Ohhh This Did Something To Me

What do you want to read?

Here’s some frequently used HYBB tags:

(Mod note: if you want to narrow down your search by Bucky/pairing, please add the ship name you’re looking for to your own key word search!) These links take you to HYBB wordpress.

-

Meeting for the first time:

#meet cute

#meet awkward

#first meetings

Already met:

#established couple

#canon fic  or  #canon divergence

-

Light and fun themes:

#rom com

#humor

#fluff

#love confessions

#domestic fluff

-

Angsty themes:

#identity porn

#pining

#hurt comfort

#light angst

#angst with a happy ending

#angst with a hopeful ending  or  #hopeful ending

-

Some of these may overlap a bit with a couple fics. Remember, if you want a more specific search, just enter in the key words to the search. For example type in “bucky hurt comfort” or “rarepair hurt comfort”, and so on.

-

Want to read less graphic themes? Check out:

#gen rated

#rated t

#implied bottom bucky

#implied sexual content

#rated m

-

For smuttier themes check out:

#bottom bucky barnes

#sub bucky barnes

#power bottom bucky

#pwp

-

Want to browse more? this post shows you how.

Don’t forget to use HYBB on wordpress if tumblr doesn’t bring up tags (esp the more graphic tags!). The full HYBB archive is on wordpress, here.

-HYBB

this had me kickin my feet 🤭

Pretend

College bucky x best friend reader, jealous Sharon, Steve and Sam are goofs. 

all the fluffff Friends to lovers

This shit has been sitting in my drafts for months. Idk why I started this or where I wanted it to go but here with our with more sweet college Bucky. Finally decided to finish it. 

-

“Buck!”

“Hey nugget”

You plopped on the sofa beside him in the library, not even bothering to pull your notes out to study. You scrolled through your phone, leaning against Bucky while he worked on his term paper.

“I grabbed you your drink by the way” Bucky leaned over, grabbing a coffee cup off the table, handing it to you before returning to his laptop. You hummed contently, sipping on the warm liquid, your body heating up, not because you were drinking hot coffee but because you were snuggled against Bucky. One of your closest friends. Who also played football on campus. Not at all someone you had a crush on. Nope.  

Bucky bit his lip, term paper be damned, you were tucked right into his side and he was fighting himself not to wrap his arm around your waist to pull you closer. He huffed through his nose, reading the same paragraph ten times over, not once actually comprehending what it said. The soft scent of your shampoo was evading his senses and it didn’t help that your head was leaning onto his shoulder.

Keep reading

#chris evans #in where he is actually steve rogers

electric

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Flirtationship has a different meaning with Bucky, and his patience doesn’t last long when it comes to you. 

warnings: unprotected sex (18+), teasing, nudity, semi-public fingering, oral sex, fucking against a window, ass grabbing and a couple of spanks, some orgasm denial, swearing, alcohol use but the sex is all consensual 

word count: 6.3k

a/n: This is some gratuitous smut that I wrote a while ago! It’s mostly proof-read. Feedback is always appreciated!!

masterlist

“If you squat any lower he might just have a heart attack.” Natasha’s quip comes from beside you and you fight the urge to face her. Don’t dare risk the chance of catching Bucky’s gaze from the corner of your eye. 

As the weather shifted to summer, it wouldn’t be long before the glaring sun and burning heat became far too overwhelming. So when the sun shone bright with a cool breeze, the Compound gym was ignored with ease in favour of the spacious lawns. 

Yoga mats are laid out as the sun rises closer to its peak, and you and Natasha are quick to move from stretches to simple exercises with resistance bands pulled taut around your thighs. 

Keep reading

I love love love this. This is so Sam/Anthony coded. Exactly how I think he’d react.

Playing It Cool

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam’s getting way too suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, laundry room shenanigans, sam wilson being done

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam didn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t the coffee. It wasn’t even the lingering PTSD from a week spent chasing Hydra remnants. No, this was different.

This was gut feeling. Instinct.

He was standing in the kitchen, hair wild, hoodie misaligned, and eyes like a war veteran who’d seen things and couldn’t unsee them. The clock blinked a smug 7:03 a.m. He poured black coffee like a man betrayed by the very concept of sleep.

That’s when he saw it.

Two mugs on the counter.

One had your initials. The other—a vintage WWII fighter plane sticker. It hadn’t been there last night. He knew, because he always did a final kitchen sweep before bed. Counters clean. Dishes put away. Mugs? Accounted for.

His eye twitched.

