Just Random Thoughts and Things

You had vented your frustrations and jealousy to Nick countless times.

And he always listened. He always spent his weekends with you to cheer you up after you had come home from those weddings, every time. He never once judged you. He always tucked you under his arm and fell asleep with you on your couch.

He’d often wake up hours before you and prepare breakfast. He’d always be dressed the same after the weddings too; shirt half tucked in, unbuttoned messily, hair frazzled from running his hands through it.

He never complained. He was always so cheerful in the morning. Which you always appreciated. He never tried forcing you to 'find the right man.' Never had he tried forcing you to get married to some random man. He never rushed you either.

"You'll find someone someday," your friends often told you when you voiced your sadness.

But Nick wasn't like that. He never spoke of finding someone else. Hell, you couldn't ever remember him having a serious relationship, either. Sure, he'd bring a few flings home occasionally. But never when you were home. And the women never stayed over night either.

He respected your space. And he respected you most of all.

And somewhere, in the quiet moments of mornings together, while he stirred scrambled eggs and hummed along to a song only he knew, you realized that maybe… maybe you were starting to wonder if the right person wasn’t out there somewhere, waiting for you. Maybe, just maybe, he was already here.

A month later, you found yourself once again slipping into a satin dress, the familiar weight of high heels on your feet, and Nick right there beside you. You’d lost count of how many weddings this year had included him but somehow, the presence of his hand brushing against yours felt heavier tonight. More noticeable.

“You okay?” he asked as he adjusted his tie, his hair messily perfect as always. He smirked just a little, like he knew the thoughts running through your head before you even said them.

You shrugged, trying to smile. “Yeah. Excited for Sarah and Mike. They’re… really cute together.”

“And you’re cute,” he said, casually, as if it were just another observation about the weather.

Your stomach did a little flip. You looked away, cheeks warming. “Thanks,” you muttered, hoping your voice sounded steady.

The ceremony itself was a blur — smiles, vows, champagne, the gentle rustle of your dress as you stood by your friend’s side. But all evening, Nick lingered just a little too close. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in that quiet, protective way he always did. Like he was right where he needed to be: beside you. Watching you.

Later, when the music softened and everyone shifted to the dance floor, he held out his hand without a word. You took it instinctively, letting him lead you to the center of the room.

“You always get the slow dances,” he teased lightly, his eyes sparkling in the low light.

“And you always get to be my partner,” you shot back, half-laughing, half-nervous.

He shrugged, but there was a softness in his gaze that caught you off guard. “I like being here with you,” he admitted quietly.

You froze for a moment, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you in a bubble of soft music and flickering fairy lights.

“You… always say that,” you whispered. “But it’s never… like this.”

He leaned just a little closer, so your shoulders brushed, your hands still entwined. “Maybe because it’s never been just like this before,” he murmured.

And for the first time, you wondered — really wondered — if the reason you’d always been the “forever bridesmaid” wasn’t about bad luck or timing at all. Maybe it had just been waiting for the right person to notice you.

The music slowed even further, leaving just a soft melody in the background. Around you, couples swayed, but you and Nick hardly noticed anyone else. Your hands were still entwined, the warmth of his fingers pressed against yours, sending tiny jolts through your chest every time he tightened his grip just slightly.

“I’ve always… liked this,” he repeated, softer this time, almost like he needed to hear it as much as you needed to. “Being with you. More than friends.”

Your heart skipped. You couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stop the way your lips parted slightly as if preparing for something you’d never let yourself hope for.

He tilted his head, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The motion was slow, deliberate, intimate. His gaze held yours with a kind of intensity that made the world shrink down to just the two of you.

Before you could even think, he leaned closer. Your breath caught. His eyes flicked to your lips for a moment — almost asking permission — and then he closed the distance.

The first touch of his lips was gentle. Testing. Uncertain. But it was enough to make your knees weaken, to make your hands curl around his shirt, pulling him closer without realizing it.

He lingered there, soft, warm, careful. And when you leaned into him, the kiss deepened just a little, a quiet, slow acknowledgement of everything that had been simmering between you for years.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, resting your forehead against his. Your pulse was wild, your chest tight. “Nick…” you whispered.

He pressed another soft kiss to your temple. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion.

Your heart swelled. You didn’t know what the future held, and maybe you didn’t need to yet. Right now, this moment — him, you, the gentle sway of the music around you — was enough.

And for the first time in years, you felt like maybe being a bridesmaid wasn’t about waiting for someone else’s love story. Maybe it was about finding the one you’d been standing beside all along.

Nick smiled, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “You’re mine, you know,” he murmured, teasing but utterly sincere.

You laughed softly, feeling a thrill of joy that had nothing to do with weddings and everything to do with him. “Finally,” you whispered.

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together. 

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients. 

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back. 

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t. 

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands? 

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body? 

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. 

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around. 

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself. 

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode. 

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room. 

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?” 

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. 

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare. 

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on. 

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.” 

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat. 

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now. 

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling. 

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily. 

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time. 

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?” 

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be. 

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”  

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him. 

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!” 

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return. 

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again. 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face. 

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.” 

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room. 

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes. 

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression. 

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you. 

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!” 

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.” 

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.” 

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.” 

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish. 

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen. 

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?” 

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!” 

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!” 

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.” 

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!” 

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen. 

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table. 

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.” 

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze. 

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head. 

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite. 

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food. 

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere. 

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin. 

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?” 

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?” 

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly. 

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier. 

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.” 

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving. 

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle. 

“You alright?” you asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one. 

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.” 

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better. 

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation. 

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word. 

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table. 

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration. 

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.” 

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return. 

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.” 

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation. 

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.” 

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk. 

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.” 

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively. 

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.” 

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.” 

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically. 

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.” 

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.” 

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.” 

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.” 

“Promise?” you asked meekly. 

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further. 

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly. 

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on. 

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously. 

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question. 

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this. 

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter. 

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you. 

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake. 

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day. 

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there. 

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam. 

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything. 

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out. 

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs. 

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat. 

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.” 

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?” 

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?” 

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave. 

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you. 

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards. 

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?” 

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.” 

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.” 

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words. 

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward. 

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response. 

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.” 

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” 

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name. 

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.” 

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you? 

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.” 

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps. 

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker. 

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.  

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently. 

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly. 

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated. 

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation. 

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?” 

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her. 

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around. 

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!” 

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room. 

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief. 

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar. 

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by. 

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car. 

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him. 

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door. 

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time. 

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward. 

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly. 

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.” 

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.” 

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.  

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet. 

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work. 

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.” 

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him. 

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-” 

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more. 

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.” 

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat. 

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.” 

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked. 

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?” 

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” 

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?” 

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.” 

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess. 

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?” 

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?” 

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.  

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down. 

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him. 

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.  

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?” 

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more. 

“You said-” 

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin. 

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low. 

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks. 

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips. 

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.” 

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head with a glass of whiskey cold in his hand. “Look at you. Those muscles are practically busting out of your uniform.”

If it weren’t for the dim light of the bar, Bucky might’ve caught the flush creeping up Steve’s neck. Steve shifted, gripping his own glass before bringing it to his lips.

“I don’t know why we’re even here,” Steve said, draining the amber liquid in one go. “I can’t even get drunk.”

“No,” Bucky agreed. “But I can, so we’re drinking. Just admire the notes of oak or whatever.”

Steve scoffed, but he couldn’t stop a smirk from tugging at his mouth. It was impossible to stay moody around Bucky. “It tastes like gasoline.”

Bucky threw his head back, letting out a hearty laugh. As he straightened up, his eyes involuntarily drifted over Steve’s frame. Ever since the serum had transformed his friend, Bucky found himself constantly cataloging the… substantial changes.

Steve’s chest strained against his white T-shirt, his biceps flexing against the tight sleeves every time he moved. His jaw was chiseled now, his features sharper. Back then, Steve would have choked on a sip of cheap whiskey; now, the burn barely seemed to register. Bucky watched, mesmerized, as Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow.

“So, tell me what this serum is actually doing to you,” Bucky asked, his laughter dying down. His eyes trailed down to Steve’s chest. “Other than making you outgrow your damn clothes… how are you feeling?”

Steve let out a long, grounded sigh of satisfaction, setting his glass back on the scarred wood of the table with a thud.

“I feel… good. Like everything is heightened—” he raised a hand to chest level, “—up to here. Both inside and out.”

Bucky raised his glass, blue eyes peering down to Steve’s lap just over the rim. “That so?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky took a slow swallow and set his own drink down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Explain it to me. What exactly is it about you that’s heightened on the inside?”

Steve shifted, the wooden chair creaking under his new, heavy weight. His brows furrowed as he searched for the right words.

“It’s like a mental amplification. Everything that feels good feels… great. And everything that feels bad feels that much worse.”

He swallowed hard, his fingers beginning to fidget against the tabletop—a nervous habit the serum hadn’t managed to take away. He hesitated on whether to keep going.

Bucky, ever attuned to Steve’s patterns of hesitation, leaned in closer, trying to gauge the rest out of him.

“And?” Bucky prodded softly.

Steve parted his lips, his face coloring slightly, before pressing them thin and shaking his head. “That’s about it, really.”

Bucky raised a brow, noting the flush as it crept over his friend’s chiseled features. There was clearly something internal Steve wasn’t mentioning—something he was actively holding back. It felt wrong. Usually, Steve was an open book around Bucky.

“Alright, well,” Bucky muttered, deciding not to pry—at least not yet. He pushed himself off the barstool with a grunt. “Let’s go show our girl your new look, yeah? She should be waiting at the park.”

Steve’s lips quirked into a faint, lopsided smile. He took one last sip of the whiskey—for courage, Bucky suspected—and stood up, his frame nearly blocking out the overhead light of the bar.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Let’s go.”

After the two men settled their bill, they stepped out of the bar and into the crisp night air. They made their way toward the park, the streetlamps casting long, dramatic shadows across the pavement.

There you were, sitting on a wrought iron bench beneath the sprawling branches of an oak tree. You looked like a vision pulled straight from the pages of a fashion magazine, dressed in an off-white collared blouse and a long, pleated skirt, with a simple cardigan draped over your shoulders.

The soft glow of the moonlight caught the curve of your smile as you finally looked up from your book, noticing Bucky and Steve approaching.

“Bucky!” you beamed, standing up and snapping your book shut. “Steve!”

As you drew closer, Steve stopped dead in his tracks.

It felt as though the air had been kicked right out of his lungs. His heart, now amplified by the serum, hammered frantically against his ribs. He had seen you a thousand times before, but seeing you now—with every sense dialed up to ten—was like a man seeing color for the first time.

Your scent—a fragrance he used to only catch when he was standing right beside you—carried on with the breeze, finding his nostrils instantly.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief, dizzying second as he breathed you in.

Bucky slowed to a halt a step behind him, noticing the way Steve’s shoulders locked and how his gaze became hopelessly anchored to you.

Deep down, Bucky had always known Steve had a soft spot for you—hell, everyone did. Even Bucky had one, and he was shameless about it. But there was something different in the way Steve stiffened this time, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder just how much that serum had changed him on the inside.

“You guys had me waitin’ forever,” you met them halfway, smiling eyes darting between the two of them. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got yourselves drunk.”

“Never that, doll,” Bucky offered you a tipsy, lopsided grin. “Our boy here couldn’t get a buzz going if he drank the whole bar dry.” He gave Steve a pointed nudge with his elbow. “Notice anything… different about him?”

You blinked, eyes drifting up to meet Steve’s. You tilted your head slightly, book held close to your chest. “Did you get taller?”

Bucky snickered as your gaze began a slow, bewildered trail down to Steve’s torso. “And since when did you suddenly start working out?”

“Jeez, you really need to start picking up the morning newsletter, doll.” Bucky laughed, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder and hauling you into his side. You stumbled slightly against him, rolling your eyes at his familiar theatrics, but he kept you tucked firm under his wing. He pointed a triumphant finger at Steve. “This man right here just got injected with the Super Soldier serum.”

