let's all admit it, sebastian stan is a fucking puppy. if he plunges the world into an apocalyptic ice age, he'd probably do it with an innocent grin and a really excited glassy look in his eyes all oh my gosh and i'd probably just accept my fate happily
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Qualityâś“ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
but imagine Bucky nude modeling for Steve. that's all I have to say tbh
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW JONI
HOW ABOUT HECK TO THE YESÂ
- - -
Bucky shifts both feet where its propped up onto the bottom of the stool he is sitting on. He almost sways out of balance, but flaps his arms hard enough to settle himself down again.
"Whoa. That was close."
Steve doesn’t say anything as he peers closely onto the page of his towering sketch.
"Steve." Bucky calls.
“Steve." he whines.
"Steeeeve."
"Buckyyy.." Steve murmurs back as he smudges out something with an eraser.
"Now that’s just rude, pal." Bucky points out, "I got naked for you and you sass me."
There’s a small quirk of a smile that fills Steve’s lips.Â
"Not the first time that ever happened."
Bucky grins, and Steve laughs.
The next morning, Bucky wakes up to sunshine—bright, soft sunshine, slipping past their shabby curtains and spreading out onto their equally shabby sheets. He gently blinks away the sleep from his eyes, brows furrowing at the flood of light, until he allows himself to watch the stillness of Steve’s back. His eyes follow the slopes and curves and sharp turns and finds warmth in the way the sunlight spills over all the familiar lines. His eyes linger at the gentle swathe of blanket that curls around Steve's hip.
He smiles, slips out of bed as quietly as he could, and moves Steve’s easel.
He flips into a blank page.
It’s about time somebody put to paper the most beautiful subject Bucky has ever seen.
PLEASE WRITE A HS!AU WITH PUNK!BUCKY AND JOCK!STEVE I'M IN NEED /I LOVE U/
I CAN ALWAYS TRUST HANNAH TO GIVE ME FUCKIN GREAT IDEAS
[CRADLES YOUR HEAD]
ALSO I DO NOT KNOW FLAG FOOTBALL EVEN IF I FUCKING TRIED
- - -
The football sails sixty yards across, fifteen gazes following the trajectory of it as it arcs over their heads. It hits a goal post and ricochets off to the bleachers.
"What the fuck." Sam says to himself before turning, bamboozled, toward’s Steve’s direction. "What the fuck?!"
Steve squints to where the ball landed. “My bad.”
"Oh shut up, Rogers, that was amazing!" Sam roars, running towards his direction, "Damn! Who taught you that?!"
Steve laughs. “Luck.”Â
"Well, share the luck my man." Sam grins but then says seriously, "But I ain’t getting that ball. Technically it didn’t go in, so I still won the bet."
Steve grins. “Fine. On your left.” he teases as he jogs past Sam.
He finally reaches the far end of the field and finds where the ball has landed—just by the bleachers, laid almost too neatly at the opening of the tarpaulin covering its underside.
Steve bends down and scoops it within his hands when he sees a flash of leather jacket where the tarp—now that Steve is looking at it more closely—has been pried open. He peers inside.
"You need anything?" Leather jacket says comfortably as he slightly adjusts his sprawled form across the grass. There’s about three cans of empty root beer littered around him, and an empty kitkat bar wrapper on his chest. He gives him a small look past his sunglasses before placing both hands underneath his head and looking back up to the ceiling.
"You got a good arm." he lazily says.
Steve blinks. “Thanks.” he says uncertainly. “You know, most people watch the game on the bleachers, not under it.”
Leather jacket snickers, almost condescendingly. “You know, if you widen your stance a little and tilt your body back just a smidge, you’d be able to land that ball right between the posts.”
Steve actually laughs. “That’s quite some pointers for a person hiding under the bleachers.”
Leather jacket shrugs. “Take it or leave it, pal.”
The next practice, Steve sets his feet a bit wider.
The ball goes through.
- - -
Steve finds Leather jacket under the bleachers once again, doesn’t excuse himself, and barges through the ripped tarpaulin.
He sets a bar of kitkat on his chest and roughly presses a cold can of root beer on his face. The sight of spastic flailing is worth every shoulder punch Leather jacket plants on him.
"What the fuck, Rogers!"
