simon having a baby sister, two or three years old, at home to support after losing the rest of his family. so he immediately enlists, tries to emotionally distance himself from her and sets up someone he trusts to take care of her. he hardly visits her after that, throwing himself into his work. maybe 18 years later, when he's finally starting to settle under price. decides to head back 'home' and see his little sister.
but instead simon's greeted by a man that looks eerily like his mother sitting on simon's couch, in simon's house. even wearing simon's old hand-me-downs from when he was that age. it doesn't take long for him to realize what's happened, not saying a thing as his little brother jumps at the sight of him in the doorway and begins frantically explaining himself. tells himself it's within his rights to take a little something from the pretty boy looking up at him with wide, nervous eyes. that's the least he deserves for making sure he's been taken care of for all these years.
“That’s it, pretty. Sit on Daddy’s cock…” Stan groans, his hands flex on your hips as you lower yourself down on him.
“Fuck—Stan.” You moan, eyes rolling back in your head as you sheathe stans cock fully inside yourself.
“Aww, we’re still on that, sweetpea?” He pants softly, forcing himself to not buck up into you straight away.
You ignore him, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you try and will your legs to work. You balance yourself with your hands on Stan’s fuzzy chest, digging your nails into the pudgy skin as you raise yourself up.
“That’s it baby.” Stan breathes, his eyes zeroed in on the sight of your pussy split open on him. “Fuck yourself on my cock.” Stan’s cock twitches inside you, as you let yourself fall back down.
“Ahn—” You moan loudly, pussy squelching as it meets his hips.
“Come on, pretty. Do all the work.” Stan urges, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs. “Show daddy you know how to take cock.” He grunts.
Your thighs shake as you lift yourself up again. This time, you go up too far and Stan’s cock pops free.
He sighs softly and helps you by pointing his cock back at your hole. “That’s okay princess, we gotta get you more practice.” He encourages you by pulling you back down on his cock.
You let out a startled moan and fall forward onto his chest, “Please—” you whine, not used to being the one on top.
Stan coos teasingly, “Please what, sweetpea?” He helps you raise your hips again and pulls you back down, making you fuck yourself.
Your eyes roll back into your head and you let out a needy sob, burying your face into Stan’s chest. “I can’t do it daddy—i need you to fuck me.” You whine.
Stan groans and flips you over, shoving your face into the mattress as he pushes himself back into you. “This is what you need, isn’t it pretty?” He groans, fucking into your cunt roughly. “You need a daddy to take care of you—” He cuts himself off with a grunt as you tighten up around him. “—to do everything for you. Isn’t that right?”
You nod dumbly, not listening to a thing he’s saying. “Yeah—mhm. Need a daddy…” You babble, the feeling of his cock reshaping your insides is making you dumb. Maybe Stan was right.
Stan slaps your ass and soothes the sting by groping the flesh. “That’s right baby,” He groans. “I’ll be your daddy.” He reaches around your body to messily thumb over your clit, fucking his cock in deep.
You sob into the mattress and grab fistfulls of the sheets. Liquid heat is quick to pool in between your legs and before you can get a proper breath, you’re cumming on Stan’s cock. “Daddy!” You moan.
When you come-to minutes later, you’re laying on your side, with Stan holding you against his chest and rubbing your back gently. You shift to look up at him, but something thick oozing uncomfortably out of your pussy catches your attention, “Ugh—Stan!” You whine, having told him to stop cumming inside many times already.
Stan chuckles sheepishly, “I can’t help it when you squeeze me like that.” He says, trying to pull you back to his chest and keep you from getting up. “Your pussy wants it…”
He laughs when you hit his shoulder, but immediately starts complaining when you get up and leave for the bathroom.
You purred, wrapping your arms around Williams waist. “See? You look good.” You say, eyes on the mirror in front of you both. William hesitantly looked up, face flushed as he looks himself over in the mirror.
The dress curved to fit his figure so nicely, it loosely fit around his hips (which he was grateful for as it appeared to hide his arousal) while it was tighter on his chest. He hated to admit how good he looked dressed like this. “Y-yes, Honey, I-it looks great.”
You let your hands slide down his front, tugging on his skirt. “Of course, Love. You look great in anything! But…I’m seeing a small problem…” William tenses up, quickly looking over himself. “It’s right…here.”
William freezes as you grabbed him through his clothes. You can see his face turn bright red. “W-wait, that’s not-It’s unrelated.” You squeeze him, resulting in a whimper. “I-I can’t…I’m just…‘excited’ to be…touched by you.”
You give a light kiss on the side of his neck. “Don’t be flustered, Beautiful. I love seeing you like this, come on, don’t be shy.” You lift up his skirt, revealing his aching cock. You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. “Going commando?”
William quickly looked away, keeping his head lowered. “The…panties wouldn’t fit while I’m hard s-so I couldn’t get them on.” William pulled down his skirt, hiding his shame once again. “I…couldn’t get it down long enough to put the panties on.”
Keep thinking of mcu Zemo and some sprinkle of feminization with the fact that he finds it hot to fuck wearing a dress or skirt. Just- something primal in him loves to just hitch up a skirt and bend over, having the skirt fly around as he gets fucked from behind, the lovely tingle of 'anyone could see me getting fucked but the actual view would be obscured by the skirt'.