“Super soldier?” you repeated with a soft gasp. You stepped out from under Bucky’s arm, looking at Steve wide-eyed. “Steve, what on earth…?”

Your book was now tucked under one arm as your free hand reached out, hovering for a second before your fingers finally made contact with his bicep. The fabric of his usually loose T-shirt was straining and spreading tight across his muscles.

“Is that really you in there?” you teased, your hand sliding up his shoulder, then tracing the broad and wide expanse of his chest.

The propriety of your actions didn’t even cross your mind; you were simply enamored by the sheer mass of him.

You gave his forearm a squeeze, marveling at how your fingers couldn’t even meet halfway around it anymore. Just a few weeks ago, you had been the taller one—now, he was a mountain of a man, looming over you with a shadow that felt protective.

“Steve, you look great… you feel great, too—I mean, how are you feeling?” You blinked up at him, pressing your palm against his to compare their sizes.

Steve looked like he was about to combust on the spot.

The sensation of your small, soft hand wandering over his new frame and resting in his own rough palm was an absolute assault on his composure. Everywhere you touched felt like it was catching fire, the serum amplifying the friction of your skin against his until his blood felt like it was boiling.

He tried to speak, but his throat had gone bone dry. Bucky, of course, noticed immediately.

“I… yeah. Thanks. I feel good,” Steve stammered, nodding firmly as he looked down at you, a stray blond lock falling over his eyes. “I feel really, really good.”

You giggled at his familiar stuttering, finally pulling your hand away from his palm to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

Steve, meanwhile, felt a sudden warm ache pooling in his lower stomach—a physical reaction so intense it made his head spin.

Your giggle, your scent, the way you looked at him—everything he had loved about you before the serum was now heightened to an overwhelming pitch.

He shifted awkwardly, his trousers becoming uncomfortably, visibly tight, but there was nowhere to hide in the moonlight.

Bucky, standing just a few feet away, watched the flush deepen from Steve’s neck all the way to the tips of his ears. His eyes drifted down, catching the unmistakable, growing bulge that pushed against his friend’s trousers.

Bucky had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from howling right there in the park.

“Steve, you’re shaking,” you said softly, completely oblivious to his predicament as you moved your hand to the center of his chest to check his heart rate. “Is the serum making you sick? Your heart feels like it’s going a mile a minute.”

“N-no! No, I’m—I’m fine,” Steve choked out, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. He was terrified that if he actually touched you back, he’d lose all of his self-control. “Just… feels like a lot of energy. It’s a lot to take in.”

Bucky cleared his throat, a wicked little smile tugging at his lips as he stepped back into the conversation. “Yeah, I’d say he’s got a lot of energy built up right now. Might be a biological side effect—right, Steve?”

Steve returned his words with a glare, and Bucky only snickered louder.

“Let’s not stay out too late,” you said, looking around the quiet park, your voice airy and warm. “My mother baked a fresh batch of gingersnaps before she headed out for the evening. She left them on the counter and specifically told me to share them with you both.”

“Gingersnaps?” Bucky’s grin widened. “My favorite. Your mother always did have a soft spot for me.”

“For us,” Steve corrected, his voice low and territorial. He looked back at you. “We’re excited to try them, sweetheart. I’m quite hungry, actually.”

You laughed softly, playfully beckoning them with a wave of your hand as you turned on your heel.

You began leading the way toward your apartment building just across the street, calling back, “Come on! They’re probably still warm.”

As you walked ahead, the long, pleated skirt of your dress swayed with every step. The fabric clung and released over the curve of your hips in a rhythm that felt far too provocative for Steve’s new, heightened senses.

He couldn’t look away.

His gaze was hopelessly locked onto the way you moved, his mind clouded with feelings that were a mixture of protectiveness and something… unfamiliar and hungry.

Bucky nudged him hard in the ribs, leaning in close enough to whisper, “Careful there, Steve. You keep staring like that, you’re gonna burn a hole right through her skirt.”

Steve stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, his face flushing. “Shut up, Buck,” he hissed, though his eyes darted right back to you the second he regained his footing.

“I’m just saying,” Bucky chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he sauntered beside his friend. “Usually, you’re the one lecturing me about being a gentleman. Now look at you—standing there like a dog watching a steak dinner.”

You glanced over your shoulder, raising a brow at their whispering. “What are you two plotting back there?”

Steve stood up straighter, and Bucky shook his hand in a dismissive wave despite the smile he tried to fight. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, doll. Just lead the way—we’re right behind you.”

You frowned playfully, but kept on walking anyway. “I don’t like it when you two keep things from me.”

Steve felt his heart leap in his chest at the sight of your lips turned into a little pout. He was still struggling to keep his walk natural, his trousers feeling tighter with every step he took behind you.

“Trust me,” Steve said, his voice coming out a pitch deeper than he intended. “It’s nothing a girl like you would ever want to know. Just… stupid locker room talk.”

He waited until you turned your back to them before leaning toward Bucky’s ears.

“Behave,” he whisper-yelled in warning.

“Oh—come on,” Bucky smiled, adjusting his jacket as he met his friend’s panicked eyes. “I’m a saint, Steve.”

Once the three of you reached the building, you led the way up the narrow, dimly lit staircase. The rhythmic click of your heels on the creaky wooden steps was the only sound in the quiet hall.

Bucky leaned back slightly as he climbed, his gaze hooked shamelessly on the sway of your skirt.

A look of pure appreciation settled on his face, his tongue darted over his lower lip as he considered just how much his best childhood friend had grown up.

Steve, walking right beside him, felt a sharp surge of protectiveness at the way Bucky was cataloging your every move. He jutted a heavy elbow into Bucky’s ribs—a blow that, with his new strength, nearly sent Bucky over the banister.

“Be respectful!” Steve hissed, his jaw locked.

Bucky wheezed quietly, clutching his side.

“Jeez, Steve… watch the hardware,” he grunted, trying to catch his breath. “And don’t give me that lecture, pal. You’re looking just as hard as I am.” His eyes drifted pointedly down to the front of Steve’s trousers. “Probably harder, considering you’ve got the vision of a hawk now.”

You paused in front of your door, fishing the keys out of your purse. You raised a skeptical brow at the two of them. “What is going on with you two?”

Steve caught his breath, smoothing his expression as he closed the distance between you. He forced a stiff smile.

“Nothing,” he said. “We’re just excited for those cookies. Been thinking about them all the way here.”

Bucky let out a muffled snort behind him, but Steve ignored it, keeping his focus on your eyes.

You chuckled and shook your head, pushing the door open. “Well, don’t just stand there like statues. Come in.”

Steve crossed the threshold with Bucky lingering right behind him. The moment the door clicked shut, Steve realized that coming here so soon after the serum had been a mistake.

The apartment was a sensory trap. Away from the biting wind of the street, your scent was no longer just a trace on the breeze—it was everywhere. It was in the perfume lingering on your soft skin, the traces of your familiar vanilla scent in the kitchen, and on the lived-in warmth of the sofa.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, heading straight for the kitchen.

Steve didn’t move.

He stood in the center of the living room, his body as rigid as a bag of bricks. Every muscle in his legs and back was coiled like a high tension spring. His hands were balled into fists at his sides just to keep them from shaking.

You returned a moment later, carrying a ceramic plate of gingersnaps and tea to the coffee table.

To Steve, you looked effortlessly domestic, the soft light of the floor lamp catching the stray flyaways of your hair like a soft halo.

As you sat on the sofa, you crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your skirt to hike up an inch or two higher than usual. It revealed the smooth line of your calf, covered only by a flimsy, sheer stocking that Steve felt he could easily rip with the slightest twitch of his hands.

A roar of blood rushed to Steve’s ears. He felt himself straining very painfully against his trousers, his fingers twitching with a desperate longing to touch you.

“Sit down, Steve,” Bucky prompted, giving his friend a nudge in the back toward the sofa. “Relax a little.”

Bucky sank into the armchair, leaving the spot on the sofa right next to you wide open. He looked at Steve, then at the empty cushion, and finally at Steve’s visible predicament, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

“Yeah, come here, Steve,” you said, scooting over and patting the empty space next to you.

Steve swallowed hard, taking long, stiff strides until he finally sank onto the small sofa.

The cushions dipped precariously and the wooden frame groaned under his heavy weight. He found his knees sitting much higher than usual, making him look even more like a giant in a dollhouse.

“Man,” Bucky laughed, lifting a cup of tea to his lips. “You’re gonna break the damn furniture, Stevie.”

Steve mumbled a shy, “sorry,” his face burning.

You just shook your head, ignoring Bucky’s usual teasing. You picked up a gingersnap and brought it to Steve’s lips, cupping your other hand beneath it to catch any stray crumbs.

“Say ah.”

Bucky nearly choked, a spray of tea flying back into his cup.

Steve had turned a shade of red that was impossible to hide, the color racing from his collar to his hairline until even his ears were glowing. He sat there frozen—his jaw hanging slightly as he looked from the cookie in your hand to the teasing glimmer shining in your eyes.

“Well?” Bucky taunted, leaning forward in his armchair and clattering his saucer down on the table.

He was enjoying this far too much.

“Don’t keep the lady waiting, Steve. Go on. Say ‘ah’ for the misses.”

Steve pressed his lips together, giving Bucky a hard glare from across the couch.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Steve,” you teased, nudging the gingersnap closer to his mouth. “You said you were hungry, didn’t you?”

Bucky let out a low, wicked whistle. “He’s real hungry, doll. Starving, I’d say. Just look at him—he’s already drooling for a bite.”

“Bucky—” Steve’s jaw dropped in indignation at his friend’s shamelessness, and you seized the opportunity to slide the edge of the cookie past his teeth.

“There,” you hummed, reaching out to catch a small crumb off his bottom lip with a slow swipe of your thumb. “Was that so hard?”

Steve wished the worn cushions would open up and swallow him whole—because hard was exactly what he was. The simple graze of your thumb swiping over his lip was enough to make his whole body shudder. The feel of your lingering touch tingled on his lips, the sensation only making him dangerously need you more.

“Hell,” Steve muttered through the quiet munching. “Would you… please excuse me—”

He stood up so abruptly the sofa groaned. He kept his back turned to you, his hand dropping to swiftly, desperately adjust the painful bulge pushing up against his pants. He took stiff, heavy strides toward the bathroom, each footstep making the delicate floorboards thud and creak under his heavy body.

After Steve disappeared around the corner, you turned to Bucky. He was leaning back in the armchair, looking entirely too smug for his own good.

“Is everything okay with him?” you asked softly. “He’s been acting so… jumpy. Is the serum hurting him? Maybe he needs a doctor.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, swiping a gingersnap from the plate. He took a slow bite, savoring the sweetness before his eyes met yours, something mischievous and knowing behind those orbs.

“Hurting him? No, sweetheart. I don’t think ‘pain’ is what Stevie’s feeling right now,” Bucky said, his gaze drifting toward the hallway. “The scientists told him the serum doesn’t just change the muscles. It amplifies everything inside—his heart, his nerves, and his…” He paused, his eyes landing back on yours, “… instincts.”

You blinked, still not quite catching the drift. “Instincts? Like his reflexes?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Bucky replied with a casual shrug, dusting the crumbs off his fingers. He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on his knees to bridge the gap between you. “See, Steve was always the type to keep to himself when it came to women. But that serum? It turned him into a real man—in every sense of the word.”

You tilted your head curiously, and Bucky chuckled at your naivety before pressing on.

“Everything he sees, everything he smells… everything he feels… it’s all ten times more intense than it used to be.” Bucky paused, raising a dark brow. “You followin’ me, doll?”

“I’m trying to,” you murmured, though a slight heat was beginning to prickle at your cheeks.

Bucky glanced toward the closed bathroom door. “Usually, Steve’s got a lot of willpower. But you sitting there, feeding him and touching him like that?” A wolfish grin tugged at his mouth. “I bet it’s taking every ounce of strength in that new body of his just to remember how to be a gentleman.”

You followed Bucky’s gaze toward the darkened hallway, your lower lip poking out in a slight, troubled pout.

