#short answer: sometimes!

[oneroomjestershow]

Are you active on social media or just check it sometimes?

i am everywhere to see and nowhere to be found

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

I love your Dipper and Mabel drawings. :3

THANK YOU 2194TEDDY!!!!

I was just cleaning my desktop, and I came across scans of some drawings from like a month or two ago. I quickly edited them and was about to throw them up here when I remembered this ask!! SO HERE YOU GO, YOU GET SOME MORE!!!

IT'S ALMOST 2 AM AND I NEED TO GO TO BEDDY BYE NOW

[lucabyte]

So does anybody else ever think about how Loop felt the need to demonstrate that the party's deaths wouldn't have any effect on the loops. I know I do but that's besides the point. Anyway I don't think Loop actually needs to bathe, they just like to feel included.

[marypsue]

sometimes you just gotta put on the Dark Gothic Princess Dress that only gets to come out of the closet maybe once a winter and sit around in it doing nothing in particular. for a bit.

[zivazivc]

The Floyd JD and Branch sitcom in your head is the funniest show I’ve never seen

can the third movie's spin-off series just be this please?

[formosusiniquis]

When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding. 

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember. 

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

[spookygibberish]

How do socotna pairings work?

Also do headless and unbodied ever resent their positions? As in lack on autonomy and respective dissolving of lower body lol, I guess since it's a huge spiritual and cultural deal it varies

In Socotna marriages two sets of same sex siblings are required. Here we have the brothers Unbodied Tasapnu and Headless Lasu of House Mitoca, and the sisters Unbodied Heniya and Headless Batab of House Dedēsne, at the ages they would have betrothed. Heniya-Lasu and Tasapnu-Batab would have been Throned in a dual ceremony after coming of age (about a decade older than this art depicts) and then married immediately. Socotna Throne-weddings are probably the most intense non-festival occasions in Hegemonic culture. It’s something I still need to work out the details of.

Throne candidates are trained from a very young age to accept and even anticipate the prospect of being Throned as an ultimate privilege, but that doesn’t mean that they all have the same feelings about it. Ultimately a candidate who is overly reluctant may be reconsidered or passed over for fear they’ll fail as a Throne, so it isn’t impossible to reject the position, though it does leave a stain and can at worst lead to ostracism. In the case of these two, their Thronings and their marriage are something that was preordained for more or less their entire lives, in absentia of any consent. It’s a common situation for Thrones and it’s inevitable some resent it, but many accept it as a necessity and try and make the best of the situation, especially considering the power and privilege of grants. How much a Throne regrets their Throning is something that depends immensely on the hand they happen to be dealt.

And if these guys look familiar, it’s because they’re Masminet’s parents as children.

[feelo-fick]

I WANT ENDLESS BLISS!!!

HALF-AWAKE, HALF-DEAD, HALF-LIFE CRISIS

ALL NATURAL POMEGRANATE PULP.

FERMENTED TO PERFECTION, SAVOUR YOUR SAVIOR.

Q: What's your favourite food? A: THE ALE THEY SERVE AT THE TAVERN!

other versions : )

[canisalbus]

Does Machete enjoy the feeling of sleeping on Vasco's chest (like he's doing in that nosebleed in bed one) or does he prefer a pillow

.

[batsplat]

Thailand 2019: Valentino Rossi provides his take on Marc Marquez's superiority that season. Then, Marquez is asked about Fabio Quartararo's prospects and Rossi comments on whether he will congratulate Marquez for winning the championship.

[echosong971]

I DONT KNOW WHAT LIES OF P IS BUT KEEP DRAWING THAT BOY PLEASE I BEG

OKAY o7

[zzztlk]

i'm a short hair w/ glasses lesbian, thank you for single-handedly feeding my ego for years and years I appreciate it and I love your characters so dearly

Ofc and ty.. lesbians of the world with or without short hair/glasses know that to me you are on the same level as firefighters astronauts nobel prize winners etc.. maybe even higher

[seeminglydark]

I'm in love with Caro's style! It's a super cool mix of masc, fem, and vaporwave kind of look. As an enby who, at first, thought I had to look a certain way after coming out as non binary, I was wondering how Caro found their style after they started transitioning and figuring out who they were as a person.

Hello! So I did draw an entire four page little comic thingy to answer this, but I'm going to post it tomorrow cuz I wanted to draw a cute little cover for it ha. Figured I would answer you in text today though, and then you can have the visual tomorrow <3 First thing I'm going to say is that there is no 'certain way to look' for any gender identity or sexuality, cuz thats important, for those who dont wanna read through this text dump. Dress how you want forever.

