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jen-with-a-pen · 1 month

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ALL TIED UP - FIVE

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: Steve's night is made when his barista ends up sharing a class with him. But Steve's paranoia gets the best of him– can he really trust his gut?

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 2.66k

warnings: flirting, fluff, hand holding, closeness, steve is adorable when he's nervous, paranoia, unease, cursing, barista lore™

a/n: had fun writing this one as we build up to friday! i might be switching the days/chapters around in the next few, but we'll see. depends on the depravity of my brain 😈

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Thursday.

Learning how to draw, when he already knows how to draw, makes Steve feel bad at drawing.

Sitting in the lecture hall of the art school, he doodles over the half-assed notes he manages to take during the first thirty minutes of class. Usually, he loves Drawing 101; it’s his easiest, only late-night class each week and one of the only times he can relax without worrying about one of the brothers barging in with another stupid homework question. Usually, it's just him, his earbuds turned up a touch too high, and whatever subjects the instructor places in front of him. On Thursday nights, nothing stands between him, an easel, and two straight hours of sketching pots and people.

Except when a said-Thursday night happens to fall on ‘mandatory lecture’ day.

It hasn’t been an hour when Steve gives up trying to force himself to focus, instead choosing to mindlessly doodle over and around the page. The Drawing 101 guest professor continues to drone on about different types of graphite in the pencils kits Steve and twenty-odd other kids in the course were forced to buy. Steve doesn’t understand– nor does he particularly give a shit– as to why a 3H pencil is better over a 3B pencil, or how using an 8B pencil isn’t preferred over a 7B pencil.

A pencil is a fucking pencil.

Steve sighs, failing to stifle a yawn. No amount of coffee– not even the triple espresso concoction his barista had him try earlier that day– could save him from falling asleep in this godforsaken, decades-old room with dimmed lights and sporadically-filled seats scattered amongst the vast sea of empty ones. Honestly, nobody ever came to monthly lectures, save for when their usual professor mentioned the material would be part of their written midterms. Guest lecturers result in a lesser turnout, too, and Steve partially wishes he’d chosen to spend it back at the café or in the library. As the professor continues on to the next type of pencil, the double doors at the back of the room creak open. Still dazed in a bored stupor, Steve cranes his neck over his shoulder to see which unlucky bastard is almost an hour late to the snoozefest.

He immediately wakes up, shooting up in his seat as if a bucket of ice water were splashed on him. He can’t believe what he sees: it’s her. Her. His barista.

Mouth agape, he stares as she slowly closes the doors, careful not to draw too much attention to her late arrival. When nobody bothers to acknowledge her, she makes her way down the carpeted steps of the lecture hall in search of refuge in an empty seat. Her eyes dart across the aisles, desperate for just one, inconspicuous place that will draw the least attention.

As she combs the rows with a furrowed brow and bottom lip slipping adorably between her teeth, Steve realizes he’s got some sort of a chance. Eyes dart to the professor, then back to her. Steve subtly raises a hand, waving to get her attention. Locking eyes, she finally sees him. Relief and surprise replace her bitten lip with a beaming smile. Steve’s heart soars, skipping far more than several beats. He doesn’t– he can’t– take his eyes off her as she quickly shuffles through the row of seats, plopping down next to him and dropping a tote bag at her feet. She pulls out a purple notebook and pen, slouching back into her seat with a relieved sigh, knee brushing gently against Steve’s. A ghost of the sweetest-smelling perfume drifts into his nostrils and he has the urge to replace his oxygen supply with it.

Steve feels like he’s dreaming. Cloud nine, light as a feather, the whole fucking nine yards. He skims over her features in the dim light of the lecture hall– the curve of her lips as she whispers to herself, flipping through the pages of her notebook, trying to find a blank spot; her eyelashes that flick up and down as she copies down the date and class number. He trails down her neck, crossing over the gold bar necklace she wears every day, to her shoulders and arms, her hands. When his eyes drift back up to her face, she’s staring back. Heat blooms in his cheeks and nerves constrict his chest in embarrassment. She smirks, shaking her head and turning her attention to the professor’s current ramblings on B and HB pencils. Steve opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.

What would he even say? How would he get away with trying to talk to her in the middle of the lecture? The professor would hear him, he’d get called out, everyone would see him–

She huffs, turning to another blank notebook page. Steve side-eyes her as she quietly tears the page out and scribbles something on the first line. Side-eyeing Steve, a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she discreetly slides the paper over to him.

hi stranger.

Steve can’t help but grin. It spills across his lips as more heat blooms, trailing up his ears and down his neck. Trying not to seem too eager, he clicks his own pen and scrawls a response. The professor’s voice fades into background noise, going through one ear and out the other. He’s a goner and so is Steve.

YOURE THE STRANGER, STRANGER

He slides the paper back to her. She scoffs a laugh, smile growing wider.

last minute class drop + switch. u know how it is.

TRUE. DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE AN ART KID

She shakes her head, quickly scribbling when Steve cocks his head, mouthing a ‘what?’

film kid. have to take art class for credit. only one available.

Steve’s surprised at her response, nodding once he thinks it over. It makes sense.

She makes sense.

It fits her. It fits the way she moves, the way she carries herself, the ease in which she comes up with witty comebacks. It’s then and there Steve really thinks about the contrast between the two of them– the way he’s perceived versus how he perceives her. He’s a frat brother, a six-foot-two guy with muscles he doesn’t know how to use yet, and a lifelong artist who doesn’t fit in– no matter how much he tries to claw and fight his way out of the hole people dig and throw him in.

If anything, he doesn’t make sense.

Brow furrowing and jaw set, Steve’s caught in the downward spiral he’s been fighting to keep at bay since coming to Richards– since he pledged his life away to Sigma Theta Beta and the never-ending identity crisis the brothers force upon him every waking moment. But, it’s with her that he feels more like himself than anywhere else in the goddamned world. It’s with her he wants to– willingly– be himself. He wants to be himself with her.

He, however, doesn’t realize the hack job he’s performing on his poor cheek tissue until a soft hand covers his, squeezing lightly. Warmth spreads like wildfire across Steve’s skin, breaking him free and bringing him back to the real world. Concern veils over his barista’s expression; her soft, searching gaze jumps between his baby blues.

‘You okay?’ she mouths, studying him, hand still on his. Her brow twitches upwards when he still doesn’t respond. Steve holds up an index finger and goes back to responding on the paper.

SORRY. LOT ON MY MIND

She nods heavily in agreement.

same. pencildick up there is putting me to sleep. how do you even do it?

Steve bites a laugh back.

DRAWING, COUNTING THE CLOCK

Before she takes it back Steve adds,

AND NOW YOU.

Her smile is bright enough to light up the darkened lecture hall.

Two whole pages are filled by the time class lets out. Front and back.

Steve allows his barista to take the lead in following other students out of the lecture hall. Buzzing conversations reveal a shared eagerness to get the hell out of there and go spend the rest of their Thursday night doing something else more worthy of their precious time. Steve slings his bag over his shoulder as he follows close behind, verbally continuing their written conversation about her shift from earlier in the day and swapping ridiculous ways on how they’ll manage to work every type of pencil into their midterm.

As he plods next to her, Steve fights an innate urge to place a light hand on her lower back to guide her out on their way to the parking lot. Instead, he gets the door, jokingly half-bowing with an outstretched arm to the second set of double doors. Continuing out of the building, Steve takes a breath, deciding now is the perfect time to ask if she’s busy tonight. Instead, though, she stops abruptly. Steve runs directly into her, arms jutting out instinctively to steady both of them out of sheer instinct. Grabbing her shoulders, she spins around to face him, closer to his chest than either realized.

Steve feels his ears turn red again. She looks up at him, blinking before taking a step back, lips parting slightly. An awkward beat hangs in the air before Steve clears his throat and rubs his neck.

"You, uh,” he swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable, “You maybe wanna go grab a bite t’eat, or somethin’?"

Her eyes widen, lips twitching at the corners. She looks like she’s about to answer before quickly realizing something, as if internally scolding herself for even looking excited. Pressing her lips together, her eyes dart back to her phone.

"Shit, I–" she quickly types a response and shoves it back in her pocket, exhaling in frustration.

"What is it?"

"I would love to, Steve. I really would, but," she closes her eyes and sighs, "I can't. My sisters need me back at the house. They said it’s an ‘emergency.’" She adds sarcastic air quotes, rolling her eyes.

"Oh!” Relief fills Steve’s chest, thankful she’s not purposefully blowing him off with some shitty excuse. “Okay, no yeah, I–I totally get it, family can be-"

She smiles softly, shaking her head and taking his hand to run a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture is so casual, so soft, yet it sends goosebumps up Steve’s arm.

"Oh, no. No, they're not my actual sisters. They're, um, my sorority sisters." She flinches as 'sorority' leaves her lips.

Steve blanches, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. He can't help the lopsided smile spreading across his face. He can’t help taking both her hands in his and holding them in excitement. The odds of it– all of it– all the things, of all the people, she’s the one to make him feel less alone. She’s the one that understands everything.