“…Barnes,” Sam whispered.

He crouched slowly, inspecting the mugs like they might start confessing their crimes.

Then the hallway creaked. Sam turned so fast he sloshed coffee onto his hoodie.

You entered the room, yawning dramatically, hoodie sleeves engulfing your hands.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

Sam squinted. “Is it? Is it really?”

You blinked. “…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with the exact tone of a man who was absolutely not fine. He walked to the table and pulled out a chair like it owed him money. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Because I have questions.”

“I’m not under interrogation.”

“You are now.”

“…Sam.”

“Tell me what you were doing between 0500 and 0700 hours.”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

You squinted. “What kind of creepy follow-up—?”

Sam narrowed his eyes like a raccoon about to steal a whole rotisserie chicken. “I knew it. There’s a cover-up.”

You grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the hallway. “There’s a cover-up on your brain, Wilson.”

“I’ve seen the signs,” Sam called after you. “The glances! The whispers! The ‘accidental’ brush of hands during mission briefings!”

“Maybe I’m just clumsy!” you yelled.

“And matching mugs?”

“That sticker was mine first!”

Before Sam could yell something, Bucky entered the room, with aexpression criminally smug. He looked like the kind of man who had just done something worth hiding.

“Morning,” Bucky said, voice low and gravelly. He moved to the coffee pot.

Sam’s eyes followed him like a hawk on its sixth espresso.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m great,” Sam replied. “Y/N just left.”

“Cool.”

“Came in lookin’ real tired.”

“People get tired.”

“You look real tired.”

Bucky paused, looked Sam dead in the eye. “You implying something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I don’t know. You implying something?”

They stared each other down. The air crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled by. A raven cawed.

“You need sleep,” Bucky muttered.

“I’ll sleep when the truth sleeps,” Sam snapped back.

Then Sam dramatically left the room—only to storm back in ten seconds later to grab a banana. He peeled it with authority and left again.

Later that morning, when Sam had finally left for a jog—or more accurately, a neighborhood reconnaissance mission—you found yourself back in the kitchen. You were putting away a dish, humming quietly to yourself, when a pair of warm arms slid around your waist.

You didn’t jump. You never did when it was him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured against your neck, voice soft now, stripped of the earlier smugness he reserved for sparring with Sam. His lips brushed your skin like a secret.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest. “You’re not worried Sam’s going to install surveillance cameras?”

“He probably already has.” You both laughed.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left my mug out on purpose, you know.”

You turned your head to look at him, brow raised. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, expression boyishly proud. “He’s been circling for weeks. Figured we’d give him a trail to follow. Let the man feel like he cracked the case.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You are so chaotic.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest. “Yeah… I kinda do.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said, even with a super-spy roommate and questionable mugs, this? This is real.

Later that night you bumped into Sam, sitting on the couch. He was hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring ahead

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice low and suspicious, eyes narrowing like you’d just confessed to treason.

You froze. “Uh. Laundry?”

“Interesting,” he said, voice dripping with suspicion. “You know who else said they had laundry tonight?”

You blinked. “…Literally everyone who owns clothes?”

Sam didn’t smile. He leaned in, voice lowering like he was revealing national security secrets. “Barnes. Same night. Same floor. Same time.”

You paused just long enough to regret getting out of your room.

“It’s a laundry room, Sam,” you said flatly. “That’s how they work. People… use it.”

“Mmmhm,” he replied, writing something cryptic in his notebook. The pen squeaked aggressively against the page.

Just then, the door swung open—and in walked Bucky Barnes, freshly showered, damp hair swept back like a shampoo commercial, whistling something suspiciously upbeat.

 “Y/N. Wilson,” he greeted smoothly.

“Barnes,” Sam said, staring like he was trying to burn a hole through his soul with his eyes.

You smiled. Just a regular smile. Harmless. No romantic undertones. Just two coworkers… being cordial.

Totally.

 “You know... I was asking Y/N here,” Sam said, still squinting, “about her suspiciously coordinated laundry schedule.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “Must be fate.”

You coughed, choking down a laugh.

Sam slammed his notebook shut with the kind of theatrical flair that screamed “I was born for this drama.”

“Enough. You think I’m not onto you. But I see things.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You seeing ghosts again?”

“I’m seeing clues, Barnes. Don’t play dumb. You two doing laundry together. The mugs. The vanishing act during last Tuesday’s debrief—twenty minutes. Both of you. Gone.”