SO! *rubs hands together* how Caro found their style! Background to those who havent read my comics, Caro grew up as a super high femme kid with crazy helicopter parents who controlled every aspect of their life, including how they dressed. They participated in pageants, modeling and wore a LOT of pink. Not that Caro didn't like pink, they did, but they liked purple better.

After Sully (highschool sweetheart) left, and Caro was on their own, they cut their hair off in a fit of rage and suddenly had to grow up real quick because they were on their own. Whats that got to do with fashion, RJ? Everything, dear reader! When they left, they had a bunch of Sullys shirts and his battle jacket. All 10 sizes too big of course, so paired the oversized tops with their own jeans, workout shorts etc. They had their cheer sneakers. And that is what they wore for a few months, til they got a job at the local gas station. The gas station employees were like, what is going on here with this little girl wearing too big clothes with a fucked up haircut, so, they pitched together and got this kid a proper haircut, during which Caro tearfully explains they arent a girl at all, they dont know what they are and everything is very scary and please dont fire them. Bev, one of their older co-workers decides they need better clothes and takes them to Seattle to thrift! Caro never thrifted in their life and found themself enamored with tacky 80's clothes and patterns, bright colors, funny tee shirts, etc. They worried, because maybe that wasnt what a boy would wear. Bev tells them theres no such thing as what a boy or a girl would wear, something Caro had never heard before, and that gives them mental permission to gleefully grab all the things they never got to wear growing up. They looked like a roller rink carpet threw up on them. they loved it.

The Gas Station Adults buy them a jacket that fits as well, GasCo purple of course, with their chosen name on the name tag. a symbol of acceptance. Caro started hearing things about genderfluid and nonbinary, and looking into what that meant, and what it could mean for them. Their podcast project, Mil-Liminal goes viral. Goldie, their agent, helps them get on low t. they realize how much fun body hair is and LOOK they can wear crop tops to show off their new tummy trail while still hiding their boobs. Whats even more fun? Getting tattoos. Taking their body back. Making themself into the person THEY want to see, and whats makes them the most happy. Still looking like an arcade carpet threw up on them, still loving it. They get top-surgery. Goldie asks them if they want to do a public face reveal. They've kept themself hidden this entire time, and realize they dont want to do that anymore. They shouldnt have to. They want to show the world this person theyve become. Which also means choosing a signature look for Mil-Liminal.

A Mix of their Highschool Varisty Jacket, and their GasCo Jacket. Sneakers. A nod to the pieces of clothing they always felt comfortable in.

Shorts and crop tops or mesh tops. Show off the tattoos, and the scars they earned becoming the person theyve always been.

Wear their identity on their sleeve, because not everyone can, but they are in a position where they want to make a difference and be seen for those who cant, cuz they know how it feels to be lost and scared and not have any idea how to move forward. Let their voice BE a voice.

A SnapBack. A call back to the first date with their highschool sweetheart, who listened, and put his hat on them and took them out and let them be themself, and loved them for it.

The most important thing to take from this anon, is that there is no Look. There is no way to dress or act or look if you're non binary, its not fashion. The same way clothing has no gender, anyone can wear whatever the fuck makes them happy. Put clothes on that, when you look in the mirror, you feel comfortable and happy. Its a very personal thing, and its about YOU, and how you feel. and your gender journey. Gender and Sexuality is as vast a spectrum as the human condition.

Thank you so much for the ask and inspiring me to make a look book and fashion journey post, I'll put it up tomorrow <3

[jewishregulus]

pls pls pls your thoughts on jegulus height difference

i think g-d put jegulus height difference in the scripture . anything else feels fake and so unlike them . i need regulus to be small enough james can pick him up and chuck him over a shoulder. regulus is canonically really short so this isn’t even fake. james is tall according to VOLDEMORT …. which is crazy…… i think people who get mad abt it r genuinely tweaking over nothing …. i think james should tower over him like a giant cuddly teddy bear who when he hugs regulus regulus is wrapped up!!! i think there is a solid 7-12 inch height difference depending on the day .. my james is never shorter than 6’1 and never taller than 6’3 and my reg is never shorter than 5’3 but never taller than 5’6…. i speak g-ds word !

[dunmeshistash]

Sometimes I ramble while answering questions cause I'm actually writing down my thought process lmao

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Bucky finds DomSub porn on Steve's search history and asks him about it.