The same sentiment is what pushes him to want to ride someone with a skirt, he can drop his hold on the fabric and if he stays still and his partner doesn't move it could pass as them just cuddling, when in truth he is trying his hardest to not fuck himself silly on the cock he's sitting on. He gets to rock his hips slow and make his partner oversensitive with the brush of the fabric of the dress, he can lift it all up to watch them groan at the sight of their cock disappearing inside of him. He can prance around the room naked except for the skirt, and then just straddle his partner, barely taking any effort to get them to put their cock inside him, like if he was a whore, going around ready to get dicked down anytime of the day, in any possible place.
He loves all the possibilities, he loves how much fun he can have with that. And of course he finds partners that indulge him, and Sam sure does want to indulge him.
There is so much fun pretending to be a stablehand on the Baron's state, indulging him into his darkest fantasies, or pretending to be deflowering the most pretty and lovely lady of the state, not worrying how he could get fired for such acts. Zemo seems to like when Sam pretends like something bad would happen if they get caught, moves faster, moans louder, begs for more.
Hey! For the future prompts: Bucky liking more feminine thing or liking to wear makeup maybe? And Steve being a supportive and loving boyfriend to him
Illuminations On A Rainy Day
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky)
Word count: 5.4k
Warnings: Mostly fluff but eventual smut. Since the smut is explicit, 18+ only please! Addition warnings for slight feminization and makeup use.
A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this, so I hope it’s what you had in mind, anon! I loved writing it ❤️
Summary:
Bucky bites his bottom lip, trying to find the right words to explain this to Steve but coming up short. “Sometimes I just like to feel – pretty. You know?”
Steve looks very serious when he says, “You look plenty pretty to me, Buck. Always have.”
And Bucky knows he means it. He can see it in Steve’s eyes every time he looks at him.
“I know,” he says softly. “But I just like making myself look nice. There’s something about the process, the pampering, the grooming… I can’t really explain it, I just know it makes me feel… good. About myself.”
“Okay,” Steve nods. “That’s great, Buck. You should do whatever makes you feel good.”
Read on AO3
Bucky Barnes isn’t vain, exactly. He just enjoys taking care of his appearance, that’s all. Back in the thirties, that meant making sure his work shirts were ironed, his shoes were shining, and his hair was slicked back with pomade. Today, in 2016, his hair is too long to slick back, but that’s okay. He’s not the same Bucky anymore, anyway.
Of course, for a long time after escaping Hydra’s clutches and returning to Steve; his best friend and the absolute love of his life, Bucky didn’t take care of himself at all, let alone of his appearance. During the long and arduous process of recovery, which most likely is never going to be fully completed, Steve even had to remind Bucky to eat and take showers. To his credit, he never once grumbled about it. In fact, over the past two years, Steve displayed levels of patience Bucky never would’ve dreamed he was capable of, based on the scattered memories he had of the perpetually sickly and prickly firecracker he lived with back in the thirties.
But with time, lots of therapy and a little help from Wanda, Bucky had slowly started to become more aware of himself again. Started to realize (even if he didn’t always believe it quite yet) that what had happened wasn’t his fault, and that he was worthy of the second chance he was given. So, eventually, he started treating it as one, too. He began to do the things he’d always wanted to when he was a young man growing up in the Depression and times of war, but hadn’t been able to due to lack of funds or rigid, intolerant social norms. The most important of those things, of course, was openly being with Steve. This entailed announcing to the team and eventually the rest of the world that they were together, holding hands when they go for a coffee run, and giving Steve a good luck kiss before missions.
In addition, Bucky also got a cat, bought himself a heated blanket even though he didn’t really need it in the Tower where the heat was always perfectly regulated, and started indulging in frequent movie marathons from the comfort of his own couch.
More importantly, Bucky also slowly but surely began to enjoy taking long showers and baths again. He used fragrant bath salts and shower oils and bought specialist products to make his shoulder-length hair soft and shiny, with just the right amount of volume. If he shaves, he likes to use a nice aftershave after, but more often than not he chooses to keep a short beard – a designer stubble, as Nat calls it. He couldn’t have a beard back in the day, but he’s found he likes the way it looks on him (just as he likes the way his stubble makes Steve’s pale skin look after Bucky’s been loving on him for a little too long).
About once a month, Bucky, Nat and Wanda treat themselves to a spa day. The three of them have struck up a friendship which, based on the similarities in their backgrounds and history, was more or less inevitable. Spa days are heaven, since Bucky doesn’t only like to take care of himself, but also very much enjoys being taken care of. After a day of being pampered senseless in the spa, he returns home to Steve all loose and relaxed, smelling like massage oils and with silky soft skin, which Steve appreciates possibly even more than Bucky does.
Today was a spa day. The three of them have just gotten dressed and are getting ready to head home. Wanda sits down in front of the dressing room mirror to put on her makeup, and Bucky, towelling dry his hair before putting in some argan oil, watches her as she re-applies her smoky eye.
After a minute or two, their eyes catch in the mirror.
“Would you like to try?” Wanda asks.
Bucky blinks. “Try?”
Wanda shakes the little tube of eyeliner at him by way of explanation.
“Oh,” he breathes, eyes widening.
Would he like to try some makeup? He’s never really thought about it before, but now that Wanda’s offering, he finds that he’s… not unamenable to the idea. Still, part of him wonders if wearing black eye makeup will make him look too much like the Soldier, decked out in war paint. He’s about to decline the offer when Natasha, who as always seems to be able to read Bucky’s mind, speaks up.
“You’re not him anymore, Bucky.”
Bucky gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment. “I know,” he says finally.
“You’ve made incredible progress. A bit of eyeliner isn’t going to undo that.”
