#fat Steve Roger’s

[chubbydrawer]

*now on patreon* As Steve Rogers ran down the street after his muscle growth experiment, he began to feel heavier with each step… #maleweightgain #fat #chubby #thick #gainer #gainerart #bigboy #bigbelly #fatter #growingboy #growingbelly #tightclothes #poppingseams

[itsalmostavengers]

If people had had the SENSE to sleep with Steve Rogers back when he was shorter then they would have known he fucked like an absolute freak. Unfortunately it seems no one took any FUCKING INITIATIVE in the 40’s and just wasted all the unhinged horny potential of a 5’5 man who knew any day could be his last and lived like it. A real damn shame.

[blackynsupremacy]

JUST HIM

big, muscular men that act embarrassed when they’re referred to as “baby boy”, “pookie”, or “stink stink”, but they lowkey eat that mushy shit up. they can’t help, but to freeze and blush because at first they think you’re teasing, but in actuality, you call them that because underneath that hard, toned muscular exterior they’re just a big cinnamon roll when it comes to the people they care about, including you. you see their heart truly for what it is. you see him. not the actor, not the superhero, not the god, nor the mythical creature. just him.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[comicwaren]

From Ultimates Vol. 4 #006

Art by Juan Frigeri and Federico Blee

Written by Deniz Camp

[wotvagyok]

My thoughts are currently consumed by Trans Steve starting T and getting all kinds of thicc because of it.

At first noticing the changes, how he’s filling out in all the right places, the little stretch marks on his new belt, on his arms, his thick love handles. It’s all dense and doughy, he’s so sturdy now, so chonky.

And then a couple of years in, a few self discoveries later, sat between Bucky’s thighs, so stuffed and bloated and round, Bucky’s hand in his skin-tight and torn boxers, pressing into him, holding another bite to his lips.

Steve’s lax, pressed against his chest, head lying limp against Bucky’s shoulder. His brain his empty, eyes glazed, as he opens his mouth to keep eating.

“Good boy.” Bucky whispers to him as he bucks his hips in desperation. “Gettin’ so fat,” a hand slides down to the blushing swell of his stomach, sitting in his lap now, and rubs soothing circles across the taut skin. He reaches for another few fries and holds them to Steve’s mouth when he finishes chewing. Steve takes a gasping bite. “Such a good, greedy boy.”

[moonythejedi394]

snippet from my new fic for @bookbat1937

If it was possible for a Dom to be a brat, Bucky was one. It started like this. Steve had been minding his own business doing a semester as a TA for an Intro to Drawing class in Brooklyn. Bucky was in his class. In the icebreakers, Steve just walked up to him and offered to shake his hand.

“Hi, I’m the TA,” he had said, “my name’s Steve Rogers.”

Bucky smiled at him, having taken his hand, and then instead of shaking it, he kissed it.

“Hey,” he replied casually, “my name’s Bucky, but you can call me whatever you like. I do prefer Daddy, though.”

Now, Steve should have smacked him on the hand. But he had just had a heat, and sometimes when an Alpha pulls that shit it just works.Also, Bucky had just so happened to guess Steve’s biggest kink. In two seconds. Steve had blushed and opened his mouth, then gotten ahold of himself and went on to the next person. 

The flirting did not end there.

The next semester, Steve had started as TA for Intro to Drawing and Intro to Printmaking, and by G-d, he was there again. He grinned all bright and Steve spent the whole class catching him staring. He did get a little flustered. Told himself to ignore it. Did not expect the bouquet of sunflowers and irises Bucky showed up with immediately after that class, like not just the same day, Steve had walked out to his locker after cleaning up the studio as he had a class in fifteen minutes and up behind him came Bucky. Sunflowers, purple irises, and juniper.

“I heard that fella Van Goch thought these were pretty,” he had said. “And the juniper is a fire plant. Yannow, like passion.”

“It’s Van Gogh,” Steve corrected him.

But dammit, he took the flowers.

[bucksangel]

this isn’t aimed at anyone in particular but i really hate reading fics with chubby/fat characters and the author saying something along the lines of “they were chubby but still beautiful” heavily implying that being fat/chubby is Bad and Ugly when it is exactly the opposite. people who are fat and chubby are beautiful, and that includes their weight. it’s not an add on, it’s not a “i love them even though…”

i understand not everyone might be aware of the wording of their writing because society has taught us that being anything other than a socially acceptable weight is wrong, but im begging y’all to please fight it and showcase it in your writing.

[thattripleabattery]

I just took a James Bond class in college last semester and it made me realize how male body standards in movies has changed especially me being a big fan of super hero movies

For instance James Bond portrayed by Sean Connery in the 1960s

His character is shown as a bombshell ladies man

When in modern day films portraying a desirable male body shows dehydrated unhealthy bodies which makes me so upset

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Ykw... I rlly thought all those images and gifs of Steve were edited but his lips rlly are just THAT pink and plush in the movies huh

related to this

Oh yeah, fuck yeah, Chris Evans has unfair DSLs editing or no editing 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Motherfucker

[chubthings-by-georgie]

Finally have a place to organize my chub fics!!

A short oneshot depicting the lovely and peaceful life of Steve and Bucky one year after marriage and how happiness and Bucky’s cooking habits have affected Steve’s waistline.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Goooodddddd fat spoiled Bucky is my Roman Empire need more of him and masseuse Steve omg. Imagining him on his hands and knees for Steve lying on his big belly or Steve massaging his belly till he reaches his fat pad skdjdjsj I need more of them

Totally, utterly spoiled fat Bucky and masseuse Steve

You have me thinking of all different kinds of scenarios with them 🤤🤤

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink ahead, LOTS of fat-shaming, immobility/mobility issues, this is a BIG BUCKY, stuckage, button pops, etc.