“But… is he hurting?” you asked, your heart aching at the thought of Steve in any kind of distress. “If the serum is making things that intense, it sounds… painful.”

Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you’re so innocent doll. That’s why we love you.” He shook his head, leaning back as he watched the gears slowly turn in your head.

“Listen to me,” he continued. “Steve is a gentleman. Always has been, always will be. He’d sooner jump on a grenade than be disrespectful to a lady—but at the end of the day, he’s a man. And a man has certain… needs. Especially when he’s sitting inches away from the person he’s been head over heels in love with since we were all knee high to a grasshopper.”

Your breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your eyes went wide to meet his. “Steve… Steve likes me? Like that?”

Bucky gave you a boyish grin.

“Like doesn’t even begin to cover it, sweetheart. He’s had it bad for you for about a decade,” he teased before he tilted his head and gave you a slight pout. “Now, don’t go getting me too jealous, either. I’ve got a heart too, you know.”

A deep, hot flush crept up your neck and nestled into your cheeks. You could hardly wrap your mind around the idea that Steve… kind, stalwart Steve, actually liked you.

Between that revelation and the way Bucky was staring, you found yourself shifting restlessly on the cushion, rubbing your legs together subtly as if to soothe a sudden warm itch.

Bucky’s eyes dropped, tracking the way your skirt shifted over your thighs. He let out a low amusing hum at the way you wriggled beneath his scrutiny, his own expression darkening with interest.

“If he’s feeling… uncomfortable around me,” you started, your voice small and flustered, “is there anything I can do to help him? I don’t want him to be in pain.”

Bucky watched your legs work together for a moment before dragging his eyes back to yours. “You want to help him, do you?”

“Of course,” you nodded earnestly, meeting his stare with wide, sincere eyes. “I’d do anything to help you two if you were in distress. You’re my best friends.”

Bucky’s grin shifted, wider and somehow more predatory. He leaned in an inch closer, his voice dropping deeper. “Anything, sweetheart?”

Steve walked back into the living room. He looked slightly more composed, though his hair was damp at the temples where he had splashed his face with cold water.

His shirt was tucked in tight—perhaps too tight—and he kept his arms stiff at his sides as he approached the sofa. He stopped in his tracks, his frame large in the small room, when he saw how closely Bucky was leaning toward you and the stiff, flustered way you were sitting.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked. His eyes darted suspiciously between his smug best friend and your embarrassed expression.

“Are you feeling alright, Steve?” you asked softly, looking up at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Bucky said the… um, the serum… it might be making things difficult for you?”

Steve froze.

He stared down at Bucky, his eyes blown wide with a mix of shock and betrayal. He opened his mouth to stammer out a polite lie—to tell you he was perfectly fine and that Bucky was just talking nonsense—but Bucky didn’t give him the chance.

“I told our girl here all about your little predicament, Stevie,” Bucky interrupted with a gravelly purr. He leaned back, relishing the way Steve’s jaw tightened until the bone looked ready to snap. “Told her how all those new nerves of yours are screaming for a bit of... relief.”

Steve’s face went from pale to a scorched, blistering red. “Buck, shut it—”

“And the best part?” Bucky continued, ignoring the warning as he looked up at his friend with taunting eyes. “She’s a real sweetheart, Steve. She told me she’s willing to do just about anything to help you out of your distress. Isn’t that right, doll?”

Steve’s gaze flickered down to you, searching your face as if he were waiting for you to deny it—or perhaps, secretly hoping for your confirmation.

“Anything,” Bucky repeated for you, his voice low and suggestive. “She’s got a real generous heart, Steve. I think she’s just waiting for you to tell her exactly what a big, strong soldier like you needs to feel better.”

Steve’s chest felt like it was closing in on his heart. Your eyes—still wide and guileless—never broke away from his, and it only made his restraint weaker.

“What do you need from me, Steve?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “If you’re hurting… if there’s something I can do to make this easier on you, just tell me.”

If you could be any more innocent, Steve swore he would lose his mind. He had a sudden, violent urge to pin you down on the couch and fuck you right there.

“I… I don’t…” Steve stammered, his voice trailing off as he heard Bucky push himself off the armchair.

Bucky stepped up behind Steve and reached out and to give Steve a firm nudge toward you, forcing his large frame even deeper into your personal space until he was practically looming over your lap.

“Look at her, Steve,” Bucky cooed next to Steve’s ear. “You’ve got the girl of your dreams sittin’ right in front of you, offering her help, and you’re not gonna accept it?”

Steve felt like he could burst right through the seams of his trousers just from looking at you. Your eyes kept flicking down to the heavy, undeniable bulge in front of you before darting back up to his, your teeth nervously strumming over your bottom lip as you fought the urge to stare.

Bucky noticed.

Of course, Bucky noticed.

He let out a sly grin before reaching around and flattening his palm directly over the straining bulge in Steve’s pants. He had done it so casually that you almost believed this wasn’t the first time he’d handled his friend.

“Fuck,” Steve’s eyes snapped wide, head turning to Bucky’s in shock but not pulling away. “B-Buck—!”

“Look at this, doll,” Bucky hummed darkly. He didn’t break eye contact with you as his fingers flexed, squeezing the length of Steve’s cock through the fabric. “You see how hard he is? How much he’s shaking just because you’re lookin’ at him?”

Steve let out a low, involuntary whimper—a sound so ungentlemanly it made his face burn even hotter. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and desperate, pleading for you to either stop this or finish it.

“P-please…”

Bucky gave Steve a firm squeeze, his fingers curling around Steve’s bulge. The pressure made Steve’s head roll back, a deep, broken groan vibrating out of his throat as his body betrayed him.

A dark, damp circle began to bloom against the front of his light-colored trousers, the fabric darkening as a heavy bead of pre-cum soaked through, marking him right where Bucky’s thumb was pressing.

Bucky let out a low, dark chuckle as he relished the way his friend was falling apart beneath his hand.

“Look at that, doll,” Bucky urged, voice raspy.

He shifted his palm slightly to smear the growing dampness into the cloth, making the stain even more obvious and Steve even more shameful. “See what you’re doin’ to him? He’s so worked up for you, he can’t even keep himself dry.”

Steve was trembling where he stood, his massive shoulders shaking as he looked down at his ruined pants before his gaze snapped back to yours—raw and shamelessly.

“Buck… stop,” he whined. It was a pathetic, needy sound, and despite every ounce of strength in his new muscles he could use to push Bucky off, he didn’t. He stayed rooted to the spot, leaning into the touch. “You’re… you’re scaring her…”

“Scaring her?” Bucky chuckled. “I’m not scaring her. Look her in the eye, Stevie. She wants you just as bad.”

Bucky glanced over at you, tilting his head with a flash of innocence that didn’t match the way his hand was still working Steve through his trousers. “Isn’t that right, doll? Don’t you want to help our poor, big Stevie?”

“How should I…” you whispered, voice trembling as you looked up at the two large men looming over you. “What should I do?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, a predatory smile tugging at his lips. “Get down on your knees, sweetheart. A man loves to see his woman on her knees for him.”

A small gasp escaped you, and you looked up at Steve as if waiting for his approval. He didn’t deny it—his brows were pinched together and his jaw hung open as his chest heaved in deep, heavy breaths. Finally, you slid off the cushions and sank onto the rug. From this angle, Steve looked like a titan, and the damp stain on his trousers sat right at eye level.

Steve swore he could bust right then and there just from seeing you on your knees.

“Now,” Bucky commanded softly. His hand finally let go of Steve’s cock to rest on top of his head, his fingers threading firmly through Steve’s blonde hair. “Open ‘em up. Nice and slow.”

“Slow?” Steve whined.

Bucky clicked his tongue. “He’s been waiting a long time for this, he can wait a little longer.”

With trembling fingers, you reached for the buttons of his trousers. The fabric was strained to the limit, and as you worked them free one by one, the rigid, pulsing heat of him began to push through the opening.

When the last button gave way, Steve’s cock snapped free, heavy and thick.

You gasped at the size. You weren’t sure how it was going to fit in your hand.

“There he is,” Bucky cooed, his hand tightening in Steve’s hair as he forced Steve's head down to look at you. “Now, wrap your hand around him. Take a good grip so he knows he’s yours.”

You reached out, your small hand barely able to meet around the girth of him. The feel of your warm, amateur palm wrapping around his skin made Steve’s eyes shutter closed instantly in pleasure.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve cursed, his hips instinctively bucking forward for more.

“Look at that,” Bucky chuckled.“Can’t even fit her whole hand around you—but it feels good, doesn’t it? So much better than your own hand.”

“So…” Steve moaned, his hips drawing back slightly before he thrusted himself into your palm, “much… better. Fuck—”

You tightened your grip, swiping your thumb over the pre-cum that gathered at his tip and over his cockhead. The friction of your palm against his over sensitized skin made Steve’s knees buckle, his large frame swaying as he looked down at you through his haze of lust.

“See that, doll?” Bucky rumbled above you. “Steve’s a man now—and a man like this… sometimes a hand just isn’t enough to please him. Isn’t that right, Stevie?”

Steve didn’t, couldn’t, give him a coherent answer. He was busy babbling broken, desperate sounds into the air, his head rolling back against Bucky’s chest. “God… please,” he breathed. “Her hand.. it’s so soft—so warm.”

Your face was on fire. You could feel yourself wetting your panties with every heavy breath and grunt that escaped Steve’s lips. And the way Bucky was shamelessly watching you, that wicked little knowing grin plastered on his face, only made you feel smaller—utterly helpless under both of them.

Bucky’s cock was practically jumping out of his pants as his eyes were fixed on the way your small hand looked against Steve.

“Shit. I think he needs more, sweetheart.” He breathed. “I think he needs more, sweetheart. Stick your tongue out. I want you to use that pretty tongue of yours. Lick it—all the way up—and then I want you to take as much of him as you can into your small little mouth.”

You hesitated, your breath hitching as you stared up at the two men.

“I… I’ve never... sucked before—” you confessed, tiny and trembling.

The admission made you sink back on your heels, suddenly overwhelmed. You had Steve right in front of you, practically panting for anything you were willing to give him, which should have made you feel confident—but the performance anxiety was taking its toll.

You were terrified you wouldn’t be able to satisfy Steve, and the weight of Bucky’s watchful and critical gaze only made it worse.

But Bucky didn’t look disappointed.

In fact, his grin grew wider.

“Even better,” Bucky purred. He leaned over Steve’s shoulder, his eyes locking onto yours. “That just means Stevie here gets to be the one to teach you. And don’t you worry, doll... we’re gonna make sure you learn exactly how to take care of a man.”

Bucky’s hand slid down Steve’s forearm, his grip tightening as he nudged him toward you. “Help her out, Stevie. Grab her hair.”

Steve hesitated. His eyes dropped to the plump curve of your lips, and his cock twitched as he imagined the heat of your mouth wrapping around him. Slowly, as if expecting you to pull away, his thick fingers tangled into your hair.

When you let out a soft, shaky sigh at the feel of his touch, Steve took it as the only permission he needed. He tugged a little firmer now, guiding your face closer to his hard length until you stumbled forward on your knees with a small whimper.

“Tell her, Steve,” Bucky urged, his eyes fixed on your trembling lips. “Tell her exactly what you want her to do with that pretty mouth.”

Steve’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip, with a hand tight around the base of his cock, he guided himself right to your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darted out at the pre-cum collecting at his slit, and Steve’s entire body shuddered with every effort it took from slamming his cock into your mouth.

“How does it taste, sweetheart?” Steve breathed, gauging your expression.

You looked up at him, your eyes a little hazy as the salty taste of him settled on your tongue. It was a completely new sensation—warm, strong, and undeniably masculine.

“It’s… a little salty,” you admitted gently “Is it supposed to taste like that?”

Bucky chuckled darkly, his hand coming up to grip Steve’s shoulder as he pressed himself into his back, his cock subtly rubbing up against the cleft of Steve’s ass through the fabric of his own pants. “Aw. Isn’t that cute? Just a little taste and our girl’s already curious.”