Steve opens his own drink, waiting for the fizz to die down. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
Leather jacket pushes back his sunglasses that is currently sliding off the bridge of his nose.Â
"Barnes." he answers, peeling the wrapper off the kitkat bar and taking a ridiculously big bite through all four of the wafer sticks. Steve rubs a hand all over his face, sighing exasperatedly.
"Of course you would."
"Fuck the rules." Barnes mumbles through an insane amount of chocolate in his mouth.
Steve snickers so hard he ends up choking on a big gulp of mountain dew.
- - -
Three days after, Steve passes by Leather Jacket Barnes in the school hallway.
"I think," Steve mutters as he catches Barnes’ arm, "You missed the memo about how it’s actually not that sunny indoors." He smirks teasingly and Barnes looks away, chuckling.
He takes off his sunglasses and looks straight into Steve’s eyes.
"Better?"
Steve looks like his been hit by a slightly over-speeding truck, or an extremely over-pedaling kid on a bicycle.
"Yeah," Steve says, tone bordering on breathless, "Much."
- - -
SHIT, THOSE ARE FUCKING GREAT LOOKING EYES
SHIT
SHIT FUCK
SHIT
FUCK
- - -
With enough cajoling, Barnes ('What is your first name—how the hell is this even a normal friendship—' 'You gotta work hard for that privilege, Steve.' 'THIS IS NOT FAIR AT ALL.') finally agrees to shed off his jacket.
"Man, those are nice." Steve muses, taking an arm and looking at the tattoos closely.
"It’s coming along." Barnes answers, an elbow set on his knee as his free hand leisurely combs his hair. "I want an entire sleeve."
"Misfits." Steve muses, both brows raised, "Ramones though." he says, and Barnes looks quite impressed.
"You know things."
"Hell yeah I know things." he says, his breath fanning across Barnes’ skin.
Steve doesn’t say anything when he presses a finger tip on a particularly gorgeous splash of watercolor along the bulk of Barnes’ shoulder. Barnes doesn’t say anything when Steve starts tracing along the lines of a red star nestled in the middle of it. They only breathe along each others space, or maybe their collective space—they’re sitting so close the boundaries of where one starts and the other ends are starting to blur.
Barnes breathes out. He takes his arm from Steve’s hand.
"Just tell me what you want." he murmurs.
Steve reaches out and kisses him, eyes closed, lips moving languidly against his. He lets his fingers card through his hair, softly yet longingly. Barnes exhales sharply when they break apart just slightly, and presses his mouth against Steve’s again, short but sweet.
"Bucky." Barnes says gently.
Steve smiles adoringly, like he’s heard the one greatest fucking thing in the world.
- - -
It’s the school year’s first home game.
"Commandos, in three—one, two, three!"
“COMMANDOS!" A collective howl echoes from their circle of padded shoulders and painted helmets.
Steve breathes in and out, in and out, and looks out into the crowd one last time. He spots a black leather jacket, an unmistakable smirk, and a sign.
Everything sweet and amazing about Sebastian Stanthat I knew beforehand was basically me dousing myself with gasoline and Philly con was him flicking a lit match at my direction
Y'ALL SHOULD TELL ME YOUR CUTE CHRIS/SEB HEADCANONS
BECAUSE I'M JUST HAVING A FIELD DAY IMAGINING CHRIS BEING SO UNEQUIVOCALLY VOCAL ABOUT HOW CUTE AND SWEET HE FINDS SEB AND JUST GIVING HIM HUGS ALL THE DAMN TIME AND RUFFLING HIS FLUFFY HAIR AND HOLDING HIS FACE WITH BOTH PALMS PRESSED AGAINST HIS CHUB CHEEKS WHICH HE PINCHES A LOT AND BURYING HIS NOSE INTO THE CROOK OF SEB'S NECK JUST EVER SO SLIGHTLY WHEN THEY GIVE EACH OTHER HUGS IN PUBLIC PLACES
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Qualityâś“ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The rogue tide, the ocean waves, and the shore they call home [by: Nhixxie] "Well," Natasha smiles, "Welcome home, cap." She leaves, and the silence doubles in its intensity, until it’s the only sound that rings in Steve’s ears. Home has long been lost, he thinks. No amount of sound can fill a house that does not exist. One day, Bucky shows up at his door--and the sound was deafening." [credit: 1, 2]