There's one summer night, literally in the middle of the night, an hour, maybe two past midnight, when Bucky has the air conditioning fucking blasting in his room because it's hot outside but mostly because he's way too fucking hot underneath all his fat. He's about as insulated with blubber as a whale is for the cold ocean depths but he isn't in the ocean (unless the ocean of sweat he's dripping with counts), he's beached on land. And all that jiggling, thick fat leaves Bucky flicking a finger toward the help, wheezing through airy burps and hissing hiccups that they must place an "emergency call" to Steve. He needs more help than just his live-in servants who tirelessly have fetched him lidded platters of "midnight snacks" that are anything but snacks.

Bucky woke up craving more before midnight. He wasn't hungry, he just wanted more. And he's been stuffing himself for hours now. Hours to midnight and hours past midnight, chasing a craving that he just can't satisfy, his taste grown too greedy in his years of spoiling. He's been ruined.

Now, he's packed full of so much food that he's in pain. It hurts. He's so full it hurts. He wolfed down too much too fast after a hedonistic dinner that was (like his snacks not being snack-sized) not a dinner but an endless parade of dishes mirroring a grand feast in his grand dining room. A room designed with lavish parties in mind; parties and celebrations that Bucky has never thrown because he rarely has others not a part of his staff on his acreage, his kingdom and castle are devoted to him and him alone. He has enough hunger to fill the dining room with its lengthy table and, underneath anyone else's much more reasonable weight, sturdy chairs.

With enough of a feast fit for a royal court destroyed entirely by one greedy, fat king and another sprawling meal of its own piled on top of that feast, Bucky desperately, desperately needs Steve. He's tired - sleepy and ready to fall into a food coma unlike any he's had before. There is no way he can lift his flabby, bingo-wing arms to rub his angrily gurgling tummy himself. He can hardly see straight! His eyes are watery from the exquisite, aching strain of his overexpanded stomach. A few tears have fallen from his eyes, too, trailing slowly down his plump cheeks as the pressure inside his body becomes too much and something has to give - his tears are squeezed out. He's overflowing.

He keeps hiccuping and that makes everything hurt worse, his eyes unfocusing and blurring that much more. He's throbbing. He can feel the muscles, buried under layers and pounds of thick flesh, stretching and straining in an effort to keep his blimp-sized gut attached to him. He can feel every bite of food inside him, jostled with each painful hic! hic! hic! and he doesn't regret one mouthful. Bucky doesn't know - doesn't understand regret. His life has no consequences. He has it all and can always have more.

More.

That's what he's missing. More. He needs more. He needs Steve to help him struggle through the gas and bloat and gurgles and moans and worst of his stomach fighting to accommodate the pounds of food he shoveled into it. The closest he's ever come to regret is thinking about how he wishes he demanded that Steve live on-site like all the rest of his staff so he wouldn't have to wait in suspense, nearly bursting at the seams for him to come and rub him down.

And...

When Steve finally arrives, the first thing he does is laugh in the face of Bucky's excruciating gluttony. He laughs, his voice sleep-rough, at Bucky's sweaty, red, moon-round face and sagging rolls of flesh, beached in his cloud-like, California-king bed. The entire, expensive frame shudders and creaks each time Bucky's flabby body jiggles under another painful hiccup or vaguely relieving burp. An expulsion of gas he's just too food-drunk and snooty to care about. He has no manners, that much is obvious, just look at him. Then, look at Steve. They are opposites. Even in his pajamas, Steve is fit and put together. He looks sleepy but good in his muscle-strained sweatpants and sweatshirt, his golden hair a mess, his chiseled face extra handsome in the moonlight.

Once he's had the last laugh, Bucky's masseuse gets to work, rubbing and grabbing and squeezing and working his magic that makes all the tension bleed from Bucky's oversized, tense body. His taut gut relaxes as much as it can when it's packed full of food still digesting, his muscles turning to mush, submitting underneath Steve's stern touch.

Steve's words are stern, too, teasing him as he works, digging his hands in harder and harder until Bucky is whining and moaning with pain, he's so tender, he's just been stuffed to his breaking point but Steve doesn't care. Steve doesn't care because he does this to himself. He asks for this.

"You're such a brat, Mr. Barnes. Only you, princess, would think this-" Steve gestures vaguely to, uh, all of Bucky's fat gut "-is an emergency worth waking someone up in the middle of the night over. Couldn't go eight hours without stuffing your greedy face, could you? Where is your self-restraint? Oh yeah, you don't fucking have any, you spoiled brat." Steve smacks his gut several times in a row as if reprimanding him. All it does is make Bucky squirm weakly, his body jiggling thickly. He couldn't get away if he put all his pathetic strength into it. It hurts. It feels good. "This isn't an emergency, Mr. Barnes, this is a cry for help. Look at yourself! I have literally never seen anyone this fat. This isn't letting yourself go, this is pushing yourself. If you could get yourself together and push yourself to get healthy, just think what you could've done! Mommy and Daddy might've raised a little Olympian if you went the other direction, but no, you put your back into becoming a shapeless blob instead. Tsk. Tsk," Steve clicks his tongue, but the sound is drowned out by Bucky's needy whimpers. If what Steve's saying is so offensive why does it feel better than sex? "

"I can't believe you. An emergency," Steve scoffs, mocking him more, "if you keep going this way, you'll see a real emergency. You'll be calling the fire department to cut through the doorways of your precious custom-built mansion 'cause you're gotten stuck in one, wedged in place on the rare occasion you get your lazy, fat ass out of bed to do something yourself." Steve shakes his head, digging his nails in, making Bucky want to wail. All he does is belch loudly, the edges of the sound high and desperate. "But that real, actual emergency won't stop you either, will it, princess?" Steve grips a handful of his flesh, wobbling it to make Bucky squeak, "you won't stop because you don't understand the problem, do you? No. You have too much money for your own good, you throw money at the problem and the problem goes away, simple as that. You've gotten so fucking huge that you can't fit through your doors? Oh, well, you'll just reframe every one of the countless fucking doors in this stupidly big house. Who cares if reframing involves special-ordered wood and lacquer and the time and brainpower of some poor architect to figure out what dimensions will actually fit your fat ass? Who cares? You don't. You're too busy thinking with this gut."