“Open… please,” Steve rasped.

Between the sight of your waiting mouth and the insistent pressure of Bucky behind him, his senses were completely overwhelmed.

“Open your mouth all the way for me, sweetheart,” Steve let out a shaking breath.

He guided his throbbing, slicked head of his cock back to your lips, his fingers tightening instinctively in your hair. “I need to feel how warm your mouth is… I need you to take me.”

Shyly, you parted your lips. At the sight of your tongue, Steve took it as a final invitation to lose himself. He nudged your head closer to his cock until your lips stretched over his sensitive head. Already overwhelmed by the sensation of your plump lips sliding over his sensitive flesh, Steve let out a low, guttural growl and tossed his head back.

“Oh, hell…” he cursed, bucking his hips forward without warning.

Steve’s cock slid over your wet tongue and buried itself deep in your mouth. Your eyes went wide as you let out a muffled, helpless choke around his length. That small sound only made your throat tighten around his shaft, and the combination of your sweet, pained noises and the warmth was enough to shatter Steve’s last bit of control.

“Shit… that feels… fuck,” Steve whined, his hips snapping deeper into your mouth. “Feels too damn good—”

“Whoa, Stevie,” Bucky chuckled, though his own breath was hitching as he watched. He reached down, his hand landing heavy on Steve’s hip to try and still him. “Slow down, pal. You’re gonna choke the poor girl if you keep lunging like a wild animal. Take it easy.”

“I—I can’t…” Steve gasped, his head rolling back against Bucky’s shoulder.

His eyes were blown wide and glassy with a terrifying haze of lust. His thrusts became more frantic, his heavy cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a wet, vulgar slapping sound.

“Fuck, Bucky… do you see how she’s looking at me?” Steve grumbled, his voice a wrecked, low vibration.

He looked down at you, watching the way your eyes stayed locked on his even as you struggled to accommodate his size.

“She’s chokin’ around me… I can feel her throat squeezing me… but she’s not looking away.”

He glanced back at Bucky, blonde hair falling over his sweat beaded brow in messy, golden strands. “That—that means she wants it, right? She wants me to keep goin’?”

Your eyes grew wide and teary, your warm, wet throat closing in tight around him as he drove himself in to the hilt. You choked and coughed, drooling helplessly around his thick shaft as his pelvis collided with your nose with every thrust.

“Mmph—!”

“Fuckin’ hell, Steve…” Bucky cursed. “Slow down—you’re breaking her.”

Breaking you.

The mere idea of it—the very woman he had sought after for years, now pinned on her knees beneath him, servicing his cock—was too much to bear. Your eyes, usually so wide with wonder and kindness, were now glassy and teary as your mouth stretched to accommodate him.

The sight of your vulnerability was the final spark. It was enough to make him cum on the spot.

“Fuck… I can’t—shit, not when she’s looking at me like that…” Steve groaned, rocking his hips faster against your mouth.

“Ste—ve—mmph..”

“You like this, don’t you?” he breathed, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at the messy, beautiful ruin of your face. “My girl… my best girl… taking all of me.”

And then you nodded—a small, subtle little movement you managed to get out despite the possessive grip Steve had on your hair. That tiny invitation made his cock throb violently inside your mouth, pulsing once, twice, before his release finally consumed him and your mouth.

“Look at her, Buck!” Steve beamed, his head rolling back against Bucky’s chest as he drove himself into your throat one last time. “She’s so… fuck… she’s so perfect. God, I’m cumming—!”

Bucky watched, enamored, as Steve’s thick seed flooded your mouth. Steve held your head down, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as his release seeped around the stretch of your lips and down your chin, dripping obscenely onto the floor.

Your face—usually so pretty, soft, and composed—was now fucked to filth. Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, and your lips and chin were smeared with a mask of saliva and Steve’s cum.

It was a sight vulgar enough to make Bucky almost feel bad for you.

Almost.

The sensation of Steve’s salty, warm, and thick cum hitting the back of your throat was like a drug filling your head. His cock throbbed tiredly in your mouth, Steve finally coming down from his high. He let out a long, shaky breath and pulled out of your wet, sore mouth with a heavy, sloppy pop.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Steve rasped, his voice filled with regret as he took in the sight of you—kneeling on the floor, breathless and covered in his mess. “Look at you. I ruined you. I didn’t mean to be so—God, please let me help you up.”

He started to reach for your shoulders, his large palms open and trembling, but he was cut off by the sharp sound of Bucky’s belt being unbuckled.

“Get up, Steve.”

Bucky’s voice wasn’t a suggestion but rather an authoritative command that made no move for arguments. He nudged Steve back with a firm, steady hand, his eyes never leaving your messy, dazed face.

“That’s not a way to treat a woman now, Steve,” Bucky purred, finally extending a hand to you. His fingers were steady, a contrast to Steve’s shaking frame. “Our girl has never sucked a cock before—and yet here you are, slamming your pelvis down her throat and ruinin’ her.”

Steve’s face flushed with embarrassment and shame. His eyes flickered to Bucky’s briefly before looking back at yours with guilt.

“I know. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I… I lost control.”

You reached up, wiping the corner of your mouth as Bucky’s hand closed around yours, pulling you to your feet. “It’s okay—”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Steve,” Bucky interrupted with a sharp click of his tongue, shaking his head.

He pointed to the seat directly behind Steve—the one Bucky had just vacated. “Sit down. Since you don’t know how to pace yourself, I’m going to show you how to properly please a woman.”

Steve swallowed hard, watching your debauched face blink up at Bucky with a dazed curiosity. His heartstrings pulled knowing how brutally he’d just fucked your face, and reluctantly, he took a seat as instructed.

You felt Bucky’s warm breath hit the back of your neck as he pressed up behind you—his bulge rubbing firm against the fabric of your skirt as his hands circled from behind you to your front, undoing the buttons on your blouse one at a time.

“You have to take your time with a fragile woman like her,” Bucky said raspily, his nose finding the crook of your neck and pressing soft, wet kisses between each sentence. “You need to savor this moment—undress her slowly as if unwrapping a delicate present.”

Your blouse was finally undone, and you heard the small gasp that left Steve’s lips at the sight of your lacey bra.

Swiftly, as if he had done this plenty of times before, Bucky undid your bra in one quick moment, the lace hitting the ground.

“Oh—!” you gasped as Bucky’s hands immediately found your nipples, giving them soft and teasing tugs as he circled his digits around the sensitive flesh.

In reaction, your back arched against his chest, only making your ass rub up against Bucky’s straining cock even more.

“Bucky…” Steve breathed from the couch, his hands already working at his half-hard cock. “What’re you… doing…”

“You’ve gotta play with her for a bit,” Bucky explained, giving your nipple a harsher tug that made you squeal. “Hear that, Steve? Means she likes it.”

He nuzzled his nose closer to your face, blue eyes piercing through yours.

“Do you like it, doll?”

“I… I do…”

You were cut off with Bucky’s hand sliding up to your chin and giving your cheeks a firm squeeze in his direction.

“Look at me when you answer, baby,” he warned. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, Bucky... I l-love it,” you whimpered as his hands continued their possessive roam over your body.

Bucky’s grin was dark and satisfied, his thumb grazing the corner of your swollen mouth. “Good. Eye contact is important. Now…”

He reached out, his hand hooking under your chin and firmly turning your face to meet Steve’s gaze. Steve looked completely spent, his blue eyes wide and glazed with a heavy, post orgasmic haze as he watched you from the couch, his hand resting lazily over the rise of his cock.

“Look Steve in the eye while I touch you,” Bucky commanded, his fingers digging slightly into your cheeks to keep your head still. “Tell him how good it feels.”

You shivered, your eyes locking onto Steve’s. He looked so vulnerable, yet so hungry, his chest heaving as he watched his best friend’s hands work over you.

“Don’t keep him waiting.” Bucky urged.

“It… it feels so good, Steve,” you breathed as Bucky continued to grope you. “Bucky’s hands… they’re so warm—I love how he’s touching me—”

Steve let out a choked sound at your words, one hand stroking his shaft while the other gripped the arm rest. “Jesus…”

“He’s got a lot to learn, doesn’t he, baby?” Bucky murmured, his hand sliding down to the hem of your skirt and unzipping the side, letting the fabric fall over your legs and hit the ground. “Tell him how it feels when I do this.”

A mewl escaped your lips the moment Bucky slyly slid his hand down the waistband of your panties, his fingers gently rubbing at your clit before delving deeper against your folds. He shifted around you, one hand groping at your chest,waist, and hips—while the other fingered your wet cunt.

“Ah—Buck!”

“My,” Bucky chuckled, clicking his tongue. “She’s so wet.”

Steve swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the sight of Bucky’s hand disappearing into your lace. “Is she?”

“Long before I even started touchin’ her, I bet,” Bucky explained, nudging his knee between your legs to force them to spread wider for him. “That’s all because of you, Steve. You worked her up so good—she’s dripping around my fingers.”

Still standing and completely exposed to both of the hungry men, you felt Bucky’s fingers probe against your entrance, giving you a few teasing strokes before he pushed firmly against the tight heat of your hole.

You arched your back, whining high in your throat as Bucky’s fingers sheathed completely inside you—at first stroking gently before he began to move roughly, enticing shamelessly wet sounds out of you.

“Oh my God—!” you cried.

You squelched around his fingers as he worked your slick folds. Steve’s eyes widened, his breath completely caught in his throat as he watched your body react so easily to Bucky’s hands.

“You hear that, Stevie?” Bucky groaned, increasing the pace in his fingers while rubbing himself against your back. “When a woman sounds like that—it means she’s ready. Ready to be fucked.”

With a sharp tug, Bucky hooked his fingers into the lace of your panties and dragged them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed and shivering in the center of the room.

He rested a heavy hand on your lower back, his palm hot against your skin as he guided you toward the couch.

“On the couch, doll. Front and center.”

You stumbled slightly, your knees weak and your inner thighs a slick, aching mess. You barely had time to settle onto the cushions before Bucky was already unbuckling his belt, his pants hitting the floor as he exposed himself completely.

He stepped in, his thighs nudging between your knees and forcing you to lay back until you were spread wide and vulnerable beneath him.

Bucky was big in ways that genuinely worried you.

If you could hardly handle Steve’s length in your throat, you weren’t sure of how your body would react to Bucky’s width.

He noticed the way your eyes widened as he hovered over you, his thumb tracing the seam of his own length as he rubbed his tip against your entrance. He let out a low, dark chuckle, completely satisfied with the way he had you squirming and the way he had Steve pinned to his seat, unable to look away.

“You see how she’s shaking, Steve? That’s what you want. You want her knowing exactly what’s coming for her.”

“Bucky,” you whined, your hands coming up to his shoulders for support—and Steve watched with a pang of envy, wishing it was his skin you were clinging to instead. “Please…”

Bucky laughed again, taking the head of his cock and dragging it slowly along your slit, coating himself in your heat. You let out a shaky breath, your hips involuntarily twitching, begging for the friction to turn into something more.

“She’s begging so sweetly, Buck…” Steve gave himself a gentle squeeze around his sensitive shaft at the sight of you. “You need to take care of her—”

“Even though she’s beggin’, you gotta make her wait.” Bucky explained despite the strain of holding back in his own voice. “You stretch her out bit by bit until she’s begging you to just get it over with.”

Bucky poked his tip against the soft, warm flesh of your cunt, pressing just enough pressure to make you gasp but not enough to penetrate all the way through.

“Tell Steve what you want, doll,” Bucky murmured, his hand coming down to grip your hip. “Tell him how much you want this.”

“B-Bucky, please,” you sobbed, your back arching off the couch as you tried to force yourself onto him, but he held his ground, as immovable as a mountain.

“That’s not an answer,” Bucky teased, his eyes darting to Steve, who was leaning so far forward he was nearly off his seat. “Is she asking for a kiss, Stevie? Is she asking for a blanket? I can’t tell.”

Steve’s throat bobbed as he watched the head of Bucky’s cock sliding against your entrance, the size of him making you look so small and fragile. “She wants you inside her, Buck. Just… fuck, just give it to her.”