You opened your mouth, searching for a reasonable explanation, but let’s be honest—this was Sam. There was no “reasonable” left. This man had turned your laundry schedule into a covert op.

You crossed your arms. “We went to get snacks.”

“Snacks,” Sam echoed flatly.

“Yes,” you said, trying to maintain dignity. “You know. Human food. Fuel. Chips. The sacred post-mission ritual.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change. “For twenty minutes.”

“There was a vending machine incident,” Bucky added smoothly, stepping closer, unbothered. “Y/N had a standoff with a bag of peanut M&Ms. It got intense.”

You rolled your eyes as Bucky leaned casually against the doorframe, looking way too smug for someone being accused of laundry-based espionage.

Sam was relentless. “You think this is a game? Because I’ve got spreadsheets. I’ve got charts. I have timestamps.”

“I’m flattered,” Bucky replied, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize I was your top case file.”

“You’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’re just the most suspicious.”

You shook your head, already backing toward the hallway. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go… do the thing. With the clothes. Like a normal human person.”

“Sure you are,” Sam muttered, squinting again like he was two seconds away from installing security cameras.

“Goodnight, Wilson,” Bucky said with a wink. And then—because of course—he followed you out.

“Hey!” Sam called. “This isn’t over!”

You didn’t turn around, but you did hear the sound of him furiously scribbling in that cursed notebook again.

You and Bucky sat side by side on top of the industrial dryer, the hum of the spinning machines filling the quiet room. A single overhead light flickered occasionally, casting a soft glow over the laundry baskets at your feet. The scent of fabric softener lingered in the warm air.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” you murmured, folding a hoodie with unnecessary precision.

“He already has,” Bucky said, smirking. “Tried to stick a tracker in my jacket this morning.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “We should start leaving fake clues. Plant a puzzle piece under his pillow. Hang a tie in the garage.”

“I already put a sock in the fridge,” Bucky said casually, reaching over to pull a warm towel from the dryer.

You turned to look at him, mouth open in delight. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Red. Argyle. No explanation.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I love you.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “I know.”

You went quiet for a beat, letting the rhythm of the machines and the safe warmth between you fill the space. His knee rested against yours. The scent of his cologne barely clung to the edge of his freshly laundered shirt.

He reached for your hand, twining his fingers through yours beneath the basket of still-warm socks. “He’s getting close, though. We are getting pretty obvious.”

“You wanna stop?” you asked, turning toward him.

He looked at you—really looked. And it was all soft eyes, steady presence, and a patience you hadn’t known you needed until him.

“Not a chance.”

Bucky smiled, warm and easy, and pressed his forehead lightly to yours.

“So,” you whispered, “what are we going to do when Sam actually proves something?”

“We deny everything.”

You laughed. “Even under interrogation?”

“Especially under interrogation.”

One day, he’d prove it.

But not today.

Meanwhile in the living room, Sam was writing in his notebook. On the top of the page:

CASE #110: They’re DEFINITELY Dating. And beneath it, scrawled in increasingly frantic handwriting:

shared laundry = suspicious

“Coincidentally” always sitting next to each other

Y/N smiled at him like he invented air.

Bucky smiled back.

FRIDAY pinged softly. “Sir, your blood pressure is elevated.”

“Because there’s a LIE in this house, Friday!”

War was still on.

But as long as you had Bucky Barnes looking at you like you were his whole world?

You were definitely still winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2

A/N: it's me again, hi. just wanted to say a big thank you for all the comments and feedback i've been getting from all of you. never thought that a one-shot could turn into a series with already SEVEN PARTS. anyway, just thank you all again. i hope you're liking where this is going. see you next chapter <3

IMAGINE HIM PUTTING THAT RING AROUND A CHAIN AND GIVING IT TO YOU THO

HIS FUCKING INITIALS???!!!??!?????? THATS SO DAMN SEXY ITS A FUCKING FALLS DOWN THERE KITTY IS ROARING

by Jerana

When Bucky watches Tony and Steve laughing together at a Charity Gala, he can’t control his jealousy anymore. Steve is his and his alone. Still, it takes the help of Tony for them to figure out their feelings…

Words: 5489, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Dominant Bucky Barnes, Submissive Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Jealousy, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Mutual Pining, Threats of Violence, Smut, Dry Humping, Rimming, Bruises, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Daddy Kink, Steve Rogers gets fucked stupid, And Bucky can’t hold back, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark is a Jerk, But in the end they owe him

okay like kinda true but we love his dumb hunkyness

Chris Evans reads Mean Tweets on Jimmy Kimmel Live, 2018

I’m With the Band Pt 4

Pairing: RockstarBucky x Rockstar!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2,000 something..