Bucky's sagging, fat chest heaves. He feels as though he can hardly see Steve over his unending roundness of a stomach, but what he can see him will haunt him for the rest of the night... that smirk. Steve could cut him with that smirk, it's so sharp. Bucky feels it like a blade, his smile and dark eyes cutting into him. Jesus Christ. He wants exactly that. He wants more.

Hic!

Steve laughs again.

-

Bucky knows that Steve is in front of him, on his knees, but he can't actually see him anymore other than through the many reflections that surround them. They're in the wing of Bucky's abode where his tailor has set up his private business just for Bucky. It's a lucrative shop despite having only one customer. Bucky has lost track of just how much money he throws at his tailor by now, but he knows it's a lot. He outgrows clothes often. Sometimes, he forgets why he bothers with clothes. He doesn't leave the house hardly ever and he pays his staff handsomely enough, nevermind that they all sign NDAs. Besides, they probably wouldn't see much, judging by how Bucky's wide reflection stares back at him, covering and overflowing from every angle. His dick has been buried for a very, very long time. He could do that. He should do that.

However...

If he stops wearing clothes, then he loses the pleasure of moments like this, right now, barely propped upright on a reinforced stage in the middle of a room of mirrors, unable to see Steve himself, unless he uses one of the many mirrors, because Steve is sweating and grunting, on his knees, struggling to stuff Bucky's oozing fat body into clothes that he had custom fit to his ever-expanding frame just last week. And it looks like he's already outgrown them. A new record.

Bucky sighs.

Steve growls at him, pinching some roll of fat - one of the many, many, many - and, oh, would you look at that, even in the mirror, Bucky can't see where his hand is. Steve's big, calloused hand has disappeared under the excessive overflow of Bucky's sagging gut. His rolls are hiding his other rolls. Fuck, he's fat. "You could at least try to help," Steve roughly says, muffled, pressed up against his big, big body in quite the undignified position. "I know the concept is, ugh," he pants, out of breath beneath the weight, despite his fantastic stamina and athleticism, "unfamiliar to you, but a little bit of effort w-would be appreciated right now. Suck in, fatty."

Bucky tries. Nothing really happens, though. His muscles are pushed too far out and are far too atrophied from a lifetime of no work whatsoever. Bucky's been feasting since he woke up this morning, same as always, and he just finished his second lunch before his tailor rushed in to notify him that he just finished with his latest work, so... yeah, it's not his fault his gut won't budge.

Steve extracts his hand from Bucky's rolls to smack his gut harshly, staining his soft, lotioned, un-stretch-marked, un-cellulite-ridden skin red with a perfect handprint and Bucky's knees tremble. Oh, he's going to need to sit down soon. He can't hold up all this weight for much longer. He feels feverish. He may faint. He's so full.

He feels every inch of his divine fullness, Steve is trying very hard to massage and smooth and sculpt him into his clothes. He's tucking his fat back into his clothes, testing the limits of seams that have been reinforced intentionally and held together with extra-thick thread, struggling to breathe evenly as he heaves the sides of his button-up shirt together. Fitting his thighs and ass and hips into his slacks took an unprecedented about of time. Bucky doesn't keep track exactly, his life revolves around him, but he knows it was a long time. And he now knows, too, that no matter how much Steve squishes himself into his fat belly, turning his face to the side and still being nearly totally enveloped in soft blubber, he can't get his arms all the way around him.

Bucky's knees tremble harder. His face has gone very, very red with strands of hair around his face sticking to his skin. God, Steve might think he doesn't understand effort but he does, it's plenty of effort to just stand here and not fall face forward onto the floor, his body pulled by the weight of his bloated gut. Bucky sweats more.

With a victorious grunt, Steve slides one and then two buttons into their appropriate catch. They stay for all of half a second before Bucky breathes out and -

Pop!

Ping!

There they go, flying at high velocity across the room, colliding with the mirrors at the far side and making a sharp sound covered over by Steve's groan of defeat. Hastily, he gets up, standing toe to toe with Bucky but not - he can't get that close to him, their bodies are separated by Bucky's thick fat, rounding out from him from every angle but especially in front of him. His tummy is its own entity. It's that big. Bucky somehow always forgets just how big it is even though it's attached to him. Jesus. It feels like there are miles between Steve's disciplined, hard muscular body and Bucky's excessive, soft body.

Steve takes half a step away to grab the silk robe Bucky had been wearing before, hardly enough fabric to cover him, and throws it at him, "just fucking put the robe back on, fatty, I give up."

Bucky is slow to react, he doesn't catch it. The silk hits him lightly in the chest, dragging over his huge moobs and sliding down his round gut like water. It lands on the floor soundlessly. Bucky doesn't even twitch to move like he's going to grab it, he's not sure if it's physically possible for him to bend over anymore with his belly in the way, he just pouts at Steve, half-dressed and barely holding his own fat up.

"Jesus Christ," Steve grits out, bending neatly at the waist, snapping up, and ripping Bucky's clothes off of him before replacing it with the silk robe. "You are a helpless, fat baby," he tells him, breathing hot and angry and... something else... on the back of his neck.