“I want to hear her say it,” Bucky countered, giving you another shallow, teasing poke that made your toes curl into the cushions. “Tell us, baby. What do you want me to do with this?”

“I want you inside,” you choked out, your face warm with embarrassment. “I want… I want you to stretch me. Please, Bucky, fuck me!”

Bucky smirked, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

With one hand propped near your head to hold himself up, he used the other to grip the base of his cock. He pushed deeper against your entrance, your cunt slowly stretching around him with every stinging burn. You could feel every ridge, every inch of his width forcing your tight walls to let him in.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed a curse, “she’s so tight.”

“Buck,” you whimpered, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders as he stretched you with every slide. “Too… too big, I don’t think I—”

“You can, baby,” Bucky countered. He hooked one hand underneath your thigh, hoisting it up toward your chest until you were pinned back, nearly splitting you. “Here—I’ll help you. Steve, I want you to watch me.”

A broken mewl left your lips as you tossed your head back against the cushions. Bucky was filling you—completely and deeply—and he hadn’t even begun to move before your legs were already shaking. With a deep grunt, he finally bottomed out, his hips slamming against yours with a wet squelch so vulgar it made Steve’s breath hitch.

“Her legs are shaking…” Steve pointed out, which only made your body warm even more in embarrassment.

You turned your head to look at him, and the sight made you clench instinctively around Bucky’s dick. Steve was at the edge of his seat, his toes curled into the floor as his large hand pumped over his cock. He was still slick from his own cum and the heat of your mouth, leaking profusely and looking every bit ready for round two.

“S-Steve…” you broke off into a whimper as Bucky’s grip on your thigh tightened.

The sudden grip made your eyes flicker back to Bucky’s—his darkening at the way you were looking at his best friend. He let out a sharp, mocking huff.

“Moaning another man’s name while I’m buried this deep inside you, doll?” Bucky pulled back until he was nearly out, the slick wetness around his shaft filling the room before he slammed back in, making you cry out and the couch groan.

“If you’ve got enough breath to call for Stevie,” he growled, pulling his hips back again before thrusting even deeper, “then I’m not working you hard enough.”

The moment Bucky increased his pace, a loud, broken moan ripped from your throat. You tried to hide it—to claw back any shred of composure—but you simply couldn't when you were stripped bare and taken so roughly while Steve watched every single second.

Every time Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix, it felt like your nerves were catching on fire.

You were parted completely by him, his width stretching you so thoroughly that your body had no choice but to acknowledge that you belonged to him.

“A-ah! Bu-Bucky… feels so good—!” you cried out, hands clawing at his back as he fucked you into the cushions.

Each thrust Bucky delivered seemed to synchronize with the wet pumping of Steve’s hand. Bucky looked over his shoulder, a dark smirk pulling at his lips as he caught Steve’s eye.

“Bet you’ve imagined this countless times, haven’t you, Stevie?” Bucky taunted.

He nearly pulled all the way out, letting Steve see the wet and stretched out version of you before bottoming out again, filling you completely and making you cry out.

“Lying in your bed at night, wondering what it would like to hear her scream like this for you.” Bucky continued with a gritty rasp.

As shameful as it was—every bit of it was true.

Every day you had spent standing next to Steve—acting small and seemingly innocent—you never would have guessed that little ol’ Steve had the filthiest thoughts imaginable running through his mind.

He used to imagine what it would feel like to have a body that didn’t fail him, a body strong enough to pin you down and finally act on the dirty thoughts that made his blood sing. He’d lie awake in his cramped apartment, staring at the ceiling and picturing your hands on him.

Or better yet, his hands on you—forcing a cry just like the one Bucky was coaxing out of you now.

Every time Bucky’s cock slid out of your cunt, Steve imagined it was his own sinking back into your tight, aching heat. If your mouth had felt that incredible, he could only imagine how it must feel to be buried deep inside you. The thought alone made him pump his cock faster, his body leaking a copious amount of pre-cum thanks to the serum.

He was already on the verge of busting a second load just from the sight of you getting ruined.

“God… ah, fuck,” Steve whimpered, his eyes glazed as his cock became painfully sensitive under his own touch.

“Look at him, doll,” Bucky prompted, leaning down to hiss the words into your ear while he continued to relentlessly pump into you. “Look at how hard he’s working just to keep up with us. He’s been a good boy, hasn’t he? Watching his best friend ruin you while he sits there and plays with himself.”

Bucky pulled back almost to the tip, gripping your other hip and flaring you even wider for the audience.

“He’s imagining it’s him,” Bucky laughed, a dark, sexy sound that made you flare up. “He’s imagining he’s the one stretching you out, the one making you sob his name. But he has to learn how to take care of you first, right? He has to watch me finish inside you.”

Your eyes widened at the thought of Bucky pumping you full.

It was dangerous, but with the way he had you pinned, your body couldn’t help but react. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your heat.

“Oh—” Bucky grunted, his cock twitching violently at the feel of your soft thighs locking him in. “Jesus… fuck.”

“Finish inside her,” Steve pleaded. He was timing his own hand to Bucky’s thrust, body tensing as he was prepared to cum alongside his best friend. “Fuck, Buck… do it. She’s pullin’ you in—means she wants it. I want to see you fill her.”

“She’s—she’s so tight,” Bucky hissed, his head falling into the crook of your neck. He drew his hips back as far as your locked legs would allow before sliding back in. “She’s pulling me in… like she’s trying to drain me.”

Bucky pulled back slightly to look you in the eye, his eyes dark with hunger.

“What should I do, doll? Should I cum inside?” he whispered, rocking his hips in a slow, agonizing grind as he fought to hold back his release. “Should I show Steve how to properly breed a woman?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, your hips rising to meet him—trying to rip the orgasm out of him yourself. “Please, Bucky. I want it, please!”

Bucky’s face strained at your words, his hips losing rhythm as he fucked you until his cock twitched and pulsed.

“Christ… you dirty girl,” he grunted between clenched teeth, each thrust making the couch slide an inch against the floor.

Steve watched and listened, tracing the way your body shook and the way your moans pitched higher and higher with every wet slap of Bucky’s hips. He could see the exact moment you both started to go over the edge—and he was right there with you, his hand a blur as he prepared to cum too.

“Shit!” Bucky cursed. “Cumming—fuck—I’m cumming, baby.” He groaned, tossing his head back as you felt his cock twitch inside you, filling you up deeply.

“Oh my god—Buck!”

Your head swam with desire, the feeling of him pumping you full making you cry out as you came alongside him. Your walls clenched around his shaft as he continued to pump lazily into you, his release flooding your core.

Across from you, at that exact second, Steve let out a broken groan as his body jerked in the chair. His hand moved in a blur over his sensitive shaft, his cock twitching in his grip before spilling warm cum all over his fingers and stomach.

The living room that had once been warm with the scent of sweet cookies and tea now smelled of nothing but sex and sweat. Bucky stayed buried deep for a moment, pressing soft kisses to your flushed cheek as the tremors in your legs finally began to fade.

“Good girl,” he murmured in soothingly. “You were such a good girl for me.”

Slowly, Bucky began to pull out.

The sudden loss of him left you feeling sensitive and vulnerable, and you could feel the warmth he’d pumped into you beginning to slick down your thighs, staining the worn cushion of the couch. Bucky reached for the floor, grabbing his pants and pulling them over his shins.

“Did you watch carefully, Steve?” Bucky asked, doing his belt lazily.

Steve didn’t say a word.

He just nodded, pushing himself up from the chair.

You were completely spent, your limbs feeling like stones against the couch, but your eyes went wide as you watched him approach.

Despite having just finished, Steve was already half hard again. You didn’t know how it was physically possible, but a man with his desires amplified by the super-soldier serum worked wonders in ways that even you couldn’t understand.

“I did,” Steve confirmed.

His chest was still heaving as he stood over you, his shadow falling across your trembling frame. He looked devastating—undone, messy, and still starving.

“S-steve?” you whimpered, weakly trying to sit up, “… are you okay? What are you doing?”

Bucky let out a dark, knowing chuckle at the shock on your face. He stepped aside, clearing a path as he looked from Steve back down to you, his hand clamping firmly on his friend’s shoulder.

“Good,” Bucky said. “Because it’s your turn.”

3 weeks since i posted my last fic 🚬 this has been in my drafts since jan and i'm glad i got to finally finish it! another stucky one, but from here on out you guys can expect to see more bucky fics soon (probably knight!bucky or model!bucky, depends if i'm feeling depressed or horny)

thank you guys for sticking around, and i hope you enjoyed!

His scent drifted over you in the stairwell: warm pine, clean steel, something comforting and strong that settled deep in your lungs.

Your reaction was immediate and mortifying. Heat flared low in your belly, slick rushing hot and sudden between your thighs until you had to press your legs together to hide the way your panties were already soaked through. You ducked your head, cheeks burning, praying he hadn’t noticed.

But Bucky had.

His breath caught for the briefest second, blue eyes softening as they met yours. He didn’t say a word about it just murmured, “Anytime you need help I’m right here,” voice tender enough to make your heart stutter. Then he stepped back, giving you space, hands loose at his sides like he was proving he’d never take more than you offered.

Since then, you’d turned into someone you barely recognized, shy on the outside, filthy-minded on the inside, desperate for any scrap of closeness he’d allow.

In the laundry room you started timing your visits to his, wearing soft little shorts that rode up when you bent over, pretending you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You’d brush past him too close on purpose, letting your vanilla-honey scent bloom thick and sweet in the humid air. He’d go still every time, folding a towel with careful movements but you could see the way his throat worked when he breathed you in.

You weren’t bold, you blushed just thinking about it but the ache between your legs made you reckless. You’d linger by the dryer, bending slow, thighs slick and trembling because you knew he could smell how wet you were. Once, a helpless little moan slipped out when another pulse of slick soaked through your shorts, leaving a damp spot you couldn’t hide.

Bucky’s soft inhale was the only warning before his quiet voice reached you. “Sweetheart… you okay?” So gentle, so concerned, like he thought you might be hurting. His eyes were dark but his expression was all worried kindness, metal hand curled loosely at his side so he wouldn’t scare you. You wanted to drop to your knees and beg him to do something about the mess you’d made of yourself.

The elevator rides were torture you inflicted on both of you. You’d stand just close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest, breathing him in until you were dizzy. Your body didn’t care that you were shy, it reacted anyway, nipples tight against your shirt, fresh slick coating your thighs every time the car jerked. You’d bite your lip to keep quiet but sometimes a tiny, needy sound escaped anyway.

He never crowded you. Always stood with his hands behind his back or gripping the rail, giving you every inch of space. But once, after a particularly desperate whimper left your throat, he leaned in just enough to murmur against your hair, “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, I’m right here.” The words were so soft, so patient, they made you throb harder, made you want to turn around and rub yourself against him like a cat in heat.

Nights were when your restraint cracked completely. Through the thin wall you could hear him, quiet at first then the soft rustle of sheets, the low, helpless groan he tried to muffle in his pillow. The slow, slick sound of his hand moving over his cock, careful even when he was alone, like he was afraid of waking you. You’d press your ear to the wall, legs spread wide, fingers plunging deep into your dripping cunt because you couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d fuck yourself hard and fast, chasing the rhythm of his strokes, imagining his gentle hands instead, how careful he’d be, how he’d whisper sweet things while he split you open. Sometimes you heard him say your name, so soft and reverent it sounded like a prayer.

“God baby… wanna take care of you… wanna be good for you…” It sent you over every time, thighs shaking as you came messily around your fingers, biting the pillow to stay quiet while slick soaked the sheets beneath you.

You were the one burning up with filthy, desperate need.

He was the one holding back with endless patience and sweetness, waiting for you to ask.

And every night you came listening to him fall apart so gently on the other side of the wall, you wondered how much longer you could stand not begging him to finally give you what you both wanted.

Until tonight.