At first Bucky thinks Steve is the one who wants to Dom. A very confusing discussion follows.

Bucky hasn't bottomed since before Steve and him have been together, atleast 80 odd years. But he'd be willing to try if that's what Steve's found he's into-

And a very bright red and sputtering Steve has to admit that, no.. he wants to be dominated. He wants to take it up the ass with restraints and praise.

Immediately Bucky is much more attached to the idea. Despite the fact that their roles in the bedroom have always been somewhat akin to these things Steve's been reading and watching, he never even considered.. oh god this is something he really wants too. Suddenly he's kind of drooling at the idea of this step up in dynamics.

Just picturing Steve tied up, whimpering and whining, bright red all over and blissfully out of his mind. Jesus.

They have a long road ahead of them lmao

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Yeah, yeah, yeah-!

There's a trope in your ask that I feel like appears pretty often in stucky fanfics, the whole we've-been-doing-this-since-before-there-was-a-name-for-it. Which, I'm unsure if it would be true because, well, I'm sure they would have called power dynamics something and the words have simply changed over time, but I haven't done enough research to know what. Or, it could've been completely true because they might have been cut off from any community that could have told them a name for that, so it would've been just something between the two of them, a way they played that they were unsure if anyone else did at all, and they didn't stop to put a name to it. Either way, it's definitely interesting.

Like, Bucky has been roughing Steve up since they were boys. He was the only one who respected Steve and didn't treat him like glass. Bullies were one thing, spitting on him and beating him, well-meaning adults were another thing, tiptoeing around him and worrying over his always ailing body, and Bucky something completely unique.

gif by the-girl-without-a-face

Bucky would wrestle him on the floor admist the shrieks and chanting and boney ankles of his younger sisters in the Barnes' home, Bucky wouldn't go easy on him in gym class but wasn't picking him out and wailing on him either, treating him as fair, worthy competition, and Bucky, as they got older, would kiss him like he wasn't afraid. He would pull Steve in for vicious kisses the moment they were alone that felt almost bruising against Steve's buzzing lips, their mouths meeting so fiercely. He would drag his teeth over Steve's bottom lip, unconcerned with the outside world and anything they may have to say about why Steve's lips are suddenly so swollen and wet after being locked in a bedroom with only one other person. Another young man.

Bucky didn't care about the suspicion of others over Steve's split lip, Steve's bruised flesh, or Steve's panting, soft moans that might overflow from their apartment. Partly because he just didn't fucking care, he cared about Steve too much to care about much anything else, and partly because he knew Steve could hold his own. Steve was not only strong enough to take it but stubborn enough to enjoy it.

And farther, Steve was strong enough to resist anything anyone said about him. That split lip? Nah, it wasn't from being pinned underneath Bucky, kissing until the fragile flesh of his mouth split and ran red. It was just from another fight, and you should see the other guy. He got it worse. Those bruises, just about the size of the tip of someone's finger? Huh. Must be from yet another confrontation or from smacking his boney body on corners and tables and doorframes. His balance isn't so good, and his skin is so thin and finicky, y'know? Anything makes him bruise. Anything that isn't, certainly, Bucky's strong, work-calloused hands digging into him as he fucks him without mercy, no, that'd be preposterous. Speaking of fucking, those little sounds, sweet and breathy, choked out from the Barnes-Rogers, Rogers-Barnes bare-bones bachelor pad? Those aren't anything to worry about. They come at night because that's when Steve's getting ready for bed and arranging his sheets and his dust allergy kicks up as well as when his asthma bothers him most, his lungs tired after a whole days worth of breathing. Those are the choked sounds of trying to get enough air. They absolutely are not the muffled sounds of pleasure from taking whatever Bucky dishes out and expects him to take, making his eyes go hazy and unfocused, rolling back into his head while his mouth drops open, leaving Bucky with no choice but to slap a hand over his stupid, pretty face to keep him quiet.

Yeah.

Bucky doesn't go easy on Steve. Why would he? Steve responds so fucking well to that roughness.

Oddly, nothing makes him more compliant than just a little roughing up. He'll fight back, sure, but he doesn't actually want to win their wrestling match or want Bucky to stop. He just wants to add to the anticipation. He wants to make Bucky earn it. He wants to egg Bucky on, get him to let go that last little bit, and really wail on him. That's what gets Steve limp and moaning all breathy, his eyelashes fluttering softly, his heart slowly circulating his blood, pushing it down, down, down between his legs.