Quickly and effortlessly light on his feet Steve flits around him, smacking his ass, making his whole body wobble arousingly, then spinning to his front to twitch the robe mostly closed over his front, tightening the belt of the robe too tight on purpose, so tight Bucky feels the food inside him slosh and churn, heavy and digesting into more, more, more fat. Bucky can barely groan, oof, before Steve's fingers grab his chin, not his double (or forming triple) chin that's just chub, but his actual divot-ed chin so he can speak right to him, telling him -

"You wouldn't survive without me, princess."

Bucky whimpers, his eyes tearing up with humiliation. He's right. And he loves it. He needs Steve. He needs him so badly. He needs Steve almost as much as he needs to gorge himself until it hurts. He likes it when it hurts, he likes it when Steve's mean to him, slapping him around and getting rough with all his plush, soft fat.

-

Hours have passed, dripping away in viscous ribbons of the thickest, sweetest clover honey that money can buy, tipped off the edge of a silver spoon onto thick, freshly cut bread to be eaten, consumed ravenously when it should be savored. And the day has dripped past in such a sweet, lazy way because Bucky has been fed by hand all this time, taken care of by his army of servants for these hours. The symphony of flavors fed to him swelling him up into a heavy, heavy ocean of fat. All that fat wobbling and jiggling in front of him means that his own body presses him into the over fluffed day-bed crowded with pillows and blankets and crumbs that he was helped into, waddling impressively slowly, after outgrowing his oversized settee, his body too large to fit the other piece of fine furniture. Soon, he may be large enough that he will only fit on the floor, spilling out in all directions. He is more voluptuous and pillowy than a pillow itself. His body could be a mattress, it's so thick and wide.

To go along with the luxury of being filled with treats and riches, Bucky is being hand-massaged. Always. Steve is here more than not. Each day, no, each hour, Bucky grows more and more dependent on his masseuse. He can't help it. All his fat needs tending to. He can't fathom doing it alone. Who would do it alone? Only a pleb. Bucky is rich-fat, not poor-fat.

Rich-fat.

Fatly rich.

God, he's engorged.

Between every bite of food, he's gasping and moaning, food is more important than breathing, though, so he doesn't stop to breathe. If anything, he inhales food, not air. He sucks it in almost too fast to taste it. Fuuuck. It's good. He's stretching. Expanding. He's gasping and moaning because food is pleasure, but also because Steve is hard at work, slaving and sweating over his blubbery belly.

In order to get close enough to his big, big tummy - needing to reach it over the valleys and hills of blankets and pillows and fat rolls that make up the daybed in Bucky's elegant glass sunroom - Steve is straddling his body. Yet, Steve is straddling just one of his two hugely fat thighs because Steve no matter how athletic and flexible he is, it is just not possible these days for Steve to spread his legs wide enough to span both of Bucky's thick, thick thighs. It's much more comfortable for Steve to split his legs over one of Bucky's resting on his thigh like a delicate bird resting on top of the lumbering, clumsy, out of control beast that is Bucky. Steve is an oxpecker picking bugs off of a hippo.

Bucky's a hippo.

He's so thick and fat and he keeps grooooaning. There's so much inside him. He feels the food crammed into his stomach, he feels the fat crushing his overfull stomach, all that weight, he feels his skin stretched to contain it, he feels everything. He's so fat and his body weighs so much itself, that Bucky doesn't care about Steve straddling his thigh. Anything to make his belly feel better.

It huuuurts.

He won't stop eating. He can't. He can't fucking do it, it's impossible, he swears, nothing has ever been harder than not stuffing his fucking face until he's making sounds that illustrate just how much he feels like he might burst. He. is. voracious. Unfathomably greedy, always filling himself.

His belly aches and his jaw throbs, too, but it doesn't matter. The pain adds to the excessive pleasure that he's piling up. More. Being stuffed and massaged at the same time is the most heavenly of pleasures - Bucky would know, he's done so much, felt so much, spoiled as he is, and this is it. This is the best. It's good for him and he prides himself in being so gluttonous and pleased that it spreads to everyone else. You could not come within the walls of his mansion and not feel some of the pleasure radiating out of Bucky. Bucky is too spoiled to care if others feel good or not, he's far beyond that, but he wallows in the showmanship of it all. Yes, that's him, yes, that's his life, yes, he's so enveloped in his ecstasy that everyone else is aware of it. They have to be. He's that excessively excessive.

It's heaven as Steve kneads his thick fat, literally crawling all over him, straddling his thigh and kneeling up to reach out and try to span all of his fat (his wingspan isn't broad enough to do it) sinking his hands into his inches thick blubber that makes Bucky desperately, feverishly hot at all times. He rubs and squeezes, kneads and gropes, pinches and wobbles. The way Bucky's fat shifts like waves when he grasps him, taking overflowing handfuls, makes Bucky feel dizzy. He is an ocean of fat, he rocks with waves of fat, his knees weak, trying to walk on the deck of a ship being thrown about by the currents. Except, he's not walking. He's just lying back and he's rocking and jiggling. He can't feel anything but his own fat body. He can't see anything but his own fat. He can't taste anything but his ruinment, all those calories piled up, rich on his tongue. He knows he is a spectacle, he is unbelievable, Steve is lucky to get to touch him, oiling him up and playing with his taut fat, working it until it's soft and malleable.

Bucky moans so loud it vibrates his entire massive chest.

Steve, for all his effort, grunting and making his plush fat move, bites back a smile, pinching a thick, thick chunk of flesh somewhere between his massive tummy and round moobs, sounding dangerously affectionate as he teases, "you fat fuck."