Your heat had crested into something unbearable, a vicious, clawing thing that left you stripped bare on the living-room floor, legs splayed wide, thighs glazed with hours of slick. Fingers weren’t enough anymore, three buried to the knuckles, thrusting frantically, chasing a relief that wouldn’t come.

The vibrator buzzed uselessly beside you; even the pillow you’d humped raw couldn’t soothe the hollow, aching throb deep in your cunt. You were sobbing openly now, broken pleas spilling into the empty apartment.

“Bucky… please… need you inside me… need your knot… need your pups…”

The words tore out of you without shame, loud enough to carry through the thin wall.

On the other side, Bucky broke.

He’d been fighting it for weeks, every gentle, devoted inch of himself locked down tight. Every time your scent thickened in the hallway, every time you bent over in the laundry room and he caught the shine of slick on your thighs, every muffled whimper he heard at night, he’d gone back to his apartment and stroked himself slow, almost reverent, whispering your name while he imagined sliding into you gentle and deep, imagined filling you so carefully you’d feel safe and cherished while he put his pups in you.

He was obsessed with it. Couldn’t think of anything else. The thought of your belly rounding soft with his child, of your body changing because of him, because he’d taken care of you so perfectly, it lived behind his eyes every second of every day. He wanted to be gentle. Wanted to be good. Wanted to earn the right to breed you by proving he’d never hurt you.

But tonight your scent flooded the hallway like a wave of pure, desperate heat and your broken cries punched straight through his chest.

Three soft, urgent knocks sounded at your door, too controlled to be anything but him.

“Doll?” His voice came through the wood, low and trembling, thick with worry and rut. “Sweetheart, I- I heard you cryin’. You okay? Can I… can I come in? Just to check on you, I swear I’ll be good-”

You scrambled up on shaky legs, slick pouring down your thighs in fresh rivulets, and flung the door open.

He looked wrecked in the most heartbreaking way: hair falling into dark, pleading eyes, chest heaving under a damp T-shirt, sweats tented obscenely with the thick line of his cock, a wet patch spreading at the tip. His scent rolled over you, warm pine, clean steel, and the heavy, drugging musk of an alpha deep in rut, but his hands were open at his sides, fingers flexing like he was terrified to reach for you.

“Oh baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as he took in the sight of you, naked, trembling, drenched. “You’re hurtin’ so bad… I’m sorry I waited so long. I didn’t wanna scare you…”

You lunged at him with a desperate whine, wrapping your arms around his neck, grinding your soaked cunt against the ridge of his cock through the fabric. “Bucky please- need you now. Need you to fuck me, need you to breed me, please-”

He caught you easily, lifting you against his chest like you weighed nothing, metal arm cradling your back, flesh hand cupping your ass with reverent care but the rut roaring through him finally snapped the last thread of patience.

He couldn’t wait another second, couldn’t make it the few extra steps to the couch.

With a low, trembling growl he sank to his knees right there in the entryway and lowered you gently to the floor, laying you down like you were still the most precious thing in the world, even as his hands shook with the need to claim you now.

“I’ve got you omega,” he murmured, voice shaking as he peeled off his shirt, revealing miles of scarred muscle. “Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. Wanna make you feel safe while I… while I give you everything.”

He settled between your thighs, eyes locked on yours and slid into you slow, so achingly slow, inch by thick inch, groaning soft and reverent as your slick walls fluttered around him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling gentle and deep. “So warm… so tight… been dreamin’ about this pussy every night doll. Dreamin’ about putting my pups right here-” His flesh hand slid to your lower belly, pressing lightly, possessively. “Wanna fill you up so gentle you feel every drop… wanna watch you grow round with me…”

The sweetness of it, the devotion in his voice, only made you wilder. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, trying to pull him deeper, faster.

“Harder,” you begged, voice raw. “Bucky please- need it rough, need you to ruin me, need you to breed me like you mean it-”

He froze, hips stuttering, eyes wide with sudden fear. “No baby- no, I can’t.” His voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.

“I… I haven’t been with anyone since the forties doll. Back then I was just a man- had a few sweet omegas, even knotted and bred a couple before the war took me. But after I fell, after Hydra… nothing. Not a single person in seventy years. They stole every chance, turned me into a weapon instead of a mate. I’ve never knotted anyone since, never bred anyone since and now my rut’s hittin’ harder than it ever has. You’re so small, so perfect, and I’m terrified I’ll lose control and hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you sweetheart.”

The confession spilled out of him like it had been locked behind his teeth for weeks, his blue eyes glassy with fear and longing. He rested his forehead against yours, trembling. “I want to give you pups more than I want to breathe, sweetheart. But I need to be gentle. Need to keep you safe.”

You sobbed, clenching hard around his cock, grinding up against him in filthy desperation. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you. I need it alpha- need you to lose control, need you to fuck me full of your pups, please-”

His breath hitched, a low, helpless sound tearing out of him. You felt his restraint crack, felt the tremor in his thighs as he fought it.

“Please,” you whispered again, nipping his jaw, licking the sweat from his throat. “Be rough with me. I’m begging you.”

Something shattered behind his eyes.

With a broken groan he pulled back and slammed home, hard, deep, perfect. Your back arched off the floor as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, metal arm braced beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, flesh hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider.

“That what you need, sweet girl?” he rasped, voice ragged with filth. “Need your alpha to fuck you raw after all these years? Need me to breed this pretty pussy till it’s dripping with me?”

“Yes- yes- harder!”

He gave it to you. Pounded into you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, cock dragging over every sensitive spot, balls slapping wet against your ass. Every thrust shoved a filthy squelch from your soaked cunt, slick splashing onto his thighs.

“Gonna knot you so deep,” he panted, eyes fixed on where you were joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. “First knot in almost a century baby, all for you. Gonna lock you to me and pump you so full of cum you’ll be carrying my pups by morning- fuck, I can’t wait to see you swollen doll, can’t wait to take care of you while you grow ‘em-”

You shattered around him with a scream, pussy clamping viciously, milking him as you came in messy, squirting waves.

He followed with a hoarse cry, hips grinding deep as his knot swelled huge and sudden, popping past your pussy and locking tight. The stretch burned white-hot, perfect, and then he was coming, endless thick ropes flooding your womb, spilling hot and heavy, overflowing around the knot in creamy rivulets that soaked you both.

He collapsed carefully, rolling so you were draped over his chest, still impaled, knot throbbing with every aftershock. His arms wrapped around you gentle again, metal fingers stroking your spine, flesh hand cradling the back of your head.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice soft and wrecked, kissing your temple, your cheeks, the tears on your lashes. “Took me so perfect… my first knot in seventy years and you made it feel like heaven. Gonna keep you knotted all night, baby. Gonna breed you again as soon as it goes down. Wanna put so many pups in you… wanna love you through every single heat.”

You nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in, your body finally, blissfully full.

And somewhere in the haze, you felt his knot pulse once more, another gentle, possessive spurt deep inside as he murmured against your skin, reverent and obsessed:

“Mine now, sweetheart. After all this time waiting… gonna spend the rest of my life keeping this belly round.”

You wake slow, aching in every possible way, sweet, filthy, perfect.

The hardwood is cool against your cheek, but Bucky’s body is a furnace curled around you from behind, heavy and protective. His flesh arm is draped over your waist like an anchor, metal hand resting low on your belly, fingers splayed wide and gentle, as if he’s already cradling something precious that isn’t there yet. The air is thick with the two of you: warm pine, steel, vanilla-honey, and the unmistakable proof of last night, hours of knotting, breeding, claiming, coating your skin, the floor, everything.

His cock is still inside you, half-hard and nestled deep, plugging the slow trickle of his own spend so nothing escapes. Every tiny shift of his hips makes a soft, wet sound and sends a lazy throb through your overworked walls. You’re sore, swollen, utterly wrecked… and your heat purrs at the feel of him anyway, slick already gathering fresh and helpless.

He stirs with a low, sleepy hum, nose burying in your hair to breathe you in like you’re oxygen.

“Mornin’ pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft and shamelessly adoring. His metal thumb strokes slow circles over your lower belly, reverent. “Sleep okay with my cock keepin’ you full all night?”

You whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate and rock back against him on instinct. The motion drags his thickening length through your messy heat and he groans like it hurts, so good it hurts.

“God, doll,” he whispers against your bond mark, lips brushing the tender, crusted bite with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re still drippin’ me. Kept every drop right where it belongs, didn’t you? Good omega… best omega.”

His flesh hand slides up to cup one heavy, aching breast, thumb brushing your nipple so tenderly you shiver. “These are gonna get so full for me,” he says, quiet and certain, like he’s picturing it already.

“Gonna swell up sweet and heavy, leak milk down your pretty belly while I keep you knotted and happy. Can’t wait to taste you, gonna suck you soft and slow every night, keep you feelin’ safe and spoiled while our pups grow.”

The words are pure filth but his tone is pure devotion, soft, shameless, utterly obsessed. He rocks into you lazy and deep, stirring last night’s loads with slow, churning thrusts that make obscene, wet sounds in the quiet morning.

“Feel that little swell already?” he asks, metal palm pressing gently, possessively over your abdomen.

“That’s me, baby. All that cum I gave you, sittin’ deep, takin’ root. Been dreamin’ about this since the day you moved in, puttin’ my pups in you, watchin’ you bloom. Never thought I’d get the chance again… not after everything. But you-”

His voice cracks just a little, raw with wonder. “You let me in. Let me love you like this.”

You clench around him involuntarily, fresh slick coating his cock and he moans your name like a prayer.

“Still so greedy for me,” he chuckles, warm and fond, hips rolling a little faster now.

“My sweet, perfect girl, heat all burned out yet still beggin’ for more. Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna give you everything. Gonna knot you soft and slow this morning, pump you full again till you’re overflowin’. Then I’ll carry you to bed, clean you up gentle, feed you breakfast with you in my lap… and knot you again after.”

He nips your ear, voice dropping to that shameless, loving growl. “Gonna keep this belly round for years, sweetheart. One litter after another, till you’re sick of bein’ spoiled and pregnant and mine. But I don’t think you ever will be.”

You come with a broken little cry, fluttering weakly around him and he follows right after, knot swelling slow and careful, locking you together as he spills deep with soft, reverent groans. His arms tighten around you, metal hand still cradling your belly like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“There we go,” he whispers, lips dragging slow and hot over the fresh bond mark, then your shoulder, your damp temple. His voice is a low, filthy-sweet rasp right against your ear.

“One more thick, hot load pumped straight into your perfect little womb for our pups, pretty baby. Fuck… feel how full you are? This gorgeous, greedy pussy still milkin’ every drop outta me, drippin’ my cum down your thighs like the beautiful mess you are. Best thing I’ve ever felt- this tight, silky heaven wrapped around my knot, takin’ everything I give you, lettin’ me love you deep and dirty and so fuckin’ proper.”

He stays buried deep, knot pulsing gently, and holds you like he’ll never let go.

You’re both still filthy, crusted, sticky, gloriously wrecked, sprawled together on the living-room floor where you passed out knotted and spent. The hardwood is cool beneath you, scattered blankets and discarded clothes forming a makeshift nest, the air thick with the heavy scent of rut, slick and alpha cum.

Every time you shift in his arms, trying to get comfortable against his chest, flakes of his dried spend drift off your inner thighs like snow and the sight makes him growl low and possessive against your neck, metal hand tightening gently over your lower belly while his flesh hand slides down to cup your swollen pussy, thumb tracing the sticky mess still leaking slow from you.

“Can’t have my seed wastin’ on the floor, pretty girl,” he rasps, voice rough with leftover rut and pure hunger. “Every drop belongs right back inside this perfect little cunt.”

The shower’s already steaming when he steps in. His cock swings heavy between his thighs, thick, flushed, half-hard again like it never learned the meaning of enough. He steps in behind you, metal arm locking gentle around your waist to keep you steady while hot water pours over you both, rinsing away the crusted mess but doing nothing to ease the raw, throbbing ache deep in your pussy.

“Spread those pretty legs for me doll,” he rasps against your neck, voice rough with leftover rut and pure adoration.