“I know,” he repeats. He straightens his shoulders. “Alright, let me try it.”
Wanda gives him a soft smile, turning towards him as he settles on the chair next to her. “Okay,” she says. “Sit still, please.”
Unconsciously, Bucky holds his breath as Wanda fusses over him. It doesn’t take as long as he imagined, and when she tells him she’s all done, he slowly, with no small amount of apprehension, turns towards the mirror.
That’s – not bad at all.
Bucky leans a little closer, turning his head this way and that, inspecting his reflection from different angles. Finally, he decides that he likes it. A lot. The dark outline makes the slate blue of his eyes pop, makes his eyes somehow look bigger. He smiles at Wanda.
“It looks nice,” she says, brushing a lock of hair off his face. “Should we try mascara, too?”
Emboldened by the unexpected success, Bucky replies, “Sure. Why not.”
It’s hard to keep your eyes open while someone is more or less poking at them with a brush, as Bucky finds out, but fortunately Wanda is quick and efficient and manages to apply the mascara with minimal casualties. When Bucky looks in the mirror next, he’s actually shocked by how long is eyelashes are. Who’d have known?
“I look –” Bucky starts.
“Yes?” Wanda asks, an amused glint in her eye.
“…pretty?”
“You do. Very pretty.”
Nat stands up then, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Alright, guys. I’m meeting Fury in forty minutes. Let’s get going.”
“Like this?” Bucky splutters. “Shouldn’t I take it off first?”
Natasha shrugs, unconcerned. “You could, if you want. Do you?”
Bucky swallows, considers the question. He darts a glance in the mirror again, fascinated by his reflection. He still looks like himself, only nicer.
“No,” he says finally. “I don’t.”
“Great. Let’s go then.”
***
Despite his earlier burst of confidence, Bucky feels himself growing nervous as soon as he steps through the door of their apartment. The light in the living room is on, indicating that Steve is home. For a moment, Bucky contemplates making a dash for the bathroom so he can scrub off the makeup before facing Steve, but then he shakes himself. He’s faced hairier situations than these (boy, has he ever) and besides, Steve would never laugh in his face. At worst, he’ll be a little confused, and if he doesn’t seem to like it then Bucky will just save the makeup stuff for the days he hangs out with the girls. No big deal.
He takes a deep, bracing breath, and steps into the living room.
Steve is stretched out on the couch, sketchpad in his lap, dressed in a pair of loose, grey sweats and a dark blue hoodie. He looks up when Bucky walks in.
“Hey, Buck,” he says, already smiling. “How was the spa?”
Bucky doesn’t reply, just stops at the end of the couch, nervously waiting for Steve’s reaction.
After a few moments of silence, a little frown forms between Steve’s eyebrows, and Bucky holds his breath.
“What is…” Steve mutters, looking at him intently, and then his eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Hi,” Bucky says finally, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. His voice comes out a little weaker than he’d like. He clears his throat.
Slowly, Steve gets up off the couch. He walks over, just as slowly, and it’s only when he comes to a halt right in front of him that Bucky remembers to breathe.
Lifting his hands, he cradling Bucky’s face between his big palms.
“Oh, Buck,” he says softly, his thumbs caressing Bucky’s cheekbones. “You look…”
“– ridiculous?” Bucky interrupts, the word little more than a whisper.
Steve frowns a little. “I was gonna say nice. You look real nice, baby.”
“Oh.” From one moment to the next, Bucky deflates, his shoulders relaxing as he leans forward, into Steve’s touch. “You really think so?”
“I do,” Steve smiles, with those laughter lines that Bucky loves so much. “You have such pretty eyes, Buck.”
Bucky looks into Steve’s sky blue ones, searching for even the slightest trace of insincerity, of Steve telling him what he wants to hear just because he wants Bucky to be happy, but finds none. There’s just love there, and maybe, definitely, a little bit of adoration.
“Thanks,” Bucky mutters, relieved. He closes his eyes as Steve leans in and kisses him, ever so carefully.
Bucky hums into it, tries to follow Steve’s lips as he pulls away.
Steve just laughs silently. “Come on,” he says. “Sit with me. I missed you today.”
Taking his hand, Bucky lets himself be led towards the giant couch in the middle of the room. Steve lets himself flop back into the cushions, pulling Bucky on top of him. Bucky goes easily, nestling against Steve’s chest.
“Hmm,” Steve hums, burying his nose in Bucky’s hair. “Your hair smells nice.”
Bucky just grunts in reply, rubbing his face into Steve’s pecs like a cat. Steve, attuned has he is to each of Bucky’s gestures and silent commands, takes the hint. He lifts a hand Bucky’s head and starts to gently run his fingers through his hair, separating the silky soft strands and lightly scratching at his scalp. After a few moments of that, Bucky almost starts to purr. It just feels really nice, okay? He loves being petted, always has, and fortunately, Steve loves petting him.
“It’s getting really long, Buck,” Steve says after a while. “I bet you could wear it in one of those hip bun things guys tend to wear these days. Maybe even braid it.”
“You think so?” Bucky mumbles after a second, letting the idea roll around in his head.
“Sure, yeah. It’s past your shoulders now.”
“Can you braid?”
Steve’s hand stills his hair. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes even though Steve can’t see him do it. “I don’t see anyone else here, do you?”
“I mean, I can give it a shot,” Steve muses. “How hard can it be, right?”
—
Turns out, it’s pretty damn hard. Steve does his best, and to be fair, what he ends up producing is more or less a braid, but it’s not what Bucky expected.