-

Steve is part of Bucky's staff, Bucky employs him, Bucky is thus allowed, encouraged even, to bring up things to Steve that are bothering him about his work and how he goes about it. That's how performance reviews work, right? Bucky has no real idea about how those work in the real world but he's pretty sure those are a thing. He wouldn't exactly know, though, he's never had to work and whenever he has real problems with the help, he simply fires them and hires someone else. No skin off his back. Worry isn't good for his skin. He doesn't need wrinkles. Just rolls. But. Bucky has completely lost his mind and he likes Steve and all his pushy-shovey-roughness with him. So, he attempts to put in the effort to review him.

Does it matter if the review is nothing but a whiney complaint that sounds like it has nothing to do with Steve and everything to do with Bucky? Bucky thinks so. Again, though, he doesn't know better.

So, what he does is just complain, pouting and huffing, crossing his fat arms over his fat chest to make his pecs look girlish and cleavage-like, as he whines about his hips. They've been feeling all throbby and stretched out lately. He needs more massaging attention to them and if he gets stretch marks from the lack of lotion and rubbing to smooth them out and keep his skin perfect then... then... then! He doesn't actually know what he'll do to Steve but he'll figure something out!

"And what's that, princess?" Steve snarks back, "what are you gonna do, honey? You can't move on your own last time I checked and I know for a fact you haven't lost weight since then so... I think I'll be alright."

Steve does end up putting his attention to his fat, door-spanning hips, though, obliging his sulky, spoiled demands. Eventually. He makes Bucky whine for it for a while is all. He has to do some work.

Although, when he gives in, it turns out, that it doesn't really work the usual way they go about things with Bucky on his front, sweating and panting underneath his barrel gut, while Steve towers over him and teases him as he dissolves all that tension he holds in a big, round knot right at his middle. Steve, as strong as he is, gets tired too fast to rub his hip like that, lifting his flabby love handles up to get the front, side, and back of them is strenuous manual labor. After another short break, Steve and his muscles pushed tightly up against Bucky and his plushness, Steve vaults off of Bucky with suspicious ease for someone apparently so tuckered out by working around his body -

"Turn over for me, Mr. Barnes," he says, making it a demand not to be argued with, no matter how much of a spoiled brat Bucky is.

Bucky attempts to do as he's told with a lot, lot of effort. He could be melting with how much sweat is pouring out of him, straining himself to roll over on all fours, jostling and wobbling, his fat shifting as he groans and grunts and pathetically complains, "ow!" or"ohh!" or huffs, huffs, and pants, or "I'm too heavy!" or finally, his pink chubby cheeks wobbling, near tears, as he begs or help, "I can't do it, Steeeve, Steve, please, help me. I can't. I can't."

Steve steps in to help with a single, hard, well-placed shove, rolling him onto all fours. Bucky goes totally ungracefully. He's like a walrus, blubbery, ungainly, and flopping on land.

Steve can get at the rolls around his sides, his hips, and his back rolls easily this way. Gravity is helping him, shaping Bucky's blimp-fat, blobby body into something easier to work with.

However, when Steve tries to transition back into massaging Bucky's tummy (because the overgrown, over-spoiled, overfed boy is stuffing cookies into his mouth as Steve works, getting crumbs all over his bed and not caring because he knows it will be the help's problem to deal with), Steve finds out that he can't fucking do it. He can't reach as much of Bucky's tummy as he needs to this way because he's so fat that the front of it touches the creaking, dented surface of the mattress beneath his massive body.

His gut literally reaches the floor, touching and spilling out.

Jesus Christ.

He's overflowing and sweating like a true pig, just from holding himself up. It won't be long before he's more than trembling under his own weight and is vibrating, then collapsing face-first into the bed. When Steve's prediction comes from, he can't keep the smugness out of his voice, pinching and slapping him gleefully, telling him, "get back up, fatty." Already knowing what's going to happen next. He's so predictable.

Bucky bellows in arousal and can't.

He can't move.

He's too hungry and too exhausted.

And, God, they both love to see him like this.

[bigtreefest]

ESSIE! Stop writing chapter 14 of the The Rainmaker when you haven’t even touched chapter 8 yet!!!! 😭😭😭👿👿👿

[mistyhibiscus]

I want this

Okay but imagine this: You're a knight hunting for what you thought were the last of the orcs. You follow the few footsteps into a cave. When you reach deep enough you've realized your mistake. It was a trap. One orc you could easily strike down with an arrow until another one comes from behind. You find yourself in a cave, naked and sandwiched between not one but two orcs (stucky) stretching you to the max. Your legs flail with each violent thrust. There's a prominent belly bulge too.

Ok, I didn't expect this to happen, but here it is 🙈

Pairing: orc!Stucky x knight!Reader

Warnings: non-con, obsession, overstimulation, breeding, allusion to kidnapping.

Words: 726

_____________

You're exhausted to the point you can barely understand what's happening: your head is empty, but your womb is full of orcs' seed; all you feel is hot, muscled bodies of two nasty orcs, covered in sweat and mix of their cum and your juices. You don't know what they've done to your body since your ass and pussy would never take their scary 10 inches cocks, but now your holes are stretched just perfectly around them, sucking them in despite being full of hot sticky seed. Fuck, you're spent to the point you can't even move your tongue, but orcs keep going again and again. Apparently, all those stories about their stamina were true.

You've never been kissed so deeply before, but you like it when one of these monsters stuffs your mouth with his long, slimy tongue, licking yours, claiming your mouth till you can't breathe and your eyes roll down to the back of your skull. His cock tears your asshole apart, and you like it so fucking much.

The other orc leaves his marks on your neck, though you don't think there's a place that they have missed, covering your skin in hickeys, bruises and a few bite marks they left when you tried fighting them. Other orc's cock is buried in your abused core to the hilt, cum constantly leaking out of it.