And as much as they don't talk about it, not really, during that time before the war--or even during the war later, when Bucky and Steve let the violence of the war front bleed into their own games but in a much more tender, caring way that spoke of their bonds, not of their differences like the troop mentalities of us vs them--they don't talk about it worse when Bucky first comes back.

Steve doesn't talk because he doesn't know what Bucky remembers, and he doesn't want to push him away if he doesn't remember and it's too much for him. He won't pressure him. If Bucky doesn't want to be together, at all, anymore, then they won't be. If Bucky doesn't want to be with him, like that, anymore, then they won't be. Steve would never dream of pushing Bucky into that dynamic again if he doesn't want it.

Bucky doesn't talk because, yes, at first, those days have yet to resurface through the murky, silt-heavy waters of his subconscious, not settled out to a clear lake. But, eventually, memory in mind, back where it should be, Bucky doesn't talk because he doesn't know how to broach the topic. Steve always did that. Steve goaded him and encouraged it, directly or, most often, indirectly--not using his words but letting his shivers of pleasure, heavily-lidded eyes, and low, soft sounds of lust talk for him. Bucky isn't sure how to ask if they're real memories, just fantasies, or how to ask if Steve still wants it that way.

Steve really fucking wants it.

But, again, Steve's stubborn. Once they are together again, officially, and once they are being intimate again, it's enough. Wholeheartedly. Steve will take that and nothing more and not truly complain about a thing. Having an itch in the back of his mind is nothing compared to the gaping, festering wound he once harbored, thinking his lover was dead. He can deal with it. More than "deal," he will thrive with it. But...

As stubborn as Steve is, he's curious, too. He can't leave anything alone. He can't turn a blind eye. He can't pretend. So, when he can finally stomach thinking of intimacy again because Bucky is back and they're having it, cuddling and sex and everything between, Steve starts to get curious. He's thinking more and more about how they used to act.

Did anyone else do that before?

Does anyone else do that now?

Yes.

The answer to both is yes.

They did.

They do.

Steve goes looking, and he finds.

He finds a wealth of names for those kinds of practices--all kinds of people from all different backgrounds, genders, and sexualities mixing wanted, pleasurable meanness and violence and bite with loving affection. Kink. BDSM. (Which, BDSM, is a name that carries names it of itself, fascinatingly enough. Bondage and discipline. Domination and submission. Sadism and masochism.) Power dynamics. Power play. Roleplay. Total power exchange. Dom/sub. Authority kinks. Master/slave. Pain play. Daddy/boy. Competency kinks. Etc. Etc.

All those different words for it live in Steve's search history, and it lives in real people who really do this stuff and really enjoy themselves. They describe liking it, loving it, needing it. Just like Steve liked it, loved it, and needed it when Bucky gave him those things, although, ultimately, in a less organized way than in the way presented to him online, discussing limits, both hard and soft, having negotiations before most every "scene", and employing safewords. Those all sound smart. They were definitely uninformed back then but also just young and reckless.

Overall, though, it's enough to know it exists. Steve isn't really planning on doing anything about it. Not yet, at least. He wants to savor what he's just won back for a while longer before altering it in any way. But...

Bucky borrows his laptop when his own is charging up from dead, and Steve didn't think to delete his history because it's his laptop? He knows what he was looking at, and he doesn't care if he sees it again, in fact, he might want to. He may want or need to retrace his digital tracks. So--

"Steve?"

All of that old, roughing-up they used to do bubbles up to the surface again.

They'll have a conversation about it. They will. Eventually. But... the way Steve colors that perfect, sweet pink once Bucky turns the laptop around to show him a web page about the history and origins of erotic bondage, well, there's not much that can be done. Bucky is done in. That blush. That fucking blush heats Bucky up like a summer sunset, setting off humid, thick arousal but also awe.

His baby is pretty.

And he remembers, vividly--sprawled like a Renaissance painting across the back of his eyelids in his mind's eye--how pretty he was curled up into all kinds of twisted, pretzel shapes with the help of Bucky's soft neckties, elastic suspenders, or worn, butter-smooth belt. How pretty he was gasping for air while Bucky pumped deep inside him, fucking him and holding his bird-boned wrists above his head in one clenched fist to keep those trouble making fingers outta his way. How pretty he was with his big blue eyes wide and wet with tears, pleading through uneven hiccuping sobs to please, please, please finally be able to cum after a whole afternoon spent laid out on their thin, old mattress, told he couldn't move an inch, or they'd be done--struggling to obey instinctively, his body aching for pleasure, but wanting to obey regardless. How pretty he was being good. How pretty he was submitting.