“I can practice,” Steve says stubbornly, standing behind him in the bathroom while Bucky inspects the damage in the mirror. “I’ve learned how to drive a stolen car in Nazi Germany in an afternoon and mastered several martial arts. I’m sure I can learn how to braid your hair properly.”
Bucky just pulls a face at him in the mirror. “I dunno, honey.”
“Just you wait,” Steve says, sticking out his chin just like when he was a hundred pound asthmatic kid who was told he couldn’t join the army. “I’ll have this down by the end of next week.”
—
Six days and many a pained grunt on Bucky’s part later, Steve does actually manage to weave his hair into a tight and complicated braid that looks, if Bucky may say so himself, pretty damn amazing on him. The two of them spend a good fifteen minutes admiring Bucky’s ‘do in the bathroom mirror, a smaller, handheld mirror that he borrowed from Nat enabling Bucky to see the back of his own head.
“You did it, Stevie,” Bucky says proudly, putting down the mirror on the counter to turn around and wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, leaning in for a kiss. “It looks amazing.”
“Told ya I could do it,” Steve replies, before regretfully adding, “Shame you’re gonna have to take it out again for bed now.”
Bucky bristles. “The hell I am. I’m meeting Wanda and Nat tomorrow morning. They bet me you couldn’t do it, so I have to show them my man can do anything he sets his mind to. And also cash in their loser money.”
Steve snorts. “Can I just remind you that you didn’t think I could do it either?”
“Nonsense,” Bucky replies, giving a curt shake of his head. “I’ve always believed in you.”
“Sure, Buck,” Steve concedes, smiling down at him dopily before leaning in for another kiss. “Whatever you say.”
***
A week or so later, Wanda comes up to Bucky after a briefing with a little bag swinging from her wrist, which she hands to him with a flourish.
“What’s this?” Bucky says, curiously peering into the bag and finding only a small, nondescript box.
“Just a little present,” Wanda says enigmatically. “Open it when you’re home.”
It turns out to be a starter set of eye makeup; a few different mascaras and eyeliners, and a scary-looking contraption that Bucky later finds out is meant to curl his eyelashes. He spends the rest of the afternoon in Steve and his bedroom, trying out the different products. When Steve comes back from training with Thor that night, Bucky eagerly shows off his efforts. Steve duly tells him he looks beautiful, and any doubt Bucky might have about his sincerity disappears when Steve proceeds to kiss him breathless on the couch.
From that moment onward, Bucky’ll put on a little eye makeup on good days, or, perhaps more accurately, on days when he doesn’t actively hate himself.
The first time he wears eyeliner on a mission (because he’d been having a good day until some idiot with lasers decided to cause trouble down town) Tony and Bruce look at him a little strangely, as if they’re noticing something different about him but can’t quite put their finger on it. When Tony finally catches on, Bucky tenses.
“Are you wearing mascara, Buckinator?” he asks gleefully, and then Bucky has the pleasure of seeing him visibly wither when Nat gives Tony a truly terrifying look that shuts him right up.
After that, no even so much as blinks when Bucky occasionally shows up to kick villainous ass with a neat cat eye.
—
On a dreary afternoon in October, Bucky and Steve are once again stretched out on the couch together, Gone With The Wind playing on their TV set as Bucky dozes against Steve’s shoulder,
“Buck?” Steve says suddenly, keeping his voice low so as not to startle him.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever, like…” He trails off, letting the unfinished question hang in the air.
“What?” Bucky asks, lifting his head to look at Steve.
There’s a frown on Steve’s forehead; not the one that means he’s upset or worried, but the one that means he’s thinking about something really hard. Bucky lifts a hand to smooth out the lines with the pad of his thumb. “What is it, Steve?”
Steve takes a breath. “Well, I was just wondering… I might be way off, of course, but I just want to make sure.” His frown deepens. “You know I’d give you anything you’d ask for, right?”
“Steve” Bucky sighs. “You’re not making any damn sense. Just come out with it, will ya?”
“Right,” Steve nods. “Of course, yeah. What I mean to tell you is, um, if you ever maybe, like, wanted to wear something a little… different. That would be perfectly fine with me. Just so you know.” He presses his lips together nervously, watching Bucky for his reaction.
Bucky, meanwhile, still doesn’t have a clue what his idiot of a boyfriend is on about.
“Something different?” he asks, puzzled. “Do you… do you not like what I’m wearing?” He looks down at himself, and has to admit that, okay, maybe this stretched out t-shirt and faded blue sweats combination isn’t his biggest fashion success. But to be fair, Steve himself is wearing a very similar outfit, so it’s not like he’s really one to talk.
“No, that’s not –” Steve sputters, “I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with your clothes, baby, I swear. I just meant, if you maybe someday felt like wearing a – a skirt, or a dress or something, that would be totally fine. Of course.”
Oh. So that’s what Steve was trying to get at.
Bucky smirks. “I know it would be,” he says, “but I don’t. Want that.”
“You don’t?” Steve watches him closely. “You sure? You can think about it for a while, if you want. You don’t need to tell me anything right away, I just wanted to get it out there – you know, just in case.”
Bucky gives Steve a small, reassuring smile and squeezes his ankle. “Nah. Dresses and heels are nice and everything, but they don’t seem very comfortable. As you know, I like being comfortable. ‘Sides, I can’t exactly fight baddies in heels, can I?”