You obey instantly, always instantly for him, thighs falling open under the spray. His flesh hand slides down your belly, cups your swollen, puffy pussy like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. Two fingers part your folds slow and reverent, letting the water flush out the thick, creamy ropes of his spend still plugged inside you. They drip slow and obscene, swirling down the drain in filthy strands, and he watches like a man possessed.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, voice shaking with awe. “Bred you so deep it’s still pourin’ out hours later. My good girl, kept me locked in all night, didn’t let a single drop escape till now.” His metal thumb spreads you wider, cool plates against your fever-hot skin, letting more cum leak free. “Don’t worry, baby. Gonna stuff you full again soon as we’re clean. Can’t stand seein’ this perfect pussy empty.”

He soaps his big hands until they’re foamy, then washes you slow, almost worshipful, palms gliding over your heavy tits, down the curve of your belly, between your trembling thighs. But the gentleness only lasts so long. Two thick, soapy fingers push inside you without warning, scissoring deep to clean every inch of your used walls, thumb circling your swollen clit until your knees buckle and you sob his name.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispers, metal arm banding tight across your chest to hold you up. “Just cleanin’ my mess outta you… so I can make a brand-new one. Gonna keep this greedy cunt drippin’ me forever.”

You come hard and sudden, pussy fluttering weakly around his fingers, squirting slick and water down his wrist in messy pulses. The sound you make is broken, desperate and it rips a filthy-sweet groan from his throat. His cock is rock-hard now, grinding slow against the curve of your ass like it’s begging.

He rinses you thoroughly, really thoroughly, then wraps you in the fluffiest towel he found, carries you back to the kitchen still dripping. Sets you on the counter, spreads your thighs wide just to look, eyes blown black with that same breeding obsession.

“Stay right there, pretty girl. Don’t move an inch.”

He disappears for a second, rummaging through the scattered clothes on the floor, then comes back with his shirt, the same one he’d worn last night, still carrying the warm scent of pine, steel and him.

He stands in front of you, eyes dark and hungry as he slides it over your head himself, guiding your arms through the sleeves with careful hands. The fabric falls soft and loose, brushing your thighs as he tugs it down until it barely skims the curve of your ass.

No panties, of course not. He smooths the hem with possessive palms, fingers lingering on your bare skin underneath, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Never again, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent. “Don’t want anything between me and this perfect little pussy. Wanna be able to touch you, taste you, slide inside you whenever I need. And I’m gonna need you a lot.”

Then he makes breakfast, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm flexing every time he flips bacon or pours coffee. You sit on the stool, legs swinging, feeling the slow, steady seep of leftover cum still leaking out of you onto the wood beneath your bare pussy. Every shift makes you clench, makes more drip out and the knowledge that he can smell it, that he knows, has you squirming, thighs rubbing together, heat already simmering again.

He plates pancakes drowning in syrup, crispy bacon, fluffy eggs and sits right beside you, metal arm draped possessive over the back of your chair. You’re halfway through a bite when the question slips out soft and curious.

“So… you really hadn’t fucked anyone since the 40’s?” you ask, fork hovering. “Like… not once? What about your ruts? How did you survive them alone?”

He freezes, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Then he sets it down slow, turns to you with raw, unguarded eyes.

“Dead serious, doll,” he says, voice low and rough with memory. “Not a single pussy since 1943. Hydra kept me frozen most of the time, when they woke me, I was nothin’ but a weapon. No relief, no omega, no softness. Just blood and missions and ice.”

His metal hand slides up your bare thigh under the counter, cool fingers tracing the fresh trail of slick already coating your skin.

“After I got free… ruts hit harder than anything I’ve ever felt. Worst pain I’ve ever known, worse than fallin’ off that train, worse than losin’ the arm. I’d lock myself away, chain my ankles if I had to. Jerked off till my cock bled, till I passed out in a puddle of my own spend. Bit through my own lip, dented concrete with this hand tryin’ not to break out and hurt someone.”

His flesh hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lower lip with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Then you moved in across the hall,” he rasps, eyes darkening with devotion. “First whiff of your heat and I nearly tore the building down to get to you. Spent weeks strokin’ myself raw every time you walked past, smellin’ like warm vanilla and needy, dripping cunt. Thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t bury myself in you soon.”

He leans closer, metal fingers slipping between your legs again, finding you soaked and open and aching. Two slide in easy, slow, possessive pumps that make you gasp and drop your fork.

“Last night was the first time in seventy goddamn years I got to sink into a real omega pussy,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick with love and filth. “First knot. First breeding. First time comin’ inside somethin’ so warm and wet and beggin’ for my pups. You took every drop baby-milked me dry, let me flood this perfect little womb till it overflowed.”

His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and relentless while his fingers fuck you lazy and deep right there at the breakfast table.

“Now I got this sloppy, greedy cunt leakin’ for me again before the plates are even empty,” he whispers, reverent and shameless. “Gonna spend the rest of my life makin’ up for every lonely rut- gonna knot you every heat, every day, every time you look at me like that. Gonna keep you stuffed full, belly swollen, tits heavy and leakin’ milk down this pretty body while I pump another litter into you.”

You moan, loud, broken, desperate, clenching hard around his fingers, hips rocking shamelessly into his hand. Breakfast is forgotten. You’re already dripping down his wrist again, thighs trembling, heat flaring hot and hungry because it’s him because it’s Bucky looking at you like you’re his whole world and talking like he’s going to spend forever proving it.

He kisses you deep and dirty, tasting like coffee and bacon and pure alpha love.

“You gave me everything, omega,” he whispers against your swollen lips, voice rough with awe and possession. “Ended a hundred-year drought with the wettest, neediest, most perfect pussy I’ve ever dreamed of. And I’m gonna keep it soaked, bred, and happy for the rest of my life.”

It’s a few weeks later, New Year’s Eve. The little drugstore test is still on the bathroom counter, two pink lines glowing like a promise. You’re barely four weeks along but your body already knows. Your breasts are heavier, tender and swollen, nipples darker and so sensitive that even the brush of Bucky’s dog tags against them makes you shiver. A soft, constant warmth hums low in your belly, a permanent simmer of need that has you wet almost all the time now.

Bucky hasn’t let you more than ten feet away from him since you showed him the test. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm catching the low light. You stand between his thighs wearing nothing but his old dog tags and a pair of his boxers rolled at the waist. Your belly is still flat but the way he looks at it, like he can already see the curve, already feel his pups moving, makes heat pool between your legs.

“God, doll,” he whispers, voice thick with wonder and something deeper, softer. Both hands, warm flesh and cool metal, slide up your thighs, over your hips, until they settle gently over your lower abdomen. His thumbs trace slow, reverent circles right where everything is changing. “You’re really carryin’ my baby. My seed took… first night I ever knotted anyone in seventy years, and it took.”

He leans forward, presses his lips to your belly in a kiss so tender it makes your eyes burn. Inhales deep, nose brushing your skin. “Smell so sweet already,” he murmurs against you. “Like warm vanilla and milk and mine. Fuck, baby… you’re perfect.”

His flesh hand slips lower, under the waistband of the boxers, finding you soaked, slick coating your thighs in a constant, helpless trickle. He groans softly when his fingers glide through it, metal arm tightening gently around your waist to steady you as two thick fingers sink inside slow and careful.

“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, pumping gentle, curling just enough to make your breath hitch. “This pretty pussy’s already flutterin’ around my fingers… and you’re only a month along. Gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart.”

He eases his fingers free, brings them to his lips and licks them clean with a quiet, reverent hum, eyes never leaving yours. Then he stands, towering over you for a moment before guiding you gently down onto the bed, onto your back, pillows propped behind you so you’re comfortable.

“Gonna love you slow tonight,” he promises, voice low and rough with adoration. He peels the boxers off your legs, settles between your thighs with infinite care, like you’re made of glass and gold. His cock is heavy, flushed, leaking at the tip, but he doesn’t rush. Just drags the head through your slick folds once, twice, coating himself, before pressing in, slow, steady, watching your face the entire time.

You both sigh when he bottoms out. He stills, lets you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.

“Feel okay, pretty girl?” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your lips, your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much. You’re carryin’ my pups now- I’ll be so gentle, I swear.”

You nod, threading fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Feels perfect, alpha.”

The word makes him shudder. He starts moving, long, deep, unhurried strokes that drag over every sensitive spot inside you, slow enough that every ridge and vein of his cock feels like a caress. His metal hand cradles the back of your head; his flesh hand slides up your side to cup one swollen breast, thumb stroking over the dark, aching nipple with heartbreaking tenderness.

“These are gettin’ so full already,” he murmurs, voice raw with awe. He lowers his head, lips brushing the curve of your breast, tongue flicking gentle over the peak. Then he closes his mouth around it, soft, warm suction that makes you arch and whimper. He suckles slow and careful, like he’s already coaxing milk that isn’t there yet, like he’s memorizing the weight and feel of you changing for him.

You moan his name, hips rocking up to meet his gentle thrusts, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same reverent attention, sucking softly, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp but never enough to hurt.

“Gonna do this every day,” he whispers against your skin, lips shiny, eyes dark and devoted. “Suck these pretty tits till they’re leakin’ for me. Then I’ll lick every drop off your belly before I kiss my way lower and taste how wet you get because of me.”

His rhythm stays slow, deep, loving, every thrust a promise, every pull of his mouth on your nipple a vow. Outside, fireworks start popping as midnight nears but inside it’s just the soft, wet sounds of him loving you, your quiet moans, his whispered praise.

“Come for me when the new year starts baby,” he breathes, thumb finding your clit to circle gentle and steady. “Come on your alpha’s cock while I’m suckin’ these gorgeous tits and buried deep in the pussy that’s growin’ my baby.”

The first big fireworks boom over Brooklyn just as you fall apart, pussy fluttering soft and sweet around him, a gentle, rolling orgasm that leaves you trembling and breathless. He groans your name like a prayer, hips grinding deep as his knot swells slow and careful, locking you together without a hint of pain. Warm pulses of cum spill into you, gentle and endless, his body curled protectively over yours.

He stays on his elbows so his weight never presses your belly, lips returning to your breasts, suckling softly through the aftershocks, kissing every inch of tender skin like he’s worshipping the changes already happening.

“Happy New Year pretty mama,” he whispers, voice thick with love, metal hand splayed gentle over your abdomen, flesh hand stroking your hair. “Best year of my life starts tonight, with you pregnant, tits heavy in my mouth, pussy soft and full of me. Gonna love you like this every single day. Gentle and slow and mine.”

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist

Eddie thought of the first time he saw her.

The hallway at that time of day was a din of chaos. Eddie trudged along with his head down, guitar case strap digging into his shoulder. He wasn’t listening to the people around him, he usually never did. It was just background noise, the same every day, something to push through until he reached the end.

Then it happened, a sound that didn’t belong slipped into his ear like a whisper.

A low subtle hum, almost too quiet to catch. It was barely louder than the din of noise, yet it cut through the chaos, pulling his attention so fast his stomach lurched. It was just a girl drifting in the opposite tide of students, binder pressed against her chest. But then he heard the notes, and the recognition tore through him. Metallica. Not the radio-friendly trash either, but the riff from a deep cut only freaks like him cared enough to memorize.

He blinked, stunned, and there she was. She wasn’t looking at anyone, not posturing or doing it for attention. Her eyes weren’t even focused; they slid past shoulders and backpacks, staring into nothing, like she was walking half in this world and half in some private one where her song played louder.

Eddie froze, the current of the hallway pressed against him, students bumping his shoulders, muttering curses when he didn’t move, but none of it mattered. His ears buzzed and his chest tightened like someone had cinched a belt around his ribs, He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Time didn’t stop; it stretched. Every step she took echoed too loud in his skull. Every swing of her arm felt choreographed to the song. The overhead lights made a halo out of her lashes, then blurred into white streaks as if they’d bent toward her.

The tilt of her head, the way a lock of hair slipped free and caught on her lip, the absent crease in her brow like she was solving a problem she could only see. He saw the faint chew mark on her pen tucked behind her ear and thought, wildly, that he wanted to be that pen.