"Bucky, I wanna have her." The orc with blonde hair whispers gently, kissing you on the lips and caressing your cheek.

The other one smirks: you can feel it on your skin. "But she's such a brat. You wanna have a bratty wife?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna teach her how to be good to us." Steve murmurs against your lips, his warm chest pressed into your back. "You gonna be good, honey? Tell Bucky you'll be a good girl for him."

You don't think how you ended up here, sandwiched between two monsters with their huge, fat cocks inside your holes; you don't remember being a proud knight sent to clear this cave from orcs, filthy disgusting creatures you swore to banish from these lands to protect your king. The only thing on your mind is how nice these monsters fill you up, rubbing all the right spots, making you cum your brains out while they pleasure you again and again. Yes, your belly is round and heavy with their seed, but it's alright, you think. Maybe you'd give birth to a couple of pretty little orclings, what's wrong with that?

"I'll be your good girl." You mewl, your tongue barely moving when Bucky forces his hips forward particularly hard, thrusting his cock so deep inside your pussy you come again with your mouth open. Grinning, orc gives you a deep kiss, too, pinching your poor nipples he and Steve sucked so much as if you already have milk.

"That's why a woman should never be a knight, sweetheart." He laughs, caressing your hair and smiling to Steve. "Your place is the sack, you see? Shit, look at that dumb bitch's face, Steve, we've fucked her silly."

Dark haired orc makes you take out your tongue and licks just its tip, slowly sucking it inside his mouth and feeling how small it is comparing to his, licking his tusks. Your cunt is milking him again, and soon Bucky cums in you with a grunt, cursing and closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. Steve murmurs something softly in your ear and stills behind you, too, filling your ass up, shooting hot ropes of his sticky seed inside your abused hole. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you love it, you love it so much you wanna spend your life serving these monstrous cocks, having them stretch you wide and cum buckets in you, suck them every morning and every night, polish these heavy balls with your kitten tongue and-

"We're going to keep her." Bucky finally exhales, his hand gently cupping your bulging belly. "I wanna breed this bitch till she gives us plenty pretty kids."

"You gonna be a cute little mommy." Steve smiles warmly at you, his hand also on your sensitive belly as he strokes it lovingly, peppering the top of your head with kisses. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you, sweetheart. Just open your legs and be a good girl to the both of us."

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @iheartsebastianstan @lovelydarkdaydream

[arpicityandneed]

My Turn

18+ f!reader. best friends steve and bucky. dirty talk. bisexual steve. bisexual bucky.

~

"Tell me again where you want it baby." Your new husband had you in his lap thumbing your clit while you rode him. Your thighs were shaking but you were desperate, tears of frustration on your pretty lashes as you balanced yourself with both hands on his shoulders.

"Inside, Stevie, please?" His hands were roaming over your body possessively, gripping the fat of your ass and thrusting his soaked cock up into you with every down stroke of yours.

"Don't make the sweet thing cry Stevie." Bucky groans as he palms himself through his slacks, waiting his turn for once in honor of your wedding night. Usually he and Steve would've flipped a coin or fought for who got to bully their way inside your pussy first.

"I'm not gonna Buck, she's just so pretty when she begs. My wife." Steve's baby blues were dancing with mischief as Bucky cursed.

"You met her first by accident, Rogers. I'm older-" Bucky started growling the same damn argument they'd been having since they decided they wanted a baby and therefore a wedding. (They were too old fashioned for anything else.)

"Boys, can we argue later?" You cut in breathlessly, and Steves arm wrapped around your waist. Your only warning before he took over- fucking you up and down his shaft like a rag doll as he groaned,

"Alright baby. I gotta do right by my Mrs don't I?" With the smuggest grin you'd ever seen his balls twitched, and spurt after spurt of cum filled you fluttering walls.

"Goddamnit, Stevie." You would've comforted your other boyfriend if you could focus. But Steve's thumb was rubbing your clit as you seized up, coming hard and milking his cock for all he had to give.

You collapsed against his chest.

"You gonna be good for Bucky baby? You got one more in you?" Steve murmured gently as he rocked you on his softening shaft, his cum leaking out of you and drenching his balls in your combined juices.

"Mhm. Want him inside too." You smiled as you kissed him, soft and sweet like you had several hours earlier in front of all your friends and family.

"My turn." You hadn't heard him move but you weren't surprised when you were lifted and bent over the massive bed, Bucky was hardly a patient man once he had the green light.

"Fuck sweetheart, you're dripping." Bucky's voice was hoarse. But Steve, who was laying down close enough for you to tongue at his soft cock, just snorted.

"Don't complain like you don't love it, jerk." Steve guided his shaft into your mouth and murmured softly, "Clean me up baby."

"'M not complaining punk, it's a compliment." You moaned around Steve as Bucky took one good lick of your stuffed pussy before straightening and dragging his cock head through the mess. "Your cum tastes better inside her by the way."

"Shut up, you love my cum anyway you can get it, Barnes."

"Maybe." One smooth thrust and you were full once more, and Bucky goes from teasing his boyfriend to cursing how good you feel. "I gotta say doll. You're kind of a slut."

"B-Bucky!" Your scolding would be more effective if your pussy didn't clench around him from his words and the memories flooding you brain of watching Bucky swallow down Steves cock.

"Greedy fucking pussy-" His moans were loud, shameless. "Back me up here Stevie."

"He's not wrong sweetie. Youre an absolute slut for us. But just us, yeah?" Steve sounds proud. Proud that on his wedding night his wife is being tag teamed by him and his best friend.

Fuck.

You were going to cum, hard and Bucky- the smug bastard- wasn't going to let it happen quietly.