Steve snorts. “I don’t supposed that’d be very effective, no.” He pauses for a moment, before adding “Though I’m sure Nat and Maria could do it.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not Nat and Maria,” Bucky huffs. “I’m not a woman, and I don’t want to be one, either. I just…” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain this to Steve but coming up short. “Sometimes I just like to feel – pretty. You know?”
Steve looks very serious when he says, “You look plenty pretty to me, Buck. Always have.”
And Bucky knows he means it. He can see it in Steve’s eyes every time he looks at him.
“I know,” he says softly. “But I just like making myself look nice, you know? There’s something about the process, the pampering, the grooming… I can’t really explain it, I just know it makes me feel… good. About myself.”
“Okay,” Steve nods decisively. “That’s great, Buck. You should do whatever makes you feel good.”
They’re silent for a moment after that, both of them ruminating on their conversation.
“So,” Bucky starts after a minute or two, “I know I said I’m not a woman and I don’t want to wear women’s clothes…”
“Yes?” Steve prompts him when he doesn’t continue, prodding his thigh with his bare foot.
Bucky bites the inside of his cheek, gathering courage. “Well,” he goes on, “say I maybe wanted to try wearing some pretty underwear someday. Would that be – weird?” He shoots Steve a tentative glance, trying to gauge his reaction.
To his relief, Steve doesn’t look shocked or appalled – though maybe his eyes do grow a little bit darker. “Why would that be weird, Buck?” Steve reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “I’m sure you’d look stunning in it.”
Bucky can’t help his pleased little smile as he leans into Steve’s palm. “Okay,” he says, satisfied for now. “Let’s go to bed?”
“Sure, Buck. Whatever you want.”
—
That Wednesday, Bucky and Steve find themselves on the couch once again. Bucky sometimes wonder why they even have other furniture in their living room, because this couch seems to be the only place either of them want to be.
Bucky is watching some spy thriller that he keeps scoffing and rolling his eyes at, because that is not how you do spying, for god’s sake. Meanwhile, Steve is drawing again – drawing Bucky, to be precise. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him constantly but he doesn’t mind because he’s used to it. The gentle scratch of his pencil over the sketchpad only audible when there’s a lull in the explosions, and seriously, no spy worth their salt would let that many things explode; the whole point is to go unnoticed.
When the credits finally start to roll, Bucky sits up, stretching his arms above his head.
Steve puts away his sketchpad, too. “So,” he says.
Bucky turns to him, and finds Steve looking a little hesitant. Bucky cock his head at him questioningly. “What?”
“I sort of… got you a present?”
That makes Bucky perk up. “Really? What is it?”
“I’ll just go get it,” Steve says by way of reply, getting up and heading to their bedroom before returning with a beautifully wrapped, rectangular flat box. It’s glossy black with a red, silky bow tied around it, giving it the appearance of an exceptionally fancy box of chocolates.
“Ooh, chocolates?” Bucky asks eagerly. “And it’s not even Valentine’s Day.”
Steve chuckles and tilts his head as if to say, hmm not quite.
“Not chocolates?” Bucky checks. “Then what is it?”
“Open it.” Steve hands him the box and sits back down on the couch. He wrings his hands nervously as Bucky lightly shakes the box, trying to determine what’s inside.
“Just open it, Buck,” Steve says, fondly rolling his eyes at him.
“Fine, fine.” Placing the box in his lap, Bucky carefully unties the red ribbon. He lifts the lid, pushes aside the tissue paper, and then stops breathing entirely.
Inside the box are three pairs of beautiful, black lace boxer briefs.
“Steve…” Bucky breathes, reaching out to reverently run his fingertips over the delicate fabric. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks tentatively. “You like ‘em? I wasn’t sure what type you’d like, so I figured I’d start with something simple but beautiful, y’know?”
Tearing his eyes away from the gift, Bucky looks back up at Steve.
He makes sure to look him in the eye before saying, “I love them. They’re really gorgeous, Steve.” He leans in, putting a hand on the side of Steve’s neck and placing a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”
Steve’s eyes remain closed for a moment after Bucky draws back. “You’re welcome, Buck. Wanna go put ‘em on?”
Bucky’s eyes widen. “Now?”
Steve shrugs. “Why not?”
Bucky steals another quick kiss. “Okay. Let me just…” He swallows down his sudden nerves. “I’ll call you when I’m done?”
Steve nods, and Bucky disappears into the bedroom, clutching the box like it’s precious. Which it is, kind of. To him, anyway.
He turns on the bedside lamps, then strips naked, carefully folding his clothes and putting them on the chair next to the wardrobe. Next, he gingerly takes out one pair of briefs and carefully steps into them. When he turns towards the mirror to looks himself over, he sucks in a sharp breath.
The briefs fit him like a second skin, perfectly hugging his hips and ass, easily accommodating the slight bulge of his already half-hard cock.
He looks… sexy. He feels sexy. A little bit nervous about Steve’s reaction, still, but the little voice in the back of his mind whispers to him that there’s no way in hell Steve isn’t going to like the way he looks in these.
Taking a deep breath, he walks over to the bedroom door and opens it. “Steve?”
He doesn’t have to wait long: Steve appears in the doorway approximately one and a half second later. With one look at Steve’s face, all of Bucky’s worries are erased. His expression is one of adoration mixed with naked desire, and it takes Bucky’s breath away.
They stand there, looking at each other, Steve’s eyes roaming up and down Bucky’s body, and Bucky has never felt more desirable in his life. It’s a heady feeling.
Finally, Steve breaks the silence. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he says in a gravelly voice. “Look at you.”