He tries, and fails, to contain his excitement.

"No, I– I completely get it. My frat brothers are insufferable and I'm the newest pledge, so–"

It’s her turn to blanche. "You? You’re a new pledge, too?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I’m required by my scholarship–"

"Oh thank God it's not just me!"

"There's one for sisters, too?" Steve gawks. He’s truly in shock at the audacity of Richards to make any student required to endure the circle of Hell that is Greek life. He squeezes her hands. She matches him.

"Of course there is, meathead,” she snorts. “Title nine, or whatever the hell."

Steve nods. "I can’t tell you how glad I am not to be alone in this. It's fucked up, but maybe not as much now that I know you're in the same boat as me."

He pulls her ever-so-slightly closer. She lets him.

"Guess that makes you the Jack to my Rose."

Steve furrows his bro, cocking his head like a confused puppy.

"Oh God– Don't tell me you've never seen Titanic," she gasps, feigning offense and sending Steve off course, thinking he’s fucked up somehow.

Sarcasm isn’t his strong suit.

"I, uh– no, not that I know of. I–I mean I've heard of the Titanic, but I don't remember the– well I know there's a movie, but I–"

She laughs, full and genuine, stepping forward as her hands leave his, placing one on his shoulder. Her touch is soft, gentle, more comforting than anything he’s ever felt.

"I'll show ya some time. Don't worry."

Squeezing his bicep, her fingertips glide down to his hand, grazing his fingers for the slightest moment before slipping between them, lacing them together. Electricity shoots up Steve's arm. Without another word she leads him out of the building, walking down the sidewalk lit by the moon rising overhead and scattered street lamps illuminating the parking lot.

Steve decides then and there he’ll go wherever she takes him. Anywhere. Everywhere.

She stops at the edge of the parking lot and turns to him. "This is where I leave ya, my car’s over yonder.” She nods to a blue sedan with a Richards sticker on the back windshield sitting underneath one of the street lamps. “Plus, I’d like to save you walkin’ me to my car for another night.”

Butterflies. Steve nods. She scoffs a laugh.

“Text me, meathead. I'll see ya tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow.”

She releases his hand in slow motion and Steve hopes she’s relishing every bit of physical contact with him as he is with her. He heads to his own car parked in the darker side of the lot under the shadows of the perimeter trees and dimmer lamps, swaying languidly and ambling across the pavement in a trance. Steve makes a note to himself: watch more movies, because he sure feels like he's in one.

The trance is broken when a split second of what sounds like a scream echoes over the lot and is snuffed out just as abruptly as it started.

Steve freezes, key halfway into unlocking the driver’s side door. Ears prick up, breath held firm in his chest. Turning over his shoulder, he gasps, startled as a blue car– her car– slowly backs out from under the streetlamp and exits onto the road casually. Steve watches it disappear from view. The sound of the engine gunning it down the road leaves Steve alone in the dark, a sick uneasiness pooling in his gut.

He gets in his car, tossing his bag into the passenger seat and pulling out his phone.

You okay? Did you hear that?

Steve turns the engine over and throws the car into drive, foot hard on the brake before checking her text back.

Hear what? I’m okay! :)

The uneasiness doesn’t leave him. She doesn’t usually text like that.

“Fuck, get a grip, Steve,” he mutters to himself, resting his head against the steering wheel. He takes a second to gather himself and calm his nerves. The paranoia he’s been trained to feel thanks to his brothers, in combination with the fear of fucking everything up with his barista tonight, must be mixing together and clashing against every active nerve in his body. He’s fine. She’s fine.

She’s obviously driving right now, of course she wouldn’t fucking text how she normally does. She’s probably using voice text. Calm. Down.

Steve sends another text before tossing his phone into the passenger’s seat, the unease refusing to dissipate. He turns on the radio, turning up the song blasting from the speakers in a sorry attempt to silence his racing thoughts.

No big deal. Get home safe.

His phone stays silent the rest of the night. It stays silent as he gets home, as he throws a bowl of ramen together, as he throws himself onto his bed and flips open his laptop to watch some random brainrot he finds on Netflix.

He nods off, letting himself be taken by exhaustion as the uneaten bowl of ramen sits on his desk, growing colder, while the dim computer light and hum of dialogue pull Steve further and further into a dreamless sleep.

His phone dies silently in his hand.

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hainethehero · 3 months

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Steve Rogers as the unknown artist headcanon...

I always have this headcanon that no one knew about Steve's love for art or his talent for painting and drawing. So when they keep finding amazing portraits and paintings of themselves in their purest forms - not their superhero counterparts- but them doing the most mundane things in regular clothing, they get sort of wary that it's some art-themed villain who took the joke too far.

But then one day a stupid villain crashes the Tower through Steve's room and they all burst in ready for a fight, only to see that Steve's already got the guy wrapped in rope and secured to the floor while he grumbles softly, covered in paint, trying to gather what's left of his art supplies.

And Tony almost goes to make a sarcastic quip but Bucky and Natasha stop him when they see Steve's sad little pout as he picks up his broken easel.

#steve rogers #sad steve rogers #captain america #artist steve rogers #avengers #tony stark #clint barton #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #chris evans #rdj #stony #stucky #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #the winter soldier #bottom steve rogers #steve rogers is a sweetheart

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fandomfluffandfuck · 28 days

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I’m back to those posts about Steve drawing his own dick for Bucky…

Bucky for sure would have Steve do a series of like 5 drawings/paintings of Steve’s own cock. The series would go from a completely soft cock to fully hard and all the stages in between. Bucky would frame them and put them over the bed.

And maybe Bucky realizes that Steve finds it easier to draw the blue pictures than to say the words. So he has sub!Steve draw the fantasies he can’t bring himself to say out loud.

Steve folds the drawings and leaves them out for Bucky to find. And Bucky is blown away at how Steve draws him. THIS is how Steve sees him? He looks so…sexy, kind, nurturing, and of course dominant. Bucky gets a big ego boost from those drawings of himself doing dirty things to Steve, as well as lots of scene ideas!

related to these two posts

Okay, if you're at all into oviposition, I HIGHLY recommend you check out "Day 29: Alien dildo/Oviposition" by pandafish on AO3. It's only 3k words and so good! It relates to this prompt because Steve's drawings are what reveal his oviposition kink to Bucky 👀

You're so right, though! Bucky definitely has the whole fucking collection--proudly framed, conviently stuffed into his wallet, or otherwise displayed. Drawing after drawing of Steve's sweet, cute, lil flaccid cock but hoards of drawings of Steve's cock so hard that it's emboldened by throbbing veins, the head engorged, fat, dripping wet from how long he's been aroused, his whole dick and balls stained dark red-purple, too. Further, he has drawings of all the stages in between those two extremes; soft and vulnerable to hard and temping. He's fascinating and gorgeous. So much so that Bucky could and does stare at his pretty dick for hours, on paper as well as when they're stripped down together, time stretched to the limit.

Steve could have drawn all the drawings on different days, and it would've been much easier on him--easier on his mind, body, and soul--but he didn't. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun for Bucky if he'd done it that way with the collection built up over weeks. But because Steve modeled for himself all day, all in one day, it means that by the time dusk rolls around... Steve comes tumbling out of his home studio, his head fuzzy, eyes hazy, feeling too big for his own body, unsure of what to do with his limbs, his skin buzzing with electricity. A crackling, faint fire burning through him, smoking up the whole studio where he had been holed up.

He's dazed by the hours and hours he's spend curled up with his sketchbook, a pencil in one hand, his cock in the other. Examining himself. Detailing every inch. Keeping himself at each stage, entirely soft to throbbingly hard, through sheer self-discipline. His head is mortifyingly full of his own dick. It feels self-obsessively, heat prickling at the back of his neck, sending shivery feelings down his spine. He, he... he feels like he isn't anything but his dick. Like nothing about him exists at all but his dick; he doesn't have a brain, he doesn't have thoughts, he doesn't have a voice, he doesn't have arms, he doesn't have legs, he doesn't have a heartbeat except for the one pounding through his dick like bass shaking the whole foundation of a concert venue. Pounding. Steve doesn't have anything but a dick.

Speaking of his dick--

The moment Bucky finds him tripping over his own feet, tumbling forward, falling more than he's walking, Bucky is grabbing him by the cock and guiding him toward their bedroom. A cute, tiny whimper drips out of Steve's lips, his mouth statically open, head all spacy. He's mush.

Similarly to that adorable little noise, Bucky keeps his voice hushed, gentle as he leads him by his cock, hard as hell. Steve can hardly understand him anyway, so it doesn't matter what he says. He just needs some stable direction because, otherwise, he's aimlessly floating--swimming through the glittery clouds surrounding him. A whole day of forcing himself to stay soft, denied, then controlling his cock and keeping it hard, ramping up to be harder, harder, and harder denied differently, will do that to a man. He's broken open. Too sensitive. Lost to the mercy of such an enticing sensation.