Bucky's mouth is dry as a desert, just thinking about those dust-covered memories. He licks his lips, rifling through his own body to decide how he feels. Steve tracks the movement with a distinct, familiar kind of embarrassment in his blue eyes. Bucky feels very, very aroused.

"Yeah?" Steve finally replies, his voice hoarse. Rough and feral.

In response, Bucky's voice comes out dripping with his usually faded accent, "go get me a belt."

Steve's jaw drops. Although, before Bucky can reel himself back in, his words, no, his demand swallowed back down into his chest where it's more appropriate, more private, Steve is scurrying off as obedient as a lap dog.

A grin twists itself onto Bucky's lips.

Steve returns, panting, he zipped to the bedroom and back with everything he has. Eager little punk. But, he is holding a belt.

It's one of Bucky's, no surprise there. Old habits die hard, Bucky supposes.

They have plenty of belts to choose from these days, belts for different occasions from hanging around the house to fancy charity events, belts of different styles to fit every occasion and every kind of pant, belts on belts on belts, belts for the both of them. But, the belt Steve selected is Bucky's oldest. And it's the most familiar. The very thing he owned in the 30s before everything was war rationed. Thick, smooth, flexible leather that's been beat to shit, so much wear and love to it. The hole punched through it that Bucky uses a little looser than all the rest.

Bucky takes it from him, and Steve whimpers.

An answering chuckle finds its way out of Bucky, pulled up from the same depths as his arousal. Deep, thudding--throbbing. He hasn't even done anything yet, and here is his little dolly, all pink, slack-jawed, and making cute sounds for him.

"Wrists, behind your back, darlin'," Bucky murmurs.

Steve spins in a tight circle and crosses both hands over the small, small of his big, broad back, holding them together.

Bucky lovingly loops the leather of his belt around Steve's wrists once, twice, enjoying the goosebumps that lift over Steve's skin immensely. It pleases the animal inside him, wanting this more than he knows how to deal with.

Easy as breathing, once he's got Steve's wrists bound, he puts his boy on his knees between his knees. Steve's laptop pushed to the other end of the couch and forgotten, completely forgotten.

Nothing exists but Steve.

So fucking pretty.

Blonde hair that begs to be stroked and pulled. A blush spilled like expensive, sugary wine across his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, slowly running down to his square jaw and swallowing throat. Blue eyes getting darker with every tension-filled moment that passes between them, shaded by unreal lashes that Bucky knows get even more obscene when painted with cum. Dripping and heavy. Soaked. Lips plush and unreal. All of him. His crooked nose. Every bit of him.

Bucky strokes his smooth, smooth jaw and zeros in on the way his lips quiver, so close to begging already.

Maybe he can take it easy on him this one time, hm? It has been a long, long time...

"You want it?" Bucky husks out, tracing the tips of his fore- and middle fingers from the hinge of his killer jaw to the plush pillow of his fat bottom lip.

Steve nods urgently, but his lips dropping open is more than enough of an answer.

An answer and a request that Bucky fulfills eagerly, shoving two fingers into Steve's mouth and pressing down on his tongue, letting him have a taste of the weight, and feeling his hot mouth flood with saliva. Wet.

Desperate hunger.

Bucky pushes deeper, relishing in the way the smaller, more uniform taste buds at the center of his tongue give way to larger, vaguely rougher ones at the very back and how that turns into nothing but the slick, velvet-soft inside of his throat. His throat contracts and hugs his fingers even as he sputters around a gagged moan.

Good fucking god.

"Yeah," Bucky talks down to his blushing, restrained yet squirming boy, choking on his fingers, eyes full of glassy, pretty tears, "you want it."

Steve moans that much harder, straining his neck to get more, trying to have his fingers deeper, deeper until his teeth dig hard into Bucky's knuckles.

"Don't worry, baby," Bucky hears himself coo, a low, syrupy tune that goes well with the jingle of his belt, undoing it one handed to get his dick out. If Steve wants to be tied down and have his mouth filled up, then that's what he'll get. Bucky can spend as much time as Steve wants--as much as he needs pounding down into his tight throat, making him take it, wearing him down to rivers of tears of pleasure, and leaving him limp everywhere except where it counts, so drunk on being used that he doesn't have a lick of fight left in him. He's so easy and hard for being a nice, wet hole. Always was. Always will be.