imagine your icon as a lingerie model
my icon’s sebastian stan but then i ended up drawing various stages of post-catws bucky in lingerie
edit: blame ofmightyopposites and augustbird for some of the lingerie
"you bought what?" steve demands. he hopes no one notices his ears burning, even if he suddenly has to lean forward to put his elbows on his knees.
"it’s the twenty first century," tony says, setting a tiny pink gift bag on the coffee table next to bucky, "think of it as an introduction to the modern age." he points at steve. "remind me. did they have positions other than the missionary back in the day?"
"do you have a death wish," bucky asks, but it’s such a flat intonation that it doesn’t sound like a question at all.
"you sure you don’t want to model for us?" tony asks.
"i don’t want to be in this room," bruce announces, and leaves.
bucky crumples up the bag with his metal hand and throws it hard at tony’s face.
steve’s going through the last of some paperwork on his tablet computer in bed when the bathroom door opens. Steve glances up, looks back down at his tablet again—and then.
"bucky," steve says, staring.
bucky licks his lips, tucking a thumb underneath the waistband so that it slides a little down his hip, revealing more of the hair leading down to where his cock is clearly outlined under the lacy fabric. the panties are the only thing that he’s wearing—dark against the pale skin of his upper thigh.
"um," steve says intelligently.
bucky smiles a little then, advances on him. he crawls up the bed until he’s inches away from steve’s face, the tiny smile turning into a full blown feral grin. he leans in and breathes against steve’s ear: “don’t think i didn’t notice your reaction.”
"uh," steve agrees articulately. his hands can’t help themselves, his palms slide over the lace covering bucky’s ass before squeezing lightly. bucky makes this soft, surprised noise and any coherent thought that steve might have been attempting to formulate evaporates away entirely.
"let’s ruin them," bucky says against steve’s neck.
three weeks later, natasha knocks on steve’s door in the middle of breakfast. steve’s hair is still sticking up from sleep and bucky’s eating cereal with an array of knives waiting to be sharpened spread around him.
"this came for you," natasha says, handing steve a box, "i’m not going to ask."
steve looks down at the box from victoria’s secret and wants to die.
bucky shoves a spoonful of cheerios into his mouth and just smirks.