They make it to the bedroom with no help from Steve at all. He's bonelessly laid out on their king-sized bed, spread flat like sweet, sugary jam melting onto warm, crispy toast. Then, just like that, Bucky dares to drag his hand up his shaft real slllllllllow. After, too soon for his poor, little Stevie doll, Bucky strokes down just as unhurried and just as devastingly tight so these big, wet tears well up in Steve's hazy, blue eyes--it makes him look like he's near drowning. But immediately, those sizzling tears spill over, and suddenly, he's pouting, shaking, sobbing. Outright blubbering.

He doesn't even know what he's begging for. He's not making real words. He's too simple for words right now. He couldn't even tug and pull at Bucky's hands to show him what he wants when he's like this. He really is a doll, posable, sweet, and anything that Bucky imagines him to be. He's Bucky's.

Bucky's to touch.

It's agonizing. Does he want Bucky to keep stroking him off? Does he even want to cum? Does he just want his dick to be left alone? Does he want this to stop? Does he want to float here forever? Never coming down? God! It huuurts! He feels all swollen and sensitive, it's almost like Bucky is pressing on a fresh bruise. There's this fucking rush to it, the endorphins shimmering too brightly through the pain, but it's painful and tender, too.

It's so much.

Steve is sobbing, crying so much that the tears are dripping into his mouth, salty and wet. As hard as he's blubbering, the baby, he's not shaking, nor is his chest heaving because he can't.

Steve can't even writhe, thrashing side to side, because he's so drained from a day of nothing but dick. His fingers twitch, hands aching from all that drawing. His cock can't twitch or jerk, it just drips, overflowing, making a puddle on his weakly clenching stomach--the flat, smooth muscle of his abs and the shallow dip of his belly button. All he can do is stare up at Bucky, those big, puppy-dog eyes foggy, his head is empty. Mouth agape. Dumb. All he knows is Bucky.

BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBu--

It's not his fault he can't admit his fantasies. They're just so dirty and m-mortifying, and words are so hard. For such a delicate thing like Steve, it's so much. He gets needy, and he dissolves, cotton candy into water. It's lucky that his hands are smarter, and his drawings don't just turn into indistinguishable scribbles.

I didn't actually mean to write that... it just happened 💀💀

#asks #anon provided writing #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #big sub steve #dom bucky #artist steve rogers #artist steve

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

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Home, Sweet Home.

AN: As voted for by my followers, my next series update is for Cali, Steve and Bucky. After the fluff of the last part I gift you a bucket load of smut. And to the Nonnie who has sent me a request for these three- that will be coming soon! I’m not ignoring you.

Beta’d by: the glorious American, tits as big as her heart, @yarnforbrains

Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard and banners by me.

Masterlist | Series masterlist | Previous part

Relationship: Steve x Reader (Cali) x Bucky

Word count: 4.1k

CW: Poly relationship, fluff, feels, Smutty smut smut (Oral- M and F receiving, Rimming, bit of cum play, Vaginal sex, Anal fingering, Double penetration (in V and A)), cheeky banter. Bucky is a menace (d’uh!) Steve is intense, Cali is practical, even in the heat of the moment.

As you put down the box you’d been carrying and stretched out your aching back, you heard the sound of van doors closing, before it was followed by the sound of its engine starting.

Everything had moved quickly once you’d agreed with your boys that the house they’d picked was perfect. Bucky had packed up nearly all of his belongings and put them in storage, moving in full time with Steve. A few weeks later you’d done the same. You’d all agreed it would be far easier to coordinate the move from one place, as opposed to trying to leave three separate homes on the same day.

It had been tense to say the least, but now you were standing in what would become your office and private sanctuary, you had to admit it had been worth it. Of course it would take weeks to get the room sorted out just the way you wanted it, but you were giddy at the thought that you could do what you wanted and not worry about a landlord inspection.

You were just considering the best place for your desk when a pair of thick arms dusted with golden hair wrapped around your waist from behind. You relaxed back onto the sturdy frame attached to them, leaning your head against his collarbone.

“Hey, Steve. The movers gone?”

He dipped his head and nuzzled into your neck, his beard tickling your skin.

“Mmmhmm. Bucky’s just moving the last of his boxes to his study, and then, my darling Cali, he will finally allow us up into the master suite. I can’t believe how early he came over here this morning - just to ensure that our bed was all set up for us to sleep on this evening. Or that he wouldn’t allow either of us to see it.”

Steve’s musings were interrupted by a set of jaunty footsteps, and suddenly you were yanked from his embrace and twirled into Bucky’s beautifully mismatched arms.

“That’s cos I’ve got my priorities straight, punk. We’re gonna start this thing off right, sorting out our space first. So come on. I’ve got the suitcases of clothes up there already and our bathroom stuff. And wait until you see the bed!”

He dropped a hurried kiss on your lips, then let you go, only to cup Steve’s face with his work-roughened hands and kiss him as well. You smirked when you saw Steve’s hands grasp Bucky’s ass and give it a little squeeze, but then Bucky was jogging away up the stairs to the top floor - your new bedroom. You looked at Steve, and he gave a little shrug in return. The two of you broke into grins at the same time andfollowed Bucky up the stairs.

Steve let you go in before him, being the gentleman that he was, but you almost regretted it when you came to a sudden halt, and your statuesque boyfriend ran into your back and almost sent you flying. There, in front of you, stretching almost the full length of the back wall was the biggest bed you’d ever seen. It was more than enough space for the three of you if you didn’t feel like cuddling up. It was rare that you forwent the cuddingling, but it was nice to have the option. In the middle of it all was Bucky, lying spread eagle on the bed with a puckish grin on his face.

“What are you waiting for? Come try it out!”

With a squeal you launched yourself at him and the bed. He deftly rolled out of the way, and you giggled as you bounced on the sprung mattress. Bucky quickly covered and pinned you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face and neck. You playfully batted at him but didn’t really make any effort to push him off and away, and therefore, you weren’t really surprised when his kisses got a bit more hot and heavy.

He dropped his hips onto you, unashamedly letting you feel his arousal. In response, you wrapped your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and gave it a little tug, provoking a deep moan.

“I like how you managed to get all the sheets on…” You arched as his lips trailed down your neck.

“Well, gotta make sure it was going to be comfortable for my best girl…” he lifted his head away from you and turned to look at Steve, who was still standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame with a smirk on his handsome face. “... and my best guy. What’re you still doing over there, punk? This doesn’t work without all three of us.”

Steve pushed himself upright, and as he stepped towards the bed, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and revealed his chiselled chest and abs, sprinkled with dark blonde hair. He toed off his shoes and popped the button on his jeans before climbing onto the bed beside you and Bucky. There was a feral gleam in his eye as he caught Bucky’s lips. Their kiss was more feral than romantic, both of them moaning into it, and you could feel your desire pooling between your legs, the way it did any time you saw your boys loving on each other.

You reached your free hand up to the back of Steve’s neck, so you could guide them back down to you. You were greedy for both of them, and you didn’t care. They effortlessly drew you into the kiss, three pairs of lips and three tongues coming together in a tangle. It was messy and erotic, and everything you wanted.

Steve continued to kiss you as Bucky broke away, his hands inching their way under your top and pushing it up as his body slid down yours. He greedily tugged at the cups of your sensible cotton bra, freeing your breasts and immediately latching onto one with his mouth and the other with his fingers. Steve swallowed your moans and pulled your top further up, only letting go of your lips to pull the fabric over your head and throwing it to join his t-shirt on the floor. He yanked down the straps of your bra, making it easier for Bucky, who - from the sounds he was making - was enjoying devouring your sweet flesh. You pulled Steve back in for more kisses, your blood on fire under the ministrations of the two men you loved.

As Bucky travelled further down your body, pulling your yoga pants off you, Steve’s hands roamed. His thumbs played with the wet peaks of your breasts, keeping them pebbled and sensitive. You were sucking in lungfuls of air, dizzy on sensation. You registered Bucky’s warm breath on your thighs, in between them, and then he was devouring you again. Your fingers, still lodged in Steve’s short blonde locks, tightened, making him hiss as you whined.

“Bucky making you feel good, Cali? I know how much you love his tongue. Don’t blame you, baby. It’s a talented tongue. I want you to let yourself go. Be as loud as you want. You’re in your own home - your home with us, and we can do whatever we want. Wanna hear you scream as he makes you cum. Can you do that?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, hands still clenched, but you nodded. Bucky knew exactly what to do to get you there. Sometimes he teased you, keeping you just under the plateau of your pleasure until you were begging him, begging Steve. But other times he just went for it, keen to feel you cum on his face, over and over and over, until you were limp. Today it appeared he was going for the latter.

His tongue plunged into your pussy; his thumb drew circles on your clit.