Summary: You've been Bucky's plaything on his US tour but when he brings drummer Steve home, things heat up.

Warnings: 18+ - Minors, DO NOT INTERACT please! cursing, drinking, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, fingering, light choking, male piercings, dubcon, double penetration, stripping, verbal degredation and humiliation, mild cuckholding, mention of drugs, threesome. There is just lots going on here 😩

--------------------

You had been touring with Buck for nearly two weeks now and your status as a glorified groupie had been solidified after TMZ ran a story the night prior. A paparazzi snafu outside of a haute celebrity steakhouse had made the website’s front page; Bucky’s arm was draped around you, cig hanging out of his mouth. The headline blasted, “Bucky Barnes Steps Out With Barely Legal Floozy - Will it Last?”

All of the negative press and faux glamour was well worth it though because Bucky would perform to sold-out crowds clamouring with screaming co-eds, and then return to you in the earliest hours of the morning to fuck you mercilessly.

You knew the band’s set inside out by now and while you had grown partial to their heavy metal ballads and electric riffs, some nights you just preferred to curl up into your plush hotel robe, watch a cheesy pay-per-view rom-com, and indulge in overpriced room service. But on this particular night, you had no idea what Bucky had up his sleeve.

Like clockwork, Bucky would always stumble in around 3 or 4am, his breath reeking of 80 proof and his fingertips lingering with tobacco resin. Most women wouldn’t tolerate the behaviour and though you had identified his recklessness and boy-like stupor as fatal flaws, you were falling for him. Hard.

He would fuck you with heedless passion - never once inquiring about your feelings or concerns. He couldn’t even throw a rag your way to clean up his salty messes - his sole objective was to get off and if you happened to also find pleasure in the process, he wouldn’t protest. Self-care just wasn’t a part of his repertoire. Bucky was nauseatingly self-serving but you just never questioned it because you were still embarrassingly enamoured with this achingly beautiful rockstar bestowing attention on you.

You laid atop the pillowy soft California King bed, nothing on but a satin La Perla robe that Bucky's black Amex had doled out. You thumbed through your US History textbook, unable to focus on the task at hand - Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello. Bucky should have been back by now. You frantically tapped your acrylic nails on the edge of your phone, anxiously awaiting his return. You thought about texting him but you didn’t need to want to seem needy. He had warned you that it wasn’t cute when you seemed needy.

You heard the muffled laughter of two male voices outside of the room door - two voices? Yeah, definitely two. But this made zero sense because The Winter Soldiers were always under contract to stay on separate floors - hotel policy to discourage the stereotypical rocker raucousness.

As you darted off the bed, Bucky traipsed through the doorway. You made out the second man who followed closely behind - it was Steve Rogers, the drummer. Oh FUCK.

Steve wasn’t a partier like Buck, he was the private, pensive type that ran a militant ten miles each morning and filled his spare time with Seinfeld re-runs or FaceTiming his mom. You had never once witnessed him doing lines or shooting back Jack Daniels at the bar - he just seemed like the foil to Bucky’s rebel without a cause attitude. It was a shock to see him here, honestly. He was usually the first to leave the venue and would never join the boys in their depraved debauchery.

The two men were giddy and as Bucky tripped over the edge of the dresser, he put his ebony-polished finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion, as if you were the one creating racket. Was he too stoned to realize he was the one sneaking into the room like a teenage boy missing curfew? Probably.

“Hiiiiiiiii baby!” Bucky purred as he threw his flimsy hotel keycard haphazardly onto the table and stumbled towards the couch. “We just played a fuckin’ amazing show and I told Stevie he should come back and party with us.”

You glared, eyes narrowing scornfully. Really, Bucky?Post-show sex was something you had grown accustomed to and you weren’t really sure how Steve would fit into that equation. You were instantly cranky, knowing that your nightly dick appointment had been ruined by the tall, blonde super soldier.

Steve slunk into the sofa, a domestic beer in hand. "Did you have a good night, hun?" Hun, huh?

You tightened the the silken robe around your waist curtly, crossed your arms, bottom lip pouty and possessive, on the verge of a tantrum. “Bucky.. what the hell? I wasn't planning to entertain guests.”

