in the 40s, and you were just going to assume that this was one of those things. It was probably some old-fashioned version of dirty talk. People used to mate for life back then, but he couldn’t mean any of this. 

You arched your back as you adjusted your hips, making sure that he was distracted before you started to move. He moaned against your skin, which helped clear your mind. Taking one of your nipples into his mouth and the hand on your ass moved lower, your eyes fluttered closed. This was better than you imagined.

Grinding against him, you realized one key part was missing from this: his dick. You started moving lower, thinking maybe that was the issue, and still nothing but his jeans. Giggling as you wondered if Bucky needed little blue pills, you wouldn’t care if he did; this was more fun than you’d had in a long time. 

Even if he couldn’t get hard, maybe it was psychological, you knew a few ways you could still make sure he felt good. Sitting up, you slid down and knelt between his legs. His head popped up and he looked so confused. With a grin, you kissed the center of his chest, then moved to give him a taste of his own medicine. Some guys felt nothing from this, while others would lose their minds; Bucky was part of the latter group. 

Sealing your lips and slowly licking around his nipple, you heard him slam his vibranium fist against the ground as he gasped. You sucked hard, and his other hand left your shoulder to rip at the grass. Since you were only getting positive feedback, you decided to push your luck and gently tug with your teeth. Bucky’s back arched as he let out a shuddering moan. 

“You are too much fun,” you whisper before pressing your lips a little lower. 

He was panting as you kissed lower, then he asked, “Where do ya think your goin’?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, your hands already on his pants. 

Making quick work of the button fly, you gently kissed just above the band of his boxer briefs. Bucky’s hands were pressed against his forehead, then he gasped and lifted his head. He got up on his elbows as you jerked at his jeans, and he was smirking at you. 

He raised his hips, making it easier for you to get up on your knees to pull his jeans off, but you were distracted almost immediately. Bucky’s pants, barely halfway down his thighs, stopped moving as you understood why you hadn’t felt anything. It was like a present for being cool if his dick didn’t work, and you rarely got to enjoy good karma. 

“Something wrong, doll?” Bucky asked, and you remembered that he was there. 

Looking up with wide eyes, you shook your head and tried to say two things at once but managed to jumble them, “Nothing’s good—fuck, I mean, I’m good, nothing’s wrong.” You shot him a big smile, but he was worried now. 

He pushed himself up, grabbing your hands before you could finish unleashing the beast, and he said so gently, “We don’t have to—”

“I am keenly aware of what I want to do, James,” you cut him off, and in a moment of unhealthy hubris, you also grabbed his dick. This was meant to prove your point, but it was ruined when you realized it was too thick to get your hand around, and you hissed, “Fucking hell….”

Bucky tensed up the second you touched him and said in a strained voice, “You’re in… charge, so… don’t—oh, damnit, don’tworryaboutme.”

All your life, you’d made a point of doing things for other people, and not because you were supposed to or some misguided idea about wanting to be a good person; you enjoyed making people happy. As you tried to wrap your head around this situation, like your hand around his cock, you couldn’t resist this as an idea started to form in your head, and you ran with it. 

You loosened your grip before starting to stroke him gently over his boxer briefs. Bucky’s hands were in the dirt again, which meant he wasn’t touching you any time soon, so why not play with him a little? Leaning close, you ran your nose along the shell of his ear as you asked, “I’m in charge?”

He nodded vigorously as he muttered, “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want….” you repeated his words as your hand ran over his length, and he moaned again. You kissed him just below his ear before you whispered, “I think I’d rather show you what I want.” 

He gasped when you shoved at his chest but fell backward like a sack of potatoes. You didn’t bother trying to get his pants off now, they weren’t in your way as you bowed between his legs. Planting your knees further apart, so you didn’t feel as bunched up, you pressed your lips to the obscene bulge under the fabric. 

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped. 

His back arched again as you kissed up his length to the base. You’d had an idea that he might be packing some serious equipment, but it paled in comparison to how responsive he was to your attention. You’d barely done anything, and he was breathing harder than he did after running at full speed. 

Kissing your way back up his shaft, you had your hands on his thighs, squeezing them and feeling the firm muscles underneath. His legs were a recurring favorite for you, and finally, being able to touch them like this was enough to ruin your underwear. Sliding them higher, you pushed your fingertips under the hem of his boxer briefs. 

You teased the skin there as you said, “Tell me what you’d think about.”

“What?” he asked, covering his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

Delving a little further and running a finger over the head of his cock had his rapt attention. In a second, he was propped up on his elbows and torn between what your hand was doing and your face. You didn’t mind, he was supposed to enjoy this, but you wondered if you could have your cake and hear it tell you dirty things too. 