“Bucky! Fuck!” You shifted your legs against the cool sheets when they were suddenly lifted up in the air, and thrown over Bucky’s shoulders. The man himself was on his knees, chest flat to the bed, large body pressed as far between your thighs as possible, almost burying himself in your folds and folding you almost in half. You could feel your approaching orgasm, and it was obvious that Steve could tell as well, because that’s when he lowered his mouth to your breasts. “Steve! I… I… oh God!”

The pleasure crashed over you, waves and waves of it lifting you up so you were breathless, then pulling you down and tossing you around so you didn’t know which way was up.

Cool air hit your chest as Steve pulled his mouth off you. Your eyes opened again in response, just in time to see him lean forward, drag Bucky away from your cunt, and smash his lips against his boyfriend’s.

They pawed at each other, Bucky pulling off his shirt and pushing down his jeans and briefs in one go, so that his cock sprang free. Steve immediately wrapped his hand around it and gave it a few tugs, making Bucky whimper into his mouth. You watched them with hooded eyes, as amazed by their beauty today as you had been the first time you’d seen them together.

Somehow, Bucky pulled back from Steve’s lips and removed the hand from his weeping cock. Bucky gave the slightly taller man a light shove in the shoulder and with a smirk, Steve allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress, the springy surface bouncing as he landed down next to you. Bucky yanked at Steve’s jeans, dragging them off him as though they offended him, which in this moment, they probably had. You knew how Bucky got when there was something between him and his prize.

Steve was commando under his pants, and you swore you saw Bucky’s eyes light up as they zoned in on Steve’s cock. He shuffled forward, hovering over Steve’s crotch and then, looking up into his boyfriend’s face, allowed a string of saliva to fall from his lips to land right on Steve’s tip. Both you and Steve moaned at the sight, and Bucky just grinned.

“Were you a bit jealous that our little darlin’ was getting all of my oral skills? Cos it sounded that way.” Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve and rubbed his thumb in the puddle of his spit, smearing it as far as he could reach. “You know all you gotta do is ask, punk.” He slowly started to move his hand up and down, and Steve gasped, his long eyelashes kissing his cheekbones in a way you thought should have been illegal.

“Buck…”

“Got a question for me, Stevie?”

You repressed a smirk. You loved it when Bucky got a little cheeky, a little dominant with Steve. You didn’t know why, but seeing Steve in a more submissive position always got you a bit hot and bothered. You weren’t naturally dominant in a bedroom setting, but every so often you got the itch. Today, however, you were happy to watch and go where your boys led you.

“Bucky… please…” Steve was going whiny now and it made you shiver in anticipation.

“You need my mouth on you, blondie? Need my tongue to drive you wild? Then you gotta ask. Ask for where you want me.”

Bucky tightened his grip, drawing another gasp from Steve as he tried to form words.

“I… want you to eat me, Buck. Please!”

Bucky smiled. “Now, was that so hard, Stevie? Hands and knees for me, big boy.” He let go of Steve’s cock so he could roll, and then shifted his gaze to you. “Need you to slide under, darlin’, and give that beautiful cock of his the love it deserves.” You smiled back and shimmied yourself into position, not being able to resist the urge to lick right over his tip, and taste his musky, salty essence.

“Cali, Bucky - You’re killing me.” A glance revealed his trembling forearms as he anticipated the pleasure to come.

“Oh, baby, we ain’t even started yet.” Those were the last coherent words you heard from Bucky for a while, as he pushed Steve’s thighs wider apart and leant forward. Your own position didn’t allow for much of a viewing angle, but the sound that left Steve’s throat and the small flex of his hips let you know when Bucky had started his second round of tongue gymnastics. You shifted again and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, and started your own task.

“Oh… fuck. Fuck!”

You suckled and swirled your tongue and attuned your ears to the whimpering coming from Steve and the lewd, slurping sounds emanating from somewhere behind him. You could see the tension in Steve’s body, the tendons and veins in his arms all pronounced, his abs clenching and relaxing. You moved your hand up to his balls, cupping them gently and massaging them, before pressing your fingers against the spit slick patch of skin just behind them, rubbing over his prostate from the outside as Bucky tongue-fucked Steve’s hole and you tormented his cock with your own tongue.

Steve was breathing heavily, desperately trying to hold back, but he was fighting a losing battle. He might have stamina and determination, but Bucky and you were more determined. When his legs started to tremble along with his arms, you readied yourself, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your tongue onto the fat vein on the underside of his cock. He came with a shout, spurting thick ropes of cum into your mouth with such force some seeped out around your lips and ran down your cheek.

“C-Cali… you need to move…” Steve’s voice was strained, but you heard him, and letting his cock fall from your mouth, you shifted out from under him so he could collapse forward onto the bed. He turned his head to look at you as he regained his breath, eyes wide and glassy as after-shocks of pleasure darted through his body.

You looked over to where Bucky had come back up onto his knees. His eyes were black with lust, his face shiny and wet from a combination of your juices and his own saliva. You spread your thighs and held your arms open as he knee-walked across the expanse of the bed and pressed his weight down on you. He licked the errant drops of Steve’s cum off your face before kissing you passionately.

“Want you to fuck me, Bucky. I need you.”

“I know, doll. I know. Need you too. Need you both.”

It took only a moment for Bucky to line himself up, and then he was being enveloped by you. Your fingernails scratched at his shoulders and you cried out.

The mattress shifted beside you, and you turned to find that Steve had moved closer. He kissed you, hard and deep as Bucky fucked into you at a steady pace. Unlike when he’d been eating you out, it was clear that Bucky wanted this to last. He knew how to angle himself to caress your g-spot and hasten your orgasm, but he wasn’t doing it, at least not yet. He wanted you aroused and desperate. The teasing bastard.

Steve pulled his lips from yours and leant across to Bucky, whispering something in his ear as he pressed kisses to the brunette’s jaw line. Bucky’s eyes twinkled and suddenly he flipped, rolling onto his back and taking you with him, his hands firm on your hips, finger tips digging in and likely to leave small marks of possession for you to look at in the mirror later. Steve leant over the side of the bed, rifling around in the pile of discarded clothes for something, before he moved up behind you, between Bucky’s now spread thighs his feet planted flat as he thrust upwards into your wet heat.

Steve pressed his firm body up against your back, and you could feel that his cock had recovered; you’d always been in awe of his stamina and recovery speed. His hands, with fingers long and slim, skimmed down your side and covered Bucky’s, helping to move you a-top him.

“This is how it should be, isn’t it? This just feels right, the three of us here, like this. The pair of you are so beautiful, and fuck, if I don’t just want to spend the rest of my life watching you.” His hands slid back up to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples between thumb and forefinger, and you gasped, your head leaning back on his shoulder, his ocean blue eyes mesmerising you. “Fuck! I love you both so much.” He kissed you, messily, and then pushed you down towards Bucky, who took over the kisses.

Steve cupped the globes of your ass, jiggling the soft flesh and pulling on them, watching Bucky’s cock, now copiously covered in your cream, slide in and out of your pussy.

“Bucky’s filling you up so much, but how would you like to be fuller?” The fingers on one hand shifted and brushed over your tight rear hole, making you shudder and clench down. Bucky groaned into your mouth and then tore his lips from yours.

“Do that again, punk. She liked it.”

“Of course she did, she’s our beautiful, dirty girl.”

He curled over your back and pushed his thumb into Bucky’s mouth. The engineer sucked on it eagerly before letting it go, only for Steve to rub it over the ring of muscle.

“Oh God…” It felt so deliciously taboo.

There was some rustling, followed by the sound of a packet being torn open, and then you felt cold lube being drizzled over your asshole. Steve pressed his thumb against you again, smearing the lube, and pushing the tip of it inside.

Both Bucky and Steve had fucked your ass before, but never like this, with one of them already stuffed deep inside your pussy. You were 30% anxious, but 70% eager, and lay down flatter on Bucky, spreading your knees even wider to ready yourself. Your fingers clung to Bucky’s shoulders as he rocked gently under you, allowing you to concentrate on what Steve was doing.

With a little more pressure, his thumb tip popped into your ass, and he gently fucked it in and out. When you heard him chuckle, you realised that you were already moving your hips to help him along.

“Ready for more, sweetheart?”

“Please!”

Steve carefully pulled his thumb from you, and you let out a whimper of disappointment, despite knowing that the empty sensation wouldn’t last for long. He applied a bit more lube and then slid his index finger, slimmer but longer than his thumb, inside of you. He only pumped it a few times before you felt him add a second finger. The pair of them, combined with Bucky in your pussy, were making you feel so very full, and a bit light headed. Bucky pressed kisses to your brow and petted your hair, still moving softly.

“That’s it, darlin’. Just relax and let Stevie in.”

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his thick and hairy chest, and then let out a gasp as Steve added a third finger.

“You can’t come yet, Cali. You gotta wait until I’m inside you. Need to feel you squeezing us both. Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you bit at your lower lip, the sensations so overwhelming already. “Hmm-hmm.”

Steve growled at your noise of agreement.

“I need a colour from you, baby. I need words.”