Bucky completely ignored your clear disdain for the situation. “Why don’t you give us a lil’ striptease, eh?” He grabbed the silky tassels of your robe and pulled you toward him harshly, almost falling into his lap as you teetered uneasily. You considered protesting but after ogling Steve and realizing how effortlessly gorgeous he looked just non-chalantly vibing on the couch, you decided to let the night play out.

Steve had been so attentive throughout the entire tour, bringing you London Fogs from local cafes or making sure you had the best spot to watch the show at every venue. You sometimes felt homesick and Steve empathetically clued in, trying his best to provide creature comforts or lend an ear when you tried working through your college assignments. You were sure he was just being polite, part of his traditional upbringing, but it went a long way because Bucky never seemed to give a shit about you unless he was blowing your back out.

You swayed from side to side, hooking a strand of hair behind your ear as you plopped onto Steve’s lap. “Go on, dance up on him baby,” Bucky commanded as he threw back a swig of whatever alcoholic concoction he was sipping on, stretching his legs out eagerly.

Steve was so much bigger than Bucky - bigger shoulders, bigger quads - his bigger hands gently squeezing the top of your thighs. You could assume that he was bigger everywhere as the outline of his length tented in his navy velour trousers.

You could have sworn he whispered, “you’re beautiful.”

Your brow creased with confusion as he thumbed his way up your supple thighs and towards the vulnerable gap between your legs. You just knew your pupils were blown out, dumbstruck, clit throbbing. You recoiled at his touch, it felt wrong for Bucky’s best friend to be pawing at you and for you to be enjoying it.

Bucky sat across from you, legs splayed out, elbows resting on his knees and gazing at you two intently. He wasn't a cuck but he clearly had an hidden kink for watching.

This came as a shock because Bucky was territorial and would seethe with envy when other men leered at you. Whenever you were hit on in public, Bucky took out his jealous frustration on you - whether that meant shoving his hands up your dress and curling a few fingers up into you, or fucking you up against the bathroom wall mere moments after a harmless gentleman caller called you cute. He may have been a rockstar but insecurity still permeated from him.

“You gonna let us take turns, babe?” Bucky yanked the side table drawer open and grabbed a bottle of sticky, well-used lube. “Or you gonna smarten up and let us take a hole each?” He glanced at Steve, hoping for an air high five or a “yeah, man!” in return. But Steve was laser-focused on groping your smooth, tanned thighs.

“She’s so tight, Steve.. tightest chick I’ve ever split open,” he bragged, undoing his pants to expose his bare, inflating cock. You hated when he talked about you like you weren’t even in the room. You hated it.

It was clear to you that Bucky was going to offer you up as some sort of sacrificial lamb tonight but you were oddly fine with the arrangement. You fixated on Steve, the sexual tension mounting for weeks. He grazed the back of his palm against your cheek, “you smell like peaches, angel.”

Bucky grabbed you by the forearm, mounting you over the edge of the couch. Firm hands gripped your waist, “bend over.. gonna fuck this sweet ass,” he hissed, pushing the small of your back forward and hiking your robe up. You had never taken anything, not even so much as a single finger, in that hole. Bucky knew you wanted to keep anal off limits but tonight, he craved popping your cherry and his violent decisiveness made your pussy throb. Or maybe it was Steve's sweet sweeping motions as his hand inched towards your clit. Or maybe it was both.

“C’mon Stevie, come fuck this skank,” Bucky beckoned. Steve dropped his trousers and revealed his length. Yep, definitely bigger.

“You got a box of rubbers, Buck?” He looked around curiously, scanning for a box of Magnums. Bucky huffed, you both knew he didn’t do condoms.

And while Steve was trying his best to be respectful, in this moment he could still be reduced to a typical hormonal thirty-something. The sight of his best friend bending you over had him pumping his meaty cock hungrily.

This entire interaction had made your brain go all fuzzy. Bucky splattered a long string of lube into his hand, dragged it along his length, and rammed his cock into the tight ring of virgin muscle. "Jesus, fuckin' hell, this ass is so damn tight, baby doll," he moaned, pushing himself into you deeper, no regard for you. The silver metal ring first, then the tip, then his entire engorged cock. Your eyes rolled back, tears welled in your eyes, and you knew instinctively to fight through the punch of pain and pressure.

“Steve…” you struggled to get the words out, sharp breaths escaping your lips as Bucky rhythmically smashed inside your tight ass, desperation dripping from you. You needed him inside you, too. You looked up at him, long eyelashes fluttering. He couldn’t resist.