“You said things would pop into your head sometimes, and I want to know what kind of ideas you had,” you explained, your hand completely inside the leg of his boxer briefs as you continued to barely touch his cock. 

He shook his head absently as he said, “Nothing like this.”

“Better or wor—”

“This is so much better,” he cut you off, and you giggled at how quickly he spoke. 

Getting your hand underneath his cock, you wrapped your fingers around it as best you could. Slowly, you started stroking him properly as you asked, “What do you like, Bucky?”

He was focused on your hand moving inside his boxer briefs as he answered in barely more than a whisper, “You… just you.”

Well, you hadn’t expected that, but you were in too deep now. Not faltering your movement, you pushed your luck as far as you wanted to and said as lightly as you could, “You really need to stop saying stuff like that.”

As he answered, you started working his full length, and he seemed to lose focus, “Can’t help it… Oh, shit, you have no idea what you do to me.”

You had a pretty good idea but didn’t want to point that out. If he was the type to say a bunch of dramatic shit during, then you just needed to remember it was just words, and he didn’t mean it. 

With your free hand, you pulled the fabric up and wondered if you had died and gone to pretty dick heaven. Angling his cock, you leaned close and swirled your tongue around the head. 

Bucky made a strangled noise before slapping a hand over his mouth. You looked up to see his panicked expression as he leaned on one elbow. With a wicked grin, you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue where the head of his cock flared out before you said, “Make all the noise you want. No one’s around to hear you but me.”

He shook his head, keeping his mouth covered, and you couldn’t help yourself, “Bet you make all sorts of fun noises.”

His brow furrowed as you gently took the tip in your mouth again, slipping your tongue in a circle and tasting his precum. You kissed him again before you asked, “Isn’t your room soundproof?”

The realization on his face was glorious. He seemed to forget about covering his mouth as his arm fell back to the ground, a knowing smirk on his face. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for a reply, and he didn’t disappoint, “They told me it was.”

You did enjoy his inability to handle anything you’d done to him so far, but the faint hint of a Bucky with control over himself was like something out of one of your fantasies. Dragging your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about how best to approach this, you arched a brow as you said, “Would be fun to test if it worked.”

“Wha—oh, my God!” Bucky was going to ask you something, but you cut him off, and he ended up shouting. 

Taking him as far as you could quickly and gagging when he hit the back of your throat abruptly, you weren’t able to see what happened, but you could hear it. Bucky hit the ground with a thud, followed by what had to be his fists again slamming into the ground and digging his fingers into it. 

When you’d done this before, one hand around the bottom was enough but not with Bucky. As you started to bob your head, both hands stroking what you couldn’t get into your mouth, you weren’t going to stop unless he started making scary sounds. 

“Shi—holy, fuckmewhat—oh, Christ—” and on and on he went as he squirmed. 

His hips mindlessly rutted as he tore at the ground, and his legs flexed around you. It wasn’t until he stopped making noise that you knew the fun was probably close to over. Bucky was panting again, grunting with each exhale as his cock got even harder, and you knew he was going to cum soon. Not how you wanted this to go if it happened, but you knew that this wasn’t about you right now. 

Focused on making sure he’d thoroughly enjoy this, you slid one hand lower and cupped his balls, gently at first, just to see how he’d react. When he let out a loud moan, and you felt them tighten, you started to massage them, and Bucky seemed to snap. 

“I-I-I… not like thi—pleasepleasepleaseplea-Ohh fuuuck!” he shouted as his back arched high off the ground. 

His cock throbbed in your hand and mouth as he came. You took everything he had, surprised that it didn’t taste as bad as you remembered cum tasting. All things considered, taking his load in the mouth was one thing but what you did next might have been a bit much. 

Before you’d been able to pull off, he was up and dragging you off his dick. Bucky cupped your cheeks and kissed your lips. You kept them closed, but he wasn’t having it, nearly growling against your lips, “Kiss me.”

You did the only logical thing: you swallowed. It made what seemed like a deafening gulping sound, and Bucky pulled back. He had the strangest look on his face, and you tried to lighten the mood by grinning as you asked, “So… you having fun?”

Still staring at you like you’d suddenly turned into a reverse mermaid, where the bottoms are legs, and the top is a fish, you were getting nervous. You placed a hand on his, not hiding the concern in your voice, and asked, “You okay?”

He shook his head, looking away from you as he took a deep breath. This was an improvement until he nodded and looked at you again before he said, “Next time, don’t swallow it.”

🖤🖤🖤

Fuck everything. If you want to get tagged, let me know (comment, ask, message). I'm going to cut it off at 15, so first cum first served.

<3 hel.

Just third degree yearns for all my fictional husbands.