You dragged a ragged breath into your lungs, trying to get your brain to work.

“G-green, Stevie. So green.”

“Good girl.”

His fingers left you, but were swiftly replaced by the head of his cock. You urged your body to relax as he pushed in. You keened, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you felt fuller than you’d ever felt in your life.

“Fuck!” You let out your exclamation as Steve bottomed out within you with a grunt. Bucky’s hands slid up and down your sides in a soothing motion.

“You good, darlin?”

“Peachy, Buck. I just need a moment.”

You took a few seconds to process how you were feeling. Warm, full, but overall, loved. Bucky had already felt this, connected to you and Steve so intimately, and Steve also to some extent. You’d even had your own little ‘taste’ of this, but what you were doing now was so very different, and while not totally overwhelming, it was still A Lot ™. Your whole body throbbed and you realised that you were on a hair trigger, so close to coming, but annoyingly still too far away.

A little whimper escaped your lips, and you tentatively moved your hips, making the boys shift inside you. All three of you gasped.

“Fuck, Stevie. I can feel you inside her. Cali, please, can we move? I need to move!” Bucky had threaded the fingers of your right hand with his left, and you looked at the tattoos that decorated his arm.

“Yes. Please. I need you both to love me.” You turned your head to look over your shoulder at Steve, who smiled gently down at you, and then moved his right hand to cover yours where it held Bucky’s, joining you all together in another way, and one that felt more poignant.

“Not a problem, sweetheart. Not a problem.”

Steve started to move first, small, experimental thrusts that pushed you onto Bucky and filled you to the brim with both of them, and you couldn’t help but start to move yourself, helping to control the pace. The feeling was so strange inside you, feeling them both moving, but in different directions and in different places, but as you got used to it, as you all got used to it, you all became more frenetic. Bucky kissed your mouth; Steve dusted your shoulders with his own lips, and all you could do was get carried away on the pleasure. It rolled through you in waves, cresting and dipping, but never quite ever disappearing. You could feel the wetness seeping out of you around Bucky’s cock and dripping down onto his crotch. You could hear the lewd sounds from where Steve was plunging in and out of your ass, his body curled over your back. Sweat rolled down your body and your legs and arms shook from your near continuous orgasm.

Bucky came in you first, his movements getting faster and more uncoordinated, so Steve held still, to give him room to do so, hips snapping up into your spasming cunt.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Cali! Steve!”

Steve lent further over you, pushing you down onto Bucky, so he could kiss him over your shoulder. It was awkward and a bit messy, but you loved hearing Bucky whine into Steve’s mouth as continued to fill your pussy. As Bucky regained his breath and composure, he held you tight to him, letting Steve have the chance to find his own end within the tight embrace of your body. He was feral, fingers gripping your hips hard, adding a second set of marks to match the ones Bucky had placed on you earlier.

“You’re mine. Both of you. Love you both so goddamn much. Oh fuck, yes!”

The feeling of his hot cum filling your ass, along with the whole filthiness of this session of loving with your boys, triggered one last orgasm in you as you lay sprawled on Bucky. Steve collapsed over you, although he took some of his weight on your arms. You liked the feeling of being a bit squashed between them. You all exchanged soft gentle kisses to wherever you could reach.

Eventually though, you all needed to move. Steve rolled off of you in one direction and you rolled off Bucky in the other. You turned your head to look at your dark haired lover.

“I definitely approve of this bed, Bucky. 10 out of 10. But I hope you’ve got a lot of spare sheets for it.” You looked pointedly at the wet patch that had formed around and under him. “And a lot of mattress protectors.”

“Ever the practical one, ain’t ya, darlin’?”

You chuckled, and Steve snorted.

“One of us has to be, and it ain’t you or me, jerk.”

Bucky reached out for one of the pillows and launched it towards Steve’s head.

“Speak for yourself, punk.”

You rolled your eyes in affectionate dismay, before pushing yourself up and off the bed. You sashayed towards the en-suite, eager to clean the cum from your body, but stopped in the doorway and looked coquettishly over your shoulder.

“I’m going to try out the shower. First one to find me a towel gets to join me. The other get’s to start changing the sheets.”

You smiled as you walked into your new bathroom and pushed the door mostly closed, listening to the sounds of scrabbling and friendly rivalry from the other side.

You were home.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida

#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #stucky x you #late writes #an artist and an engineer #artist steve rogers #engineer bucky barnes #ot3

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magnetothemagnificent · 11 days

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Headcanon that in the Marvel comics (Earth 616) universe (because yes, the concept of Batman and Robin does exist in the universe given some in-universe references to them), pre-serum Steve Rogers drew the Batman comics and Bucky Barnes was a huge fan of them and saw Batman as a kind of aspirational figure, given that Batman was also an orphan. The Batman comics were an escape for Bucky on the army base, where he could imagine himself being a hero and having the chance to help people instead of just being the camp mascot and contraband deliverer. When he became Captain America's sidekick and had to do the dirty work in the shadows for the US army, he would think about being just like Batman, working in the shadows to enact justice (except Bucky used guns and would actually kill). Steve's Robin was actually inspired by Bucky, he knew Bucky liked reading the Batman comics (though Bucky didn't know he was the artist) and wanted to give him a slightly more cheerful character. After Steve and Bucky supposedly died, the Batman comics were taken over by other creators.

#marvel comics #marvel #steve rogers #batman #batman and robin #bucky barnes #captain america #artist steve rogers

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kat-writes · 5 days

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Dot Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Artist Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Dot is their beard, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Art Block, The Hobbit References, The Hobbit J.R.R. Tolkien Summary:

Bucky tries to comfort Steve through a bit of art block and work stress.

#flash fiction #from ao3 #fanfiction #steverogers #buckybarnes #stevebucky #stucky #pre serum steve #artist steve rogers

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sallyandthefandommachine · 5 months

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Oh, this fic? It's just a little something I threw together.

Seriously. I wrote this in like 15 minutes. Happy Stork Club Saturday!

@steggyfanevents

#saturdaystorkclub #peggy carter #steve rogers #michael carter #bucky barnes #steve rogers art #artist steve rogers #one of howards parties #art gallery #late from work #dont you dare be late

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zenaidamacrouras1 · 1 year

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Backhoe Bonus Drabble

This is a random summer scene that doesn't fit into any of my Backhoe chapters. I'll have a series of these that I'll probably add on as a separate work in the Backhoe series after the whole fic is finished, but have a tumblr drabble for now. This takes place during the time jump between chapters 19 and 20. I don't think it's majorly spoilery, and I don't think you need to read the fic to get it. If you like to read a fic pure with no surprises whatsoever, maybe read the fic first.

Chapters 1-20 are here, chapters 21 and 22 are mostly ready and will post this week and next, probably going to be like 25 chapters total please stop laughing at me I'm trying to end this damn thing. (initial chapter count was like 5) (go ahead and laugh) (but also feel free to encourage me, I think I'm finally out of my writer's block, yay!)

Late July:

Ever since Bucky became manager for his crew, he’s tried to make sure they don’t have unexpected afternoons off. On the one hand, sure, there’s nothing better than finishing a job early and peacing the fuck off to head home. On the other, well, you don’t get paid for hours you don’t work. So, he tries to make it so everyone’s getting paid, is all.

But sometimes, the timing just doesn’t work out like that. Right now, it’s 1 pm on a Friday, and they’ve wrapped up this gig, and it don’t make sense to start on the next job till Monday morning, so everyone heads home. Bucky promises some long days next week to make up for it on that paycheck. So it’s backslaps and a few dirty jokes while they all pack up, and then Bucky’s in his truck driving the winding roads back home.

Steve’s gonna be there, he thinks, with a grin he’s glad no one can see. Steve’s just come back last night from helping out with some action out in San Francisco. Greenpeace paid him to fly out there and do trainings on art shit and paint some big-ass banners.

Bucky’d like to burst with pride when he saw those damn banners hanging from a god damn skyscraper, protesting globalization. Steve was on strict orders from Greenpeace and one J.B. Barnes not to get arrested himself; he just painted the banners. Bucky had shown the pictures to Peter, cause Peter was the only guy at work he’s out with on both the politics stuff and on the gay stuff. Peter’s genuine “Holy shit, man” was worth all the teasing that followed about how fucking lovesick Bucky is about his sexy little anarchist boyfriend.

But also, he had missed Steve, fuck it all but he did, and dammit the guy was only gone five days. It doesn’t bode well for when Steve goes back to college next month, but Bucky’s never been one to worry about a debt before it comes due. That just means suffering twice.

Bucky listens to the truck for any errant noises as he drives. He'd thought he heard a knock this morning, but apparently whatever it was has worked itself out for now. He switches on the stereo.

Bucky tries one of the playlists Steve loves listening to, featuring Against Me! and a bunch of other political punk bands. Bucky doesn’t hate it, he doesn’t, but fuck, it’s a pretty summer’s day and the sunlight’s filtering through the leaves and everything green is just so happy to be alive and growing in the mountains right now. That music is so damn strident, sometimes a man just wants to enjoy some peace in this world and forget about all the problems. After half a song, Bucky switches to some bluegrass. He and Steve don’t have to like the same music, he figures.