Bucky lowers his gaze, then coyly looks back up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve, as if pulled by an invisible thread, walks over to him, only stopping when their faces are mere inches from each other.
Bucky can feel Steve’s quickened breath against his lips, that’s how close he is, and despite the fact that they kissed not ten minutes earlier, it feels as though they’re about to kiss for the very first time. He feels inexplicably nervous, his stomach roiling with nerves and excitement. When he locks eyes with Steve, his breath hitches in his throat.
Steve’s looking at him like he wants to devour him, his eyes burning as they flick between Bucky’s lips and his eyes, until finally, he closes the distance between them. He presses a hot, eager kiss to his mouth, deepening it immediately, and Bucky moans, swaying forward into Steve’s sturdy torso. Steve’s hands come up to wrap around Bucky’s biceps, keeping him steady, and when he breaks the kiss and pulls back, Bucky feels bereft. He makes a pleading sound, something between a sigh and a whine, making Steve lean in again, if only to brush his lips, feather light, over Bucky’s.
“You look gorgeous, Buck. Let me take care of you, alright?” Steve’s voice is low, heavy with the weight of his devotion.
Bucky lets out a shaky sigh and nods. He lets himself be steered towards the low bed, Steve sitting down on the edge of it and looking up at Bucky. His wide, blue eyes are framed by those long, long lashes, and despite the arousal burning low in his belly, Bucky lifts a hand to tenderly brush Steve’s golden hair back off his forehead.
Putting his hands on Bucky’s waist, Steve slowly sliding them down his sides until they’re resting on his hips. The warmth of his palms burn on Bucky’s skin through the lacy fabric. He almost wishes they could brand him; how he longs to have Steve’s handprints on him forever, like a mark of ownership.
Steve’s thumbs press in just below the jut of Bucky’s hip bones, rubbing slow circles into his skin that have Bucky breathing faster and his cock filling up to full hardness.
Leaning in, Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s belly button, then noses down the fine trail of hair that disappears under the waistband of the panties. Pressing soft, teasing kisses to the sensitive skin below his hipbones, he finally ventures even lower, nuzzling at the outline of Bucky’s dick through the fabric. Bucky groans, his hands coming up to settle on Steve’s broad shoulders.
“Steve,” he sighs, fingers scrabbling at Steve’s shirt. “Take this off.”
Steve grunts, leaning back a little to whip off his shirt in one quick move. Much better, Bucky thinks as he smooths his palms, one flesh and one metal, over the gentle slopes of Steve’s bare shoulders.
As if he hadn’t been interrupted, Steve leans back in, mouthing enthusiastically at the hard line of Bucky’s erection, wetting the fabric. He’s making pleased little sounds that Bucky savours, wants to store in the back of his brain to brighten up his darkest days. Steve’s hands start to wander, running down and up Bucky’s thighs, thumbs brushing the insides before they end up on Bucky’s ass. He kneads the firm flesh, making the lace scratch a little roughly over Bucky’s skin, and Bucky is unsure whether to push back into Steve’s big hands or forward, towards the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
Opening his mouth further, Steve moans against Bucky’s dick, his fingers digging into his hips almost painfully. Bucky shudder, his hips stuttering forward.
“Steve,” Bucky whimpers again, “please, Stevie.”
“What do you need, Bucky?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t know full well.
“Your mouth-”
“Yeah?” Steve says, looking up at him with dark eyes. “Tell me what you want me to do, Buck. I want to hear you say it.”
Bucky groans, his cheeks burning hot. “Want you to – want you to suck my cock, Steve. Please.”
“Whatever you want, pretty baby,” Steve says, and then he’s ducking his head to run his tongue teasingly over the leaking tip of Bucky’s dick where it’s peeking out over the waistband of the panties.
“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, his fingers digging into the hard muscle of Steve’s trapezius.
Slowly, inch by inch, Steve starts to pull down Bucky’s briefs until they come to rest below the swell of his ass. Bucky’s erection springs free, hitting Steve’s cheek, and Steve hums appreciatively. He starts to mouth along the side of it, torturously slow, before he finally closes his red, plush lips around the head of Bucky’s cock. Without further teasing, he sinks down on it, taking him deeper and deeper until he hits the back of his throat.
Bucky swears loudly, his left hand tangling in Steve’s soft, blond hair, messing it up. “Jesus, Steve. God fucking dammit.”
Steve makes a throaty sound, one hand coming up to wrap around the base of Bucky’s dick as the other keeps kneading his ass cheek. Bucky watches raptly as Steve begins to bob his head; red, wet lips sliding along Bucky’s shaft, creating the most exquisite suction that has Bucky’s bare toes curling against the carpet. Steve’s wicked tongue curls around Bucky’s cockhead each time he comes up, teasingly tonguing the slit before he sinks down again, taking him all the way to the root. His eyes are closed in bliss, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Bucky is, which, to be precise, is a helluva lot.
”Oh, Stevie, uhh,” Bucky pants, closing his eyes too and letting his head fall back, giving himself over to sensation. “Feels so good, baby, so fucking good. God, your mouth.”
Steve hums with a mouthful of cock, the vibrations skittering up Bucky’s body, making him shiver. Seemingly just as worked up as Bucky is, just as eager for it, he starts to speed up, swallowing him down over and over. He makes it wet and sloppy, clearly not giving a fuck about what he may look like, which only makes Bucky burn hotter. Steve lets his left hand dip into the cleft of Bucky’s ass, fingertips just skating over his tightly clenched hole before he starts to rub at it with more intent.