"Someone likes being reminded how needy her pussy is. Clenching down so hard on me doll." Bucky fucked different than Steve. Harder, filthier. His hands were dragging you back onto his fat cock until the audible slap of his hips against your ass echoed around the room. He was getting close you could tell. His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, aching to add to the cum already slicking him inside you. "Should've waited till after the honeymoon to let me fuck her Steve."

His hand snaked around to find your clit and with quick tight circles over your swollen nub you came apart with a cry.

"Yeah, Buck? And why's that.." Steves eyes were narrowed like he was annoyed at being told what to do, but you knew the truth. His cock was growing hard in your mouth again. Bucky thrusted hard inside you before he started to unload, grinding into you as if to make sure his seed took first.

"Cause now we're never gonna know who knocked her up first till the baby's born."

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡What I Cannot Give You｡⋆.

Steve Rogers x plus size reader

After sleeping with your boyfriend for the second time, you find out that he’s never cum with you- but his ex says that he always did with her

Warnings: smut, angst, insecurities, feelings of inadequacy, misunderstanding, inability to finish (on Steve’s end), ooc!Sharon, mentions of diets, comfort

WC: 2.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Alright, what’s going on?” Numbly, you looked up from your cold cup of tea to meet the piercing green eyes of your best friend. Natasha was almost glaring at you as she stood with her hands on her slim hips, quite obviously having been watching you for some time.

You swallowed thickly. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” Her scowl deepened.

“That’s not what I asked now was it?” Your stomach flipped and you squeezed the teacup even tighter. “But now that you’ve said that, what’s wrong? And don’t you dare lie to me, I’ll know.” 

You should’ve known that Nat would spot your unease from a mile away, you should’ve just stayed in your room. But the need for food and a distraction from your thoughts had been too great of a temptation. Your vision blurred with tears as you pitifully shook your head. 

Suddenly, all the exasperation was gone from her expression and she was kneeling before you, one hand on your knee, the other on the arm of the couch. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” You whimpered loudly, now unable to stop the onslaught of emotions.

“It- it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” With a free hand, you furiously wiped away the fat tears that were now rolling down your full cheeks. Natasha sighed heavily and pulled the cup from you, placing it on the coffee table behind her.

“Was it that commercial about the cat and the raccoon again?” She teased though her tone still held some strain of wariness. 

“No.” You groaned tearfully, making Nat smile warmly at you.

“Then it can’t be so bad can it?” Moving gracefully, she plopped down on the couch cushion next to you, taking your shaking hands into her steady ones. “Did something happen with Steve?” The watery look you gave her in return was all the answer she needed.

“Stevie!” You cried, your head tossed back in pleasure. It was overwhelming, overpowering, it was everything. The man above you groaned as you tightened around him once more, practically strangling his cock with the force of your orgasm.

Your nails scraped down his muscular back, leaving behind bright red lines that would disappear before dawn even broke the horizon. “Feels so good!” Your sobs echoed through the room along with the wet slapping of skin as his hips met yours.

Blonde hair brushed against your nose as Steve buried his face into your neck, lathering your burning skin with even hotter kisses. “That’s it doll, one more time for me please.” And as the fat head of his cock hit that spongy bundle of nerves inside you, you obliged him. Though less powerful than your previous three, your soft body still tensed with ecstasy and your mind went hazy.

“Good girl, my good girl.” Steve muttered softly, laying one last gentle peck to your shoulder before he pulled himself away from you. “Did you have a good time?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I can’t feel anything below my hips, does that answer your question?” He chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Alright, no need to be smart about it.” As gently as he could manage, Steve sat back on his haunches and slowly pulled out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness of your cunt and the soreness that came along from having his massively thick length inside of you.

But there was no other sensation after that, no telltale feeling of cum inside of you or drying on your thick thighs. Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked at your boyfriend. “Did you finish?” The question came out more shaky than you intended but Steve seemingly didn’t notice.

“No but you did and that’s all that matters.” He dismissed as he stood up from the mattress. You sat up on your elbows, not done with the conversation just yet.

“That’s the second time it’s happened and we’ve only had sex twice.” You pointed out but Steve just sighed.

“It’s fine, it happens sometimes. I’m just happy that you felt good. That’s more than enough for me. Now stay there so I can clean you up.” And as he walked to the attached bathroom, your heart sank and a pit began to grow in your stomach.

“Stevie.” You started but quickly stopped as his blue eyes bore into you. Rage oozed from them like lava, stunning you into silence.

“That’s enough. I told you it’s fine, I won’t be having this conversation again.” With tensed shoulders and clenched fists, he left the room leaving you lost and feeling far more empty than ever before.

“Okay so he didn’t finish but you did. I see no problem with that, it would be the opposite for most guys.” Nat shrugged, a lean arm around your shoulders as she continued to comfort you despite her apparently dismissal of the whole thing.

You huffed, now more frustrated than distraught. “That’s not the point.” You tried to yank away but she held strong, easily pinning you back down onto the couch.

“Then what is?” She implored.

“That I’m not enough for him!” You cried. “That I’m not pretty enough or good enough in bed to even get him to cum! There has to be something wrong with me and he’ll figure that out soon enough and leave me.” Fear and sadness filled your heart as you spilled out your deepest fears to your best friend who was now stunned unto silence.

“He’ll find someone better, just like everyone else did.” You bit down on your lip as more tears rose to the surface. 

“Pcholka-“ She started but was quickly interrupted by another person strutting into the communal living area.

Sharon Carter, the very personification of everything that you wished you could be, was smirking devilishly as she strolled past you and Natasha, apparently heading for the kitchen. You held your breath as she gracefully walked by, her high heels (which weren’t needed for her job) clacked against the expensive flooring. 