Becca Jane, never shy with her opinion, has declared that Steve’s music of choice sounded "like you stuck a bull in a barrel with an electric guitar and shoved it down a flight of stairs." About three days into listening to the punk music coming out of Steve’s studio in the laundry room, she’d come home from her MCAT prep course and handed Steve a pair of brand-new bluetooth headphones and an ultimatum.

So the Barnes kids like country music and their houseguest, who happens to be Bucky's boyfriend, likes punk. Steve switched to headphones and there really haven’t been any other major conflicts with him living there. It’s kind of a miracle, Bucky thinks, as he turns onto Brushy Fork Holler Road. Jean’s out in her front yard gardening, and he raises two fingers up off the wheel to say hi, slowing in case she’s got something to say, but she just waves and looks back down to her precious rose bushes. Sometimes Bucky thinks she spends more time fussing over her flowers than Bucky does raising five kids, but to each their own. Looks pretty, anyway.

Then it's just another minute until he hears the crunch of gravel under his truck tires and he's looking at the house he's lived in his whole life.

The house is quiet when he climbs out of the truck in the driveway. No one’s expecting him, so that ain’t a surprise. The girls are probably down at the swimming hole or playing video games at Maria and Monica’s. He kicks off his boots on the front porch and goes prowling through the house. He grins when he hears Steve singing from the laundry room.

Steve’s singing is—well, the thing is, if Steve was good at everything, that just wouldn’t be fair, now would it? Steve’s a great strategist on this pipeline shit; he’s been such a help to Bucky on his quest to stop the fucking thing. He has a great head for the lawyer stuff and the activist strategy side of it. He’s learning how to cook and getting real good at it. He’s obviously a gifted artist, as everyone knows, and he’s fucking nice as hell too. The girls love him, and they are a tough audience.

And, well, he has other skills Bucky ain’t shouting to the world about, that’s private, but Bucky sure ain’t got nothing to complain about. When it comes to the bedroom, Steve’s a god damn prodigy, Bucky thinks with a shiver of pleasure down his spine. Steven Brooklyn Grant God Damn Rogers.

So it just makes sense that Steve would have a few faults, and that's the most charitable thing Bucky can say about Steve’s singing. Steve couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket—hell, he couldn’t carry a tune in a semi-truck full of buckets. He’d flip that semi right over, highway’d be backed up and on fire from here to Timbuktu.

Which is why Bucky’s at the door of the laundry room before he can piece together what song Steve’s torturing to within an inch of its life. It’s the fucking Dixie Chicks. Or just the Chicks now, whatever. Steve is obediently wearing the headphones Becca told him to wear at the risk of death if she had to hear “that atonal screeching you call music one more fucking time" and so he has no idea how loud he’s “singing”—honestly, it ain’t anything Bucky’d categorize as singing, but there are words and they are carrying through the door.

I wanna walk and not runI wanna skip and not fallI wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tallI wanna be the only one for miles and milesExcept for maybe you and your simple smile

Bucky feels a slow sly smile stretch across his face and pulls the door open. Steve’s singing a country music love song. Steve's facing away from him, wearing just a pair of boxer briefs and a loose black t-shirt. Bucky sees Steve's pants are in the sink; he must have gotten paint on them and taken them off to soak.

Steve's got one hand wide to the side like he's balancing on a tightrope and the other is painting some kind of white accent on a flower. He makes it look so easy, light movements bringing life wherever Steve touches.

Cowboy taaaaake me awaaaaayyy

Steve caterwauls to his flowers, and Bucky can't take the suspense anymore. He waits until the paintbrush is a safe distance from the canvas, then slips his arms around Steve's slender waist and lowers his lips to Steve's neck. Steve jumps with a little shout and whirls around, dropping his paintbrush. He jerks his earbuds out.

"You're early!" Steve gasps. He's blushing something fierce.

"Who's this cowboy you're singing about running away with, and should I be jealous?" Bucky whispers into Steve's smooth, pretty neck. He gives a small kiss. "Don't tell me I gotta fight a cowboy for your honor. I ain't much with a six-shooter, and I am kindly scared of horses."

"You're scared of horses?" Steve asks incredulously, always looking for something to direct the conversation away from his own feelings.

"Maybe they're scared of me? Me and horses never had much opportunity to get to know each other, makes more sense to be scared of horses than chickens," Bucky says, and offers a few more kisses to Steve's neck.

"Horses are majestic and chickens are evil,” Steve says darkly, and sighs, leaning into Bucky’s lips on his neck. “Hmm. Well, my cowboy is very handsome, you should definitely be jealous."

"Maybe I'll steal him away. I got lots of beans. Cowboys cain't resist a good bean."

"Well, my cowboy is good-looking but a bit slim in the brains department, so he might like you, actually."

Bucky huffs a laugh into Steve's neck, and drops a few more kisses, running his mouth softly up and down Steve's neck. Steve suddenly busts out a loud laugh, which is not the reaction Bucky was going for. He'd been expecting more of Steve's little sighs.

"What?" Bucky says in frustration, when Steve's still laughing.

"Buh—" Steve can't hardly breathe for laughing.

"Spit out whatever fool insult you've done come up with, then," Bucky says, a smile quirking up despite himself. Steve looks so fucking pleased, the jerk.

"Buckaroo!" Steve manages to burst out with a wicked grin.

"Oh, hell no," Bucky says. "Nope. Absolutely not. I ain't a fucking cowboy." Steve's still laughing at him.

"That right, Buckarooooo?" he taunts.

"I'm a hillbilly. It's different," Bucky says with a mock threat in his voice.

"Okay, okay, so what do you have that my imaginary cowboy doesn't?" Steve smirks at him. Everything is a challenge with this guy.

"Hmm, it's more of a show-don't-tell kinda thing," Bucky murmurs, moving back into Steve's space. "See, cowboys are all talk."

"So what are hillbillies?" Steve says, suddenly breathy, Bucky notes with satisfaction.

"Action, Stevie, we're about action."

It ain't but a second till Bucky's pulled out that sweet little sigh he wanted from Steve, and a whole symphony of pretty sounds after that.

#stucky au #stucky fanfic #Appalachian Bucky Barnes #Artist Steve Rogers #Drabble #Idiots in Love #sweet sappy lusting

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dirigibleplumbing · 2 months

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1872 Steve's desk and journal, pre-canon, for @msermesth for the 616 server's stocking exchange.

big thanks to @kiyaar for pointing me in the direction of the right kind of gun for 1872 Steve. any historical inaccuracies present in this pic are because a wizard (Doom) did it.

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jen-with-a-pen · 1 month

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ALL TIED UP - FOUR

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: A look into the House of Sigma Beta Theta (ΣBΘ). Annoyed with the vague hinting at the party on Friday, Steve confronts Clint and stands up for once– and it only slightly backfires.

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 1386

warnings: cursing, food mention, meeting the rest of the brothers, dudebro Clint, fuckboy Tony, singling out/exclusion, power dynamics, Steve's just trying to make it through the day man

a/n: we get to meet the rest of the fraternity! so sorry it's been a while. the holidays, seasonal depression, and work happened and i didn't really have the motivation to write for steve again until recently. hope yall like it ❤ p.s. thank you all SO SO much again on the continuing love for filthy impetuous souls. it means the world ❤

This chapter was not beta'd by anyone else. All mistakes in this chapter are my own.

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥ Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Wednesday.

Dribbles of cereal milk splash onto the kitchen table as Steve switches between eating breakfast, drafting a perfect-but-also-not-too-perfect text to his barista, and reading the newspaper. The newspaper thing makes him feel like an old fucking geezer, but it reminds him of mornings with his Ma back home. He misses her.

He makes a mental note to call her this weekend.

Munching on another spoonful, he nearly chokes at the sound of slow, calculated footsteps descending the stairs. Normally he’s the only one home on Wednesday mornings. Normally he can sit in comfortable silence in the kitchen without needing to sneak around the fucking house. However, this specific Wednesday morning was not normal– all the guys were hungover from the party the night before. Upon realization, Steve reluctantly swallows the half-chewed gob of Cheerios. It lands in his stomach like a rock as he frantically looks about the scene on the table; he can’t decide fast enough whether to hide the newspaper, or his phone– or himself– before whomever is around the corner sees him outside his bedroom, outside his element.

Tony Stark is the first to stride into the kitchen. Jet-black hair slicked back with yesterday's pomade complimented by a face riddled with stubble. He’s a mismatched mess of a worn Yankees jersey, khakis, and the newest Nikes, all of which are covered by the stench of luxury cologne and seven types of vodka. Even with designer sunglasses on, he winces at the fluorescent kitchen lights while dragging his feet straight to the coffee pot.

"’Sup, Rogers."