Bucky groans loudly, fire licking up his spine as he’s gripped by an all-consuming lust, a need to claim or be claimed, he doesn’t know, and wanting to come so badly now he can taste it in his mouth. His fingers tighten in Steve’s hair unconsciously, pushing his head down further on every downward stroke, until he can feel Steve’s throat clench around the head of his cock. The pulsing sensation nearly breaks Bucky’s brain, and then Steve pushes the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle of Bucky’s asshole, just pushing inside, and Bucky is done.
He shouts, doubling over as his hands scrabble at Steve’s shoulders and head, pushing into Steve’s mouth as deeply as he possibly can while Steve groans and shudders underneath him. Bucky comes so hard he sees entire galaxies, gasping as his cock pulses on Steve’s tongue, spilling hotly down his throat until he’s completely, utterly spent.
It takes a few long moments for some of his brain to come back online, but when it does, he hastily pulls back.
“Shit, fuck, Steve. I’m so sorry.” He falls to his knees in front of Steve, hands coming up to cup Steve’s cheeks. “Are you alright?”
Steve’s eyes are watering. A few tears having spilled over, making glistening tracks down his flushed cheeks, and his hair is an absolute goddamn mess. He looks as if he just thoroughly got his throat fucked.
“I’m fine,” he rasps, licking his lips. “Don’t worry about me.”
Bucky scoffs, barely refraining from cuffing Steve on the back of the head. “I just nearly choked you with my dick. Of course I’m gonna worry about you.” He leans in to kiss the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks and adds, more softly, “Time for me to take care of you now, honey.”
Somehow, the flush on Steve’s cheeks deepens. He clears his throat and says, “No need, honestly.”
Bucky frowns, his eyes flicking down to Steve’s lap – and his mouth falls open.
“Did you…” he starts, eyeing the large, dark patch spreading out on the front of Steve’s sweats. “Did you come?”
Steve gives a sheepish nods. “Uh, yeah.”
Holy fucking shit. “You came untouched, just from me fucking your throat?” Bucky asks incredulously.
“To be fair, the panties helped.”
Bucky snorts. He shakes his head, leaning up to press a kiss to Steve’s bruised, red lips. “They really did, huh.”
Steve hums against his mouth. “I think we should get some more.”
Hey! I just wanted to firstly say how much I love your blog, because it is awesome! Secondly, I love all of your writing is well. It's really admirable! Anyway, I was wondering if you knew a J2 fic where Jensen was a principle and Jared ran track. It may have been an A/B/O fic but I can't remember. Also, you don't have to find it or whatever, I mostly wanted to tell you that you're a really awesome creator and yeah... I'm awkward...
Thanks so much for the kind words! I appreciate it.
The story you’re thinking of is Temptation Comes But Once to a Man by SloeDjinn. Jensen is Jared’s headmaster and Jared runs track. And it is a/b/o.
Summary: “For a prompt from the SPN kink meme.http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/78939.html?thread=28883291t28883291a/b/o society. There are no if ands or buts about it. You have sex, you’re mated, end of story. Which is why Alphas should be picky, so should omegas but it doesn’t always happen that way.It’s up to the omega to choose a possible mate. When they come across an alpha they want and would like to mate with, they kneel and present themselves to the alpha. It’s then the alpha’s choice whether to take them as a mate or not. Alpha Jensen has had a more then a few omegas kneel before him and present and he’s walked away from every one. (which is more then he can say for his best friend Chad who was too horny for his own good and mated with the first omega that presented for him…that’s a relationship that isn’t going to well. Jensen has learned to be choosy) All that changes when Omega Jared kneels and presents himself.Maybe Jared (16 or younger) has known Jensen (30 or older)for awhile, he’s the older next door neighbour or teacher, his dads best friend etc. Or maybe he’s just walking down the street spots Jensen and just can’t stop himself, he has to try.”
Only the first half remains on the spnkink_meme (that part was filled anonymously), since the author locked/deleted the rest that was posted under their name. It was also published on Ao3, but the author deleted all their stuff there, too.
However, using the WayBack machine, I was able to recover the complete Ao3 version. You can read it here.
Summary: When the others are away, Bill and Richie will play.
Read on AO3
“Come on Billiam. Now you’re just teasing me at this point!”
Richie could hear Bill chuckle through the doorframe.
Bastard.
Bill had shut himself in his room over ten minutes ago (though Richie would argue it was hundreds of years ago) to get ready. He knew it was worth the wait, but Bill was already amazingly beautiful so why did he have to take so freakin long.
“A-alright R-r-richie, I’m r-r-ready,” Bill finally called out through the door.
“Fucking finally.” Richie turned and swung the door open. He meant to strut in in his usual ‘I’m-the-greatest’ fashion, and throw in one of his famous crude remarks, but all thoughts escaped him once he took in the site of the other boy on the bed. He knew ahead time what Bill was planning on wearing (considering he was the one who’d bought it), but damn if Bill didn’t always manage to take his breath away.
“H-howdy thhh-” Bill paused taking a shaky breath before trying again. “Howdy thhh-there P-p-partner.”
Bill was sitting on his bed wearing a pair high-rise faded-blue daisy dukes, a long-sleeved plaid button up tied at his upper waist, a pair of brown cowboy boots, and a slightly ripped straw hat on his head. His short hair was pulled into two very tiny pigtails with bright pink bands, and his face was painted up with just the right touches. He was even wearing Richie’s favorite ruby red lipstick that always left the prettiest little lip stains on the collars of his shirts (The first time Eddie had seen one of those marks he’d freaked out thinking Richie was cheating on Bill. The conversation that followed had been one of the greatest conversations Richie had ever had in his life. Poor Eddie had never quite looked at Bill the same since).