Steve approached correctly, peeling his tight onyx wifebeater to reveal a chest inked with tats. His thick cock in hand, he used your slick to slide in underneath Bucky, gently pushing into your pretty pink entrance. You expected him to rut into you furiously, just like Bucky always did. But Steve fucked into you with slow, gentle strokes. Bucky shot him a dirty look, “Man.. she’s not gonn’ break, fuck her!”

Though you couldn’t see his face, you heard Steve hum lowly into your ear, “every piece of you is perfect .. sooo tight.” You lapped up every scrap of praise he threw at you.

Steve picked up the pace, stretching you out with his girth. You could feel both buff men inside you, could feel radiating friction - feel their lengths touching - just a sheath of thin skin between them. Measured cadence as they both pumped back and forth inside you made you realize why these two were some of the most revered musicians - they were so in sync. Bucky’s cock dragged in and out of your virgin hole while Steve’s swollen length pierced your velvety walls. It was ecstasy.

Bucky jammed his index finger into your mouth, tugging violently - his signature move. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer because his thrusts got shorter and faster, his cock entirely engorged with blood, his breaths shallow. He pulled out with wanton disregard, ropes of his white pleasure marking your back.

"Good girl..” he huffed, “I need a smoke.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and slicked his jet black hair back, sliding the glass balcony door open.

It was just you and Steve now and you were glad one of the super soldiers had vacated your body. You loved being filled up to the brink but it was a relief to not be air-locked any longer. Steve bent down as he was balls-deep inside you, dusting your ear with his knuckles and whispering, “are you gonna cum for me, pretty thing?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, ruminating over your response, butterflies swelling in your stomach. Bucky never asked what you wanted, he just took what he needed and left you with the fallout. You nodded weakly, “I..I wanna cum for you.”

He dipped his left hand down between your thighs, rubbing your clit in small, quick motions. “Do you like that, angel?” You were absolutely cockdrunk on this man and nodded sloppily, your walls pulsing. Steve kissed the side of your neck, “I’m going to cum inside you, peaches - uhhnn - you’re such a perfect girl for Steve.” Bucky would be back any moment and he wouldn’t like this - Steve was here to give you a nasty fuck, not romance you.

Steve fucked you beautifully, every languid motion deliberate and well-timed. It made sense that he was a drummer - his rhythm was immaculate. It was the closest thing to making love a rockstar could offer up. It didn’t make sense but it didn’t matter.

You became entirely untethered as a wash of pleasure swept over you. He peppered your shoulders with kisses as he shot his creamy load deep inside.

As you heard the glass door slide shut, you jolted up and snapped out of the fucking tizzy Steve had put you in. “How was it bud? Wasn’t she a good fuck?” Bucky asked rhetorically.

“Yeah bro, she’s a good gal,” he replied as he tugged his trousers back on. “I better go, we got Tokyo 101.2 in the morning.”

Steve left without a word to you, likely because he didn’t want to piss off Bucky and get you into any trouble. He knew Bucky had a viciously jealous temper and Steve was just grateful his buddy was willing to share you. No need to rock the boat, especially if he wanted this sexual relationship to continue.

Relishing in the obscenely depraved romp you had just been gifted, you fetched a cold bottle of Perrier from the mini-bar and plunked down on the bed. You were a puddle of emotions, eyes glazed over, dumbfounded at what happened. What was his motive? Bucky was his best friend, his bandmate, hell - he was pretty much his platonic life partner. It just didn't make sense.

You flicked off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed with Bucky, the sun just beginning to peek over the Santa Ana mountains.

-------------------- Bucky had slunk out of the suite at an ungodly hour to meet up with Steve for the Japanese press junket. He probably hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at best. Selfishly, you were just relieved that you could sprawl out in the bed and get a few more hours of beauty sleep before the jaunt to San Diego.

You were startled awake with a rap at the door, still groggy. Your lower body swelled with a dull ache - you really pushed your limits the night prior and would just be smitten with any kind of pain reliever. You rubbed your eyes and slinked out of bed, kicking on your pink shearling slippers.

You shuffled to the door, yawning widely as you unlatched and swung it open. It was concierge with a bouquet of big, beautiful Stargazer lilies. The note affixed to the flowers read, “Good morning, peaches." Two extra-strength Advil were taped to the note.

You gulped anxiously, acutely aware of the triangle that had unintentionally formed. Thirty-four dates were still remaining on the tour and things just got really interesting.

--------------------------

Thank you sooo much for reading, my angels !

All other parts can be found here