As far as they are into the semester, it’s the first time Tony directly acknowledges Steve in a way that isn't sarcastic or followed by a snooty comment under his breath. Steve quietly tips his chin to Tony out of politeness. From his perch at the kitchen table, he watches Tony pour a mug of coffee before slyly taking a mini Fireball out of his shirt pocket, dumping it into the hot liquid. He stirs his concoction with a finger, tasting it with a faint grimace before sipping.

To each their own, Steve thinks.

"Are you really reading the fuckin' newspaper, old timer?" Tony remarks behind his mug. Last night’s party and lack of proper hydration makes his voice raspy, deeper than usual. Steve shrugs, nodding with a faint 'yeah' in response. Steve sips his protein shake.

Tony sniffs a laugh. "Soon enough, you'll be on it."

Another slurp.

"What?" Steve chokes, a chunk of unmixed protein powder lodging itself in his esophagus.

"Hm. Nothin'."

“No, what did you–”

"Whoa! Sure is a party in here," Clint Barton jokes upon entering the kitchen, following in Tony's footsteps to the coffee maker. Compared to Tony, Clint takes his hangovers in full stride. It figures, too; the guy is a kinesiology-finance major with a nutritionist-business major of a girlfriend. Eyes full of light and mischief, hair already stylishly spiked even though he just rolled out of bed, he’s already in his usual workout shirt and sweatpants. Clint whistles to himself, taking a large tub of protein powder off the top of the fridge before fixing a shaker of protein coffee. Tony steps out of the way to the other side of the kitchen to lean against the stove, watching, lurking.

"Not until you got here, Clint," Steve attempts. Clint doesn't turn around until he's shaking his protein shaker. Loudly.

"You say sumn'?" He asks, smirking when Steve begins to shake his head and go back to his phone.

"Steven, I kid, I kid.”

Steve gives a tight-lipped smile, looking down at his soggy Cheerios. The knot in his chest tightens. The milk smells sour.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve looks up, locking eyes with Clint. He swallows, hands gripping the newspaper and crumpling the comics section– his favorite.

“You have fun last night?” Clint asks, dropping more powdered supplements into his shaker.

“Y-Yeah, it was fun.”

“You see any cute honeys you like?” Clint waggles his brow.

Steve’s face burns. His eyes dart to Tony, who’s hiding a knowing smirk behind his coffee mug.

“I think, yeah,” he shrugs.

Clint laughs, lips morphing into a knowing, dark grin. “Well if you think they were cute last night, just wait ‘til Friday. You’ll believe it, then.”

Another vague nod to Friday. Steve’s brow furrows, leaning forward in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

Clint blinks, surprised at the confrontation, and sets his shaker down on the counter before approaching the kitchen table, hands slamming into the wood. Steve’s cereal sloshes, splashing a bit onto the screen of his phone.

“You wanna ask me that again, Steven?” Clint hisses with a challenging smirk. “Go ahead, y’know I can’t hear real well. I didn’t hear ya the first time.” He leans in with a hand cupped to his ear and a mocking face. “What’s that? Huh?”

“Nothin’,” Steve mumbles.

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s knuckles are white.

“Sorry! Come again?” Clint’s smirk grows wider the further he leans in.

Steve stands abruptly, slamming his own palms onto the table. “I said–!”

“You said what?”

Steve and Clint turn to the direction of Bucky’s voice as it drifts into the kitchen before he and Sam do. Hands pocketed, brow raised, ponytail bobbing, Bucky looks sternly between Steve and Clint. Sam mirrors him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Steve straightens instantly; Clint follows suit, stretching a hand out to Sam to exchange high fives. Steve’s eye twitches.

“Hm?” Bucky questions, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. He looks from Tony– who just nurses his coffee, checking stocks on his phone– to Clint– who lifts his hands in defense, acting confused– and finally to Steve– who sets his jaw, trying his best to level his breathing and frustration.

Steve swallows, gritting his teeth. “I didn’t say anything.” He tries to keep his tone level, convincing. Bucky nods, gaze shifting to Clint.

“Nothin’, boss, y’know me.” Clint’s lips twitch along with his brow.

Bucky’s eyes dart between them before he turns back to Sam, who leans against the fridge with crossed arms. Steve locks eyes with him for a second longer before he turns to Bucky and shrugs. The moment hangs in the air, silent and tense, like every other time all five of them are alone in the same room. Steve’s always the one that feels the tension, though.

“As you were,” Bucky concludes. The kitchen reverts back to normal as everyone resumes the start to their days. Steve stands idly by, looking down at his milk-coated paper and phone, his breakfast soggy and ruined. He sighs and begins to clean up. Before he leaves the kitchen, Bucky grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Forgot to ask. You inviting anyone?”

Steve responds with a confused look.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “To the party, Stevie,” he clarifies, flashing a smile differing from his usual, knowing smirk.

Steve hesitates, looking to Sam then back to Bucky. “Kinda, yeah,” he shrugs. All eyes are on him and the kitchen stills once again. Bucky’s brow rockets up his forehead.

“Yeah? Who?”

Steve’s Adam's apple bobs. “Uh, just–just a friend. From class.”

“But who?” Bucky’s grip on Steve’s arm tightens.

“She’s just a–” Steve immediately bites his tongue. It's too late.

“She? You have a she-friend?” Clint asks incredulously. Even Tony looks at Steve from behind his lowered sunglasses. All eyes are on the blond whose eyes dart around helplessly.

“I–Wh–She’s just a friend from class, that’s it,” Steve defends, heat pooling in his cheeks as he stares pointedly into Bucky’s cool blues. Bucky holds him for a second more before releasing his arm, dusting off Steve’s shoulders, smiling.

“We’ll make sure to give her a real warm welcome, then,” Bucky winks.

Unnerved, Steve quickly makes his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room while mixed conversations from the kitchen chase after him. He doesn’t bother listening. Once he enters his room, he triple checks the locks on the door before slouching into his secondhand office chair. Popping in earbuds, he hits play on the album he fell asleep to the night prior as his fingers fly over his phone’s keyboard, coming to a stop when the adrenaline does.

He reads over the text, chewing his lip, and hits send.

Hey, it’s Steve

who?

Meathead.

oh i know just wanted to hear u say it

Don’t you mean see it?

damn. got me there

nice first attempt at texting btw. solid 8/10, good introduction

8/10??

What can a guy do to earn a 10/10?

hmm

come by the cafe later and try a new drink i made ;)

Deal.

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 month

Note

Ok ok ok ok, the post about Steve drawing a portrait of his own dick for Bucky’s wallet, and all your posts about Steve’s exhibitionist streak -

My uncle is a photographer and at their old house he had a picture up in the spare bedroom, of my aunt from their honeymoon where she’s naked on a beach. It’s artfully shadowed and you’d have to stare at it for a while to understand what you’re looking at (or at least I did when I was 9), but I distinctly remember him taking it down once before a dinner party, winking at me, and saying something like, “this doesn’t stay up for company.”

Steve drawing intimate portraits of himself for Bucky. Bucky starts just the way you wrote, as a silly little ask to keep in his wallet and make Steve blush, but also because Steve never had self confidence in himself as an artist and is resisting getting back into it even as a hobby, and Bucky figures that anything that will get Steve drawing again is a good thing, especially if he can rib him for it. But that doesn’t prepare Bucky for the look on Steve’s face the first time Bucky pulls out his wallet when Steve KNOWS the photo is in there.

They’re at a neighborhood coffee shop. The shop is busy, people passing by everywhere. After learning about credit card fees both he and Steve try to pay with cash whenever they can, so Bucky is chatting with the barista as he digs through his wallet for exact change. He turns to Steve to ask if he has 26 cents and-

Bucky scoffs whenever people say that honesty is one of Steve’s positive attributes, cause yeah, the guy’s honest, but with a poker face as shitty as his, he doesn’t really have a choice.

Bucky sees it all on his face. Beet red from his hairline to where his collarbones peek out from his shirt, mouth gulping in shallow breaths, eyes wide and terrified and so dark he looks high, bouncing between the wallet in Bucky’s hand and the people getting creamer behind him. He’s so overwhelmed that he hasn’t even thought to cover himself, and his dick (flaccid in the portrait; should Bucky have questioned that choice? Did Steve draw what he saw? Or did he get hard and feel ashamed of it?) is hard under his jeans, begging for Bucky to reach out and grab. Steve’s eyes flicker up to Bucky’s, and a slow, evil smirk slides across Bucky’s lips.

“C’mon Stevie, help me out. You don’t want me to drop anything on the floor, do you?”

Something in Steve’s head clicks and he jerks back to life, digging out his own wallet and handing over the change, eyes on his shoes. Instead of waiting at the counter, Bucky drags Steve to a spot on the back wall and, casual as can be, moves his body between Steve’s and the cafe and cups a large hand between Steve’s legs.