“Don’t mind me ladies, just getting myself a protein shake. This new diet is a killer I tell ya but it’s so worth it.” Her smirk made you shrink into yourself but Natasha’s firm grip kept you from escaping. 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as Sharon flitted about the kitchen. Until she finally began her walk back out. You breathed a sigh of relief as she passed by the couch once more but right as she reached the door frame, she turned back and made eye-contact with you.

“Oh Steve always finished with me.” Your eyes went wide with shock. Sure there had been rumours that your boyfriend and the CIA agent had been involved but nothing more ever came out of it so you always just dismissed it as office gossip, until now. “Every. Time.” She said, rubbing even more salt in your already wounded ego.

“No one fucking asked you Sharon. In fact, why are you even here, weren’t you reassigned because of your fuckup in Bosnia?” Natasha snarled, her eyes narrowing on the other agent. She twisted her body around, giving you the opportunity to rip from her grasp and make a run for it.

Nat called out your name but all you could focus on was the way that Sharon smirked at you, her bright eyes alight with an evil plan and you wouldn’t be sticking around to watch it play out, not when you knew that she would be successful.

——————

Being the completely understanding and perfect boyfriend he was, Steve could be easily avoided with a simple text that you weren’t feeling well and needed some alone time. He would always ask if you needed anything and you could tell that he was curious as to why you weren’t letting him come take care of you but he respected you too much to pry any deeper.

Natasha hadn’t been so easy to avoid but your stubbornness won out over hers so she had left you alone, just like you wanted. It was easier being alone with your thoughts than having her try to convince you that what you were feeling was stupid and a total misunderstanding.

Groaning, you threw your phone across the bed. The screen was still bright with the Cosmopolitan article about ’10 Tips and Tricks to Make Him Go Crazy For You’, all of which seemed very expensive in the case of toys and lingerie or positions that you were not nearly flexible enough to pull off.

Maybe it was hopeless, you already knew that you weren’t good enough for him so what did it matter if you couldn’t get him off. You were barely even together in the first place, it wasn’t as if you were already in love with him and breaking up would devastate you.

You rolled over onto your side and curled into the pillow that miraculously still smelt like him, squeezing it tightly to your chest. This feeling was familiar, the drop of your stomach, the stutter of your heart like you were at the precipice of a cliff and unable to stop moving forward. 

And all you could think about was the disgust and the anger in Steve’s eyes that night. It was like in that moment he also figured out how one-sided the relationship was and he hated you for it.

“Doll, I know you’re in there.” Your body snapped up, your muscles pulled taut with anxiety. “You don’t have to open the door, I just want to know if you’re ok. Nat said you were having a tough time.” 

“I’m fine Steve, just having a moment.” You tried to dismiss but the dry crack of your voice had him opening your door and slipping inside. 

In the dim light of your bedroom, Steve’s figure was imposing, his sheer size creating a void in the space. Your heartbeat pounded loudly in your ears as he gently shut the door behind him. “You only ever call me Steve when something’s wrong.” His steps were featherlight as he cautiously crept closer.

“Steve-“ 

“See, there it is again. I’m your Stevie not Steve.” He whined playfully, making a ghost of a smile dance across your lips. The mattress dipped under the weight of one of his hands as he planted it by your wide hips, giving you enough space to be respectful but close enough that you could feel the heat of his skin through your pyjamas.

He leaned closer as if going in for a kiss but you stopped him with a hand to his strong chest. He paused for barely a second before he pulled your hand away and brought it up to his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your eyes dropped to your lap, you could guess what was coming next. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ or ‘I just think we’re better off as friends’. But instead of the breakup you thought was going to happen, Steve hooked a finger under your chin and guided your gaze back to him.

“Is this about the other night? I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that.” He tutted as his thumb gently caressed your jaw. You hesitated nuzzling into his touch, still too hurt to want that comfort.

“But why would you even be with me if I can’t make you feel good?” As soon as the words slipped from your mouth, you regretted them. Steve’s expression turned stormy and suddenly, his grip became tighter until your jaw ached from the force of it.

You could see the way the vein in his neck twitched as an angry flush crawled up his cheeks. You knew he wanted to yell, to lash out at you but he quickly swallowed down his anger, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

“You do make me feel good. You make me feel amazing, both in and out of the bedroom. You’re gorgeous doll, and smart and funny and caring. I’m with you because of that, not because I want to just get off. I get pleasure from your pleasure.” He cooed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own.

His breath fanned across your lips as his other hand finally cupped your hip beneath your oversized shirt. “Sharon told me that you always finished with her.” You whispered, your fingers curling into the compression shirt he wore.

His pecs rippled with your touch, his heartbeat strong beneath your palms. “I can’t cum, doll. Or at least I can’t anymore.” Taking a shaky breath, he continued.

“I don’t think I’ve cum since before the serum.” His voice was soft, ashamed. His broad shoulders dropped as he finally admitted the truth. “It did something to me that no one has been able to figure out yet but we’re getting closer.”

“But Sharon-“

“I faked it with her. Every time.” At your puzzled expression, Steve smiled softly. “I always wore condoms so she couldn’t tell and besides, it was only a couple times before you were even around. I haven’t thought about her since the moment you walked into the tower on your first day.”

Only now did you melt into his hold, letting him pull you closer as he endeavoured to comfort you. “You’re all I want, all I need. I promise.” 

“Really?” You whispered, your lips drawing closer to his. The corners of his eyes scrunched as he smiled back at you.

“Really. As long as you don’t mind that I can’t fill you up with my cum, mark you from the inside out.” He growled playfully. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the dirty talk, your mind now filled with images of just that.

“Stevie!” You yelped but was cut off by his lips pressing against yours. Your heart skipped a beat as he held you tighter, the kiss quickly becoming far more passionate.

“That’s my good girl.” 

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