Damn did he love that ruby red lipstick.
“Why hello there Little Lady.” Bill giggled at Richie’s attempt of a southern accent, his red cheeks flushing darker and spreading to color his neck and disappear under his shirt collar. “What’s a pretty little thing like yourself doing in a place like this?”
“W-ww-w.” Bill snapped his mouth shut. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to try again, and again snapped it shut after a few tries. He nibbled his lip in frustration, smearing the red off his lips, and turned pleading eyes to Richie. Bill’s stuttered had gotten better over the years, but whenever he got super nervous, or felt too much of an emotion it came back with a vengeance. It also always got worse during their sexy times. No matter how vanilla, or kinky they got Bill typically got so overwhelmed that he’d lose the ability to speak, because his stutter got so bad. This is also why Richie made it so important to focus on Bill during their special times together. He’d written his own little mental dictionary of the noises Bill made and the movements he made, and what each of these special things meant. If Bill bucked his hips a bit and squeezed his thighs that meant he was ready for Richie to move. If, like right now, he bit at his lip and held himself far too tense than he was uncomfortable and embarrassed.
Richie needed to make things better. He put on his best cocky grin, and swaggered over to Bill obnoxiously and as ridiculously as he possibly could. This earned him a slight smile. A step in the right direction.
“Don’t you worry Little Lady. I’ve been known to take people’s breaths away.” He stepped in front of Bill and did an over-the-top bow. “It’s a curse you see. I’m just too charming.” This got him a laugh. Almost there. “But you Little Lady, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as fine as you. Come on let me see ya.” He reached over and took one of the hands Bill was holding to his chest, and pulled the boy off the bed. He spun him around, making sure to get a peek at the other boy’s ass, and ended his little routine by tugging Bill close and dipping him low. Bill was laughing loudly by this point, arms coming up around Richie’s neck to help keep his balance.
Back on track. Happy Bill accomplished.
“R-r-ri-ichie!”
“Yes, Sweet Thang?”
Bill snorted as he laughed. Richie smiled wide and pulled them both back into a standing position. He tugged Bill close by the waist, and pressed the giggling male flush against his chest.
“You know Sweet Thang you, you never told me what you were doing in a place like this.”
“W-w-well I … I was lo-looking for a r-r-ride.”
“A ride?”
“Yea. I w-was wondering if… if you h-had s-s-someth-thing large and f-f-fun I c-could r-r-ride on?”
“Something large and fun, huh?” Richie smirked tugging Bill closer, so the other male could feel the bulge pressing against the seam of his jeans. “I think I got something in mind perfect for the job.” Bill let out a soft gasp in mock surprise before giggling again, and rubbing up against him.
“I-is that ssso? Y-you think I c-could t-t-take a p-p-peak at it? S-ssee if its t-to my liking?”
“Honey, a sweet sexy thang such as yourself can do whatever you want. I’ll even let you touch it.”
And then they were kissing. Tongues dancing as they pressed and rubbed at each other. Hands wandering and squeezing. Things escalated so quickly that one moment Richie was massaging Bill’s lovely checks through his shorts, and the next he found himself laid out on the bed pantsless with Bill hovering by the bed side with no idea how he’d gotten there. Bill was panting loudly, the red on his lips almost completely smeared off. Richie was pretty sure his own mouth was probably smeared ruby red. He watched as Bill popped the button of his shorts and let the daisy dukes slide to the floor. Richie felt his mouth go dry as he took in the other boy’s weeping erection straining against the tight pair of bright pink panties. It was the same pair Bill had worn last night when they’d tried out a different scene with the other outfit Richie had bought. A pale pink oversized sweater and a white skirt with long white thigh high stockings. The sex had been slow and drawn out. Bill had been a shy little stuttering mess, acting like a cute little innocent virgin that they both knew he wasn’t.
Now though, now that Bill seemed to be over the nervousness of trying out a new scene Richie could see a fire burning in his boyfriend’s eyes. Things were about to get very juicy.
“So, what do you think Sweet Heart,” Richie gestured to his crotch and gave Bill a little wink. “Does my rig look up to your standards?”
Bill gave him a dirty little grin and climbed on top of him still wearing his boots and panties.
“I don’t know. I thhhink-,” Bill paused and reached into his shirt to pull out a small bottle of lube. Richie watched as his boyfriend poured a generous amount onto his shaft and then tossed the bottle off to the side. “I think I’ll h-have t-to try it out ffffirst.”
And then Bill was shifting forward, reaching around to tug the band of his panties out of the way, and plopping himself down on Richie’s dick with little resistant. Both boys moaned loudly in response.
“Fuck Big Bill, you….fuck!” Richie groaned and reached out to grip at Bill’s thighs. Bill giggled.
“Wh-what? Y-you think I didn’t p-p-prepare myself ahead of t-t-time?”
“Fuck. That’s why you were taking so damn long.” Bill giggled and gave an experimental rock of his hips that sent a wave of pleasure straight through Richie’s body.
“I th-think I’m g-gonna like this r-r-ride.”
“Glad to know my rides to your stands Sweet Heart. I guess as they say I the south, Ride’em Cowgirl!” He followed this with a hard slap to Bill’s ass, that made the other boy squeak and laugh at the same time.