“Bucky, what-“

“That’s why you said yes, isn’t it?” Bucky murmurs, dragging his hand up and down like a slow handjob. Steve chokes on his own saliva, eyes glued to Bucky’s. “You weren’t just indulging me, you LIKE it. You like thinking that any stranger coming up behind me could see me handling your dick like money. I don’t have to put your ass on the corner, you printed your own cock-sucker cash just for me.”

Steve whimpers, fine trembles running through his limbs. He knows his safe word. He doesn’t use it.

“What would Maggie think if I handed her your cock to pay for my latte? She’d want more next time, wouldn’t she? A pretty cock like that, you can’t get just once, huh?”

They get out of the cafe without being charged with indecent exposure, and the moment they get home Bucky muscles Steve to the bed and fucks him until he’s wailing.

After, they get up. Reheat their lukewarm coffee. Watch rugby on TV while Bucky absentmindedly rubs Steve’s feet, until it’s time for Steve to leave for a jog with Nat.

Just as Steve is about to head out the door, Bucky calls, “Hey Steve? When you get home, I want you to draw yourself hard. Use that nice paper I got you for Christmas. About time we put up some more art around here, huh?”

Over the next few months Steve draws dozens of sketches of himself, and one by one they go up on the walls of their apartment. Mostly in private areas like their bedroom or the en-suite, but every so often they’ll have Sam or Nat over and Steve will glance up in the middle of a sentence and feel his throat fill with fire because Bucky’s snuck one of them up. It’s half hidden behind the curtains but Steve sees it every time the breeze blows through the open window; that’s the one he drew on the floor, on his hands and knees, a system of mirrors rigged between his legs so he could sketch himself as Bucky rocked into him. He drew everything, from the precum drooling from under his foreskin to his dangling balls to Bucky’s shaft gleaming with lube and stretching him open.

He doesn’t let himself look at it for the rest of the night. He doesn’t know if Sam or Nat see it. But when they say their goodbyes and Bucky closes the door behind them, Bucky turns to Steve already on the floor on his knees, on his chest, whining in helplessness as he struggles to pull his clothing off without changing position.

Bucky doesn’t help him. Leans against the door and plays with his own cock as Steve finally gets his jeans and underwear down, contorts his arm so he can pull back a cheek, whimpers for it.

Bucky goes to him. But not before grabbing Steve’s sketchbook.

related to this

I 👏🏻 fucking 👏🏻 love 👏🏻 this 👏🏻

Like, oh my fucking GOD, this is so good. This is such a good fucking concept and then the way you wrote on top of that--the dirty talk especially, christ--makes it irresistible. Fuck.

This is fantastic. Thank you so, so much for this. This is going to and already does live rent-free in my head 😮‍💨😮‍💨 I can see every part of this ask, and it's filthy and beautiful

#asks #sail-not-drift #anon provided writing #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #artist steve rogers #artist steve

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late-to-the-party-81 · 11 months

Text

Whatever you need

AN: Thank you to the anons who sent me asks about the boys looking after Cali when she’s having her period. I didn’t follow the suggestions to the letter, but hopefully you will still enjoy this fluff tinged with a small amount of smut.

Beta’d by @lfnr-blog-blog-blog

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me

Master list | Series Master list

Relationship: Engineer Bucky x Reader (Cali) x Artist Steve

Word Count: 1.2k

CW: Period fic, soft loving boyfriends, clothed thigh-riding/soft smut, lots of kissing, soft dirty talk - kinda.

You didn’t know why you were so surprised by your boys being so in tune with your body, but every month - or rather every 31-33 days - you were still taken offguard.

Initially you thought it would be difficult for the two men to understand the waxing and waning of your menstrual cycle, previous partners having never cared, but they’d proved you wrong.

“Darlin’ we know how to take you apart with the merest touch, what makes you think we don’t know what’s going on down there and how it all works?”

You lay on your side on the bed, Bucky pressed up behind you with his large warm hands splayed across your cramping abdomen. He’d found you here, in your baggy sweats and vest, not needing to ask what was the matter when a wave of pain made your features twist in discomfort. He’d just whipped out his phone, called Steve to tell him to bring home snacks and supplies, and then snuggled up behind you.

“Well, to be honest most men are either ignorant and/or don’t care.”

“And those guys are bozos. How can they not want to understand? If they have menstruating people in their lives who they love and care for, understanding it just makes sense.”

His right arm was moving, drawing slow circles on your stomach, soothing your aching body.

“I remember talking to my doctor once, about my periods. Before I’d even started he asked if they were still regularly every 28 days. Part of me wanted to tell him that I was the fricking moon, and that not all women are like that. When even health professionals can’t get it right…”

You trailed off. Sure, your guys knew a lot, but you would admit you hadn’t plumbed the depths of their knowledge on the subject.

“I know, sweetheart. I got three sisters. I know more than I ever thought I would. 17 year old me got my eyes opened wide the first month all three of them and Ma synched. My pa just came home, dumped a load of candy on the table and told Ma that he and I were going out for boys' night.”

You giggled at the mental image of young Bucky, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing what to say in the face of a multiple progesterone crash.

“‘N by extension, Stevie knew all about it cos he was always hanging out at mine when his ma had to work nights.”

You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him. His misty grey eyes looked back at you and his cheeks and chin was covered by a short layer of hair. Fuck, he looked delicious. You needed to distract yourself.

“So, here’s a test for you. Why are there different sizes of tampons?”

“Easy- different flow rates.”

“How often does a woman need to change her tampon?”

“About every 6 hours. Don’t leave it in for more than 8. Come on, give me a hard one here!”

You pondered for a moment.

“When does a woman grow her eggs.”

“Grow them? When she’s still in utero. Which means when your mom was pregnant with you, there were three generations in the same body. But your ovaries take turns maturing one each month.”

It was a bit awkward to press a kiss to his lips, but you didn’t care.

“My, you are clever.”

He smiled against your lips.

“I know…”

His lips roved gently over yours as his hand continued to stroke your stomach, slowly but surely stoking a fire within you. So much for distracting yourself. You always got horny on your period, your jumbled hormones doing a number on you, but you always felt a bit ‘wrong’ doing anything about it.

Reluctantly you pulled your lips away from Bucky’s, giggling as you felt his erection nudging your ass.

“Need me to help you out with that?”

Bucky turned you in his arms so he could look you in the face, brushing his nose against yours and cupping your face.

Let’s just focus on you, darlin’. Orgasms are good for cramps.” His voice was a purr, his lips brushing over yours before he sucked your lower lip into his mouth and ran his tongue over it. You pulled away with a laugh and smacked at his chest, but your doubts were crumbling.

“Bucky! You’re such a horn-dog!”

He chuckled and pulled you closer, slotting one of his thick thighs between your legs.

“Can you blame me, when you and Stevie are so god-damn sexy.”

“You’re not too bad yourself…”

“Flattery will get you everywhere and everything you like.”

You nipped at his jaw and heard him drag in a sharp breath.

“Didn’t think I needed to flatter you.”

“Okay. You got me.”

“And you got me.”

He kissed you again, his hands slipping inside your sweats to knead your ass and gently move you up and down his thigh. Okay, now all your doubts were gone. Vanished. Poof. There was only Bucky and how good he was making you feel. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you breathed soft whimpers into his mouth.

Up here, in the top floor bedroom, you didn’t hear the front door open and close, but you did notice when the bed dipped behind you, and the smell of Steve’s cologne enveloped you.

His breath tickled your ear as his large hands, with their long, tapered fingers, slid up your vest and started to stroke over your sensitive breasts.

“Hey, baby. Bucky helping to soothe those pesky cramps? You nodded and let out a muffled mmm-hmm as Bucky continued to kiss you.

“Well, just enjoy it, Cali. Let us make you feel better.”

Steve’s thumbs brushed gently back and forth over your nipples and you gasped, throwing your head back. His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, while Bucky shifted to your collarbone, his hands still on your ass, rocking you.

You could feel the pleasure building in you as the friction across your clit sent shockwaves through your core, coupled with the gentle teasing of your breasts. You closed your eyes and just let yourself drift away on the rising tide, small whimpers and moans making their way past your lips

“Just let go, darlin’. That’s it.”

“So beautiful, baby.”

You were surrounded by your boys, being loved and cared for. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

Finally, you crested, a soft ecstasy filling your pores and surrounding you like a fuzzy blanket. Steve and Bucky continued to kiss you and pet you until you slowly relaxed into the mattress. When Bucky pulled away from you, leaving the bed, after a quick readjustment of his pants, you let out a little whine, not really to be dragged from your comfortable, warm spot, but Steve just wrapped his arms around you, a mirror of how you’d been lying with Bucky only 30 minutes ago.

“Ssshhh, Cali. He’s just gone to run you a bath. And you're gonna have candles, and wine, and candy and that relaxing music that you like. Sound good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nothing’s too good for you, sweetheart. I hope you know that. Now, you rest here, and have a little snooze, and I’ll wake you up when your bath’s ready.”

“Okay, Stevie.”

You drifted off, with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #late writes #an artist and an engineer #artist steve rogers #engineer bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader x bucky

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