For the briefest second, she shifted her face, and her eyes, still unfocused, still a little far away, swung in his direction. Did they land on him? Did they skim over him? He didn’t know. Didn’t care actually. His whole body reacted like she’d pierced him through, hot lightning shooting through his gut, breath jerking in his lungs.

She turned the corner and the hum filtered out mid-note as she got farther and farther away. The crowd swallowed her up, and Eddie was left standing there with his pulse in his ears and his hands clenched tight around his case strap.

It wasn’t even a sweet romantic moment that they shared or a meet-cute. It was just a girl humming to herself in a crowded hallway. She didn’t even know he was there, but Eddie knew deep down inside him that something had shifted. The hallway went back to the normal loud chatter, but Eddie just stood there like a tree that had grown roots deep into the earth.

Someone shoved his shoulder hard. “Move, freak.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even hear them actually. He scrambled to pick up his brain and return to who he was before, but his body was locked in replay, rewinding again and again, trying to stretch those two seconds into forever, feeling it burrow deeper every time.

He wanted to chase her, wanted to push through the crowd, follow the song, follow her to wherever she went. His legs however wouldn’t move and he couldn't break whatever spell had wrapped itself around him.

When he finally did move, the bell had already rung, the hallway thinning out to stragglers. He walked in a daze, clutching to her and the song in his skull like a secret, every step away felt wrong. Eddie knew, even if he couldn’t admit it out loud, that nothing about this moment was going to fade.

The trailer was loud, the wind battered against the corrugated metal siding, making the whole structure groan like a dying animal. Eddie lay flat on his back in the narrow bed, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling that looked like a lighting strike. He was exhausted, bone-deep tired from the grind of community college, the performance of being Eddie Munson the town freak, but his brain was wired like a live circuit.

He couldn’t sink into the mattress, because every time he closed his eyes, the darkness wasn’t empty, It was full of her. Her face cut through the dark even when he closed his eyes, it was there on the back of his eyelids.

She didn’t see you, he told himself bitterly. She was just walking. Just existing. You’re nothing to her but a npc, some asshole in the background. So why did it feel like she’d reached into his chest and pulled a wire tight? Why was his skin prickling, hot and overly sensitive, like he was coming down with a fever?

He kicked the sheet off, the fabric clinging to the sweat dampening his legs. He turned on his side, punching the pillow into a new shape, then flopped onto his back again, a groan tearing out of his throat. He was hard, painfully hard, It had started as a low throb the moment he got into bed and imagined her lips, and now it was straining against the cotton of his boxers.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into the mattress. He wanted to touch it, wanted to stroke himself to the rhythm of that Metallica riff she’d been humming, but it felt… wrong and gross. It was dangerous, like if he got off to the thought of her now, he’d never be able to stop.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and there she was again, the curve of her neck, the stray hair caught on her lip. He imagined being that hair, imagined being the air she breathed, and his hips bucked involuntarily motion against the mattress. Fuck.

By midnight, the rational part of his brain was gone, and he was bargaining with the dark. He could take the long way to class tomorrow, walk past that spot again, just to check if she was real or if he’d hallucinated the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. He knew it was stalking territory, knew it was pathetic, but the heat pooling low in his belly didn't care about logic.

"Just one more look," he whispered to the water stain, his voice rough. "Just one."

He shifted again, the friction of the sheets against his erection sending a jolt of electricity up his spine that made his toes curl. He dragged his hand down his stomach, fingers skimming the waistband of his boxers, hovering there trembling. He didn't. He couldn't. He just let the want twist him up inside until he felt like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap.

When two a.m. rolled around, he was a wreck. His body felt over-sensitive, strung out on a high he hadn’t even really tasted yet. He lay there, eyes wide in the gloom, humming in his head until the notes warped. They were the soundtrack to the dirty, desperate movie playing behind his eyelids, where she wasn't just humming but she was moaning and whispering his name.

The neon sign buzzed like a dying wasp, one letter flickering out so the sign only read GA _ STATION. Eddie wasn’t planning to stop, he’d been heading home after a long day at school, already thinking about collapsing into his bed and pretending he might sleep, but his chest clenched as he drove by. The wheel turned itself, the van rolling into the lot with a squeal of the breaks.

She was inside, framed by the thin dirty glass of the gas station. The overhead lights were too harsh, turning her skin a little too yellow, shadowing the delicate cut of her cheekbones, but Eddie thought she looked better than anyone had a right to, better than anyone else in this goddamn town. Her hair was messy from the wind, strands sticking up, and he wanted to memorize the exact way they curled.

She leaned against the counter, counting coins into her hand, not in a hurried fashion like she had somewhere to be, just casually counting. The bored clerk barely glanced up, sliding her purchase across the counter without a word. She adjusted her bag, smiled faintly at the clerk who paid her no mind as he flipped through a motorcycle magazine, and turned toward the door.

Eddie ducked instinctively, as if she might peek through the glass and spot him sitting in the dark of his van. The door jingled when she stepped through, the little ding slicing through him and straight into his nerves. She walked past oblivious to him watching her every move, the night seemed to bend around her as she crossed the parking lot. Her boots scuffed the cracked pavement, tote bag thumping against her hip. She didn’t look around or glance behind her, she just walked, unhurried and Eddie followed.

Not on purpose, he told himself, he just happened to leave when she did, just happened to be heading the same way. He kept the headlights off, van crawling behind her slowly, until guilt clamped around his throat like a hand choking him, and he pulled over. He got out and then he was on foot, like following her on foot made any of this situation better, far enough back that the dark cloaked him, close enough to trace every move she made.

The streets grew quieter, houses thinning into patches of dark lawns and low fences. Lamplight came in circles, halos she stepped through like stages, her shadow stretching long, then snapping short again when she passed under.

Eddie’s thoughts ran faster than his steps, he told himself he wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t speaking to her. Just watching and following her. It's not like that was a crime, not really.

It’s not stalking if I don’t do anything, he whispered to himself, Just watching. That’s not illegal, right?

The words didn’t soothe him, as he said it he tried to believe it, but they only made him feel worse, sweat breaking at the base of his neck. Despite his guilt and fast pulse, his feet didn’t stop. They kept carrying him forward, step for step with her, something tugging him along like a leash.

She hitched her bag higher, tilting her head back for a second, glancing at the night sky. A curl of hair blew across her cheek, and Eddie’s stomach flipped like he’d been punched as he admired her under the moonlight.

Her street appeared, quiet, tucked off the main road, a row of low houses half-lit with porch bulbs. She turned up the walk of one and Eddie froze at the corner. The light by her door clicked on when she stepped into the yard. She reached for the knob and disappeared inside, the door closed behind her with a soft thud.

Eddie stood there, lungs refusing to work, staring at the glow in her window like it was holy light sent down to scare him away. His hands shook, heart thrashing wildly in his ribcage. He wanted to step closer, wanted to see which room she vanished into, wanted to know if she hummed Metallica when she was alone.

Instead, he turned back the way he’d come, stumbling like his body had forgotten how to walk without her to follow. His throat ached and his palms burned. Guilt gnawed at him, but it didn’t slow the hunger building underneath.

He told himself it would stop here, that he’d let it go. This was the only and last time.

However even as he thought it, the image of her still replayed in his head, burning brighter than anything else he’d ever seen. Eddie knew, deep down in the marrow of his bones, that he’d be back to watch her again.

Morning light stabbed through the blinds of the quad, sun too bright and cheerful, and Eddie felt like he hadn’t slept at all in weeks. His body was heavy, his mind was a mess. He lay there in the quad grass for a long time, staring at the blue sky, last night replaying in nauseating detail.

Last night after he followed her home again, she’d walked right past him. Not even a glance or a flicker of suspicion, just steady footsteps and that little swing of her bag. He’d followed her again, Christ, he’d been following and watching her for weeks now, and the guilt sank teeth into his stomach and gnarled on him every time he thought about it, but the guilt was wrapped in something worse. Exhilaration.

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning into his palm. You’re fucked, Munson. Completely fucked.

Then the bargaining started. He told himself it wasn’t like he’d hurt her. He hadn’t ever gotten close or bothered her. He’d stayed back, out of sight, quiet as the dark. Watching wasn’t the same thing as doing.

Besides, he’d just been making sure she got home safe, it was dark when she made her way home from campus last night. That was it. That was the excuse he clung to. The streets were dark, empty. Anything could’ve happened. He’d been… looking out for her. Yeah. That was it.

He wasn’t stalking, he was just curious, people watched people all the time. It was human nature. And if he happened to drive the long way home again, just to see if the porch light was on? If he happened to cut through the gas station lot, to glance through the glass in case she was there again? That wasn’t a crime.

Later in the day he chewed the end of his pencil down to splinters in class, every equation dissolving into the image of her. And by evening, the decision was already made, his van idled in the same spot, knuckles white on the wheel, breath fogging the window as he stared down her street. The house glowed warm against the dark, blinds not fully drawn.

Eddie knew, no matter how much he swore, no matter how many times he called himself sick, no matter how many excuses he stacked, he’d be back here again tonight.

The neighborhood was silent, but Eddie's blood was rushing in his head and it sounded like a roar. Crouched in the shadows of the hedges across from her house, the world had narrowed down to a single, glowing rectangle, her bedroom window.

The blinds weren’t shut. They were tilted, slats open just enough to slice the room into strips of amber light and shadow. And inside that cage of light, she moved.

Eddie’s heart was battering against his ribs, his hands were shoved deep into his denim jacket pockets, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms, but his palms were slick with sweat.

She moved around her room with a lazy rhythm, a girl who thought she was alone as she took all the time in the world to get ready for bed. The towel around her body was clinging to the curve of her breasts before slipping lower, revealing the gleaming wet expanse of her shoulders. Steam still ghosted off her skin and she raked her fingers through her wet hair, head tilted back her neck arching, Eddie’s knees nearly buckled into the dirt.

She was just… existing, but to Eddie, starving in the dark, it felt like a performance, a private show just for him. When the towel dropped, his breath hitched in his throat.

She was perfect, soft curves and skin broken by shadows. She bent at the waist, reaching for a bottle on the nightstand, and the view, the curve of her spine, the roundness of her ass, hit him like a physical blow. He watched, mesmerizingly horrified at his own depravity, as she poured lotion into her hands.

She started at her calves, fingers kneading the muscle, then moved up. Her hands slid over her thighs, pushing and kneading the flesh, making it glisten in the lamplight. Eddie’s mouth went dry, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

Then her hands moved higher cupping her own breasts, thumbs circling, smoothing the lotion over the swell of them, teasing her own nipples until they hardened against the cool air of the room. It was agonizing and the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen.

His cock was throbbing, a demanding ache strained against the rough denim of his jeans. He shifted, hissing through his teeth, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure and pain straight to his brain. He wanted to unzip his pants and drag his hand down to wrap his fingers around himself and stroke until he spilled everything he had right there on the sidewalk.

You’re sick, a voice in his head screamed. You’re a predator.

Despite that his eyes never left her, not when she picked up the scraps of black lace from the bed or when she stepped into the panties, the fabric skimming up her legs to sit on her hips, framing the dark triangle between her thighs. Not when she turned to the mirror, running her hands down her own waist, admiring the view.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. He was leaking, pre-come dampening his boxers, the pressure in his groin so intense it was making his vision swim.

I shouldn't be here.

The thought was like an alarm, blaring loud enough to drown out the lust. He tore his eyes away, chest heaving, terror finally piercing the haze of arousal. He turned, ready to bolt, ready to run back to his van and drive until the engine blew.

That’s when she stopped, freezing like she’d felt the disturbance in the air.

Slowly her head turned toward the window and her silhouette sharpened as she stepped closer to the glass. Eddie froze, caught in the crosshairs of her gaze. The light caught the front of her lace panties, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide what was underneath. She looked straight at the blinds, through the slats, into the dark where he was hiding, and his blood turned to ice.

Then, her lips curved into a smile, her eyes locked onto his invisible shape in the darkness.

Before Eddie’s brain could misfire, before he could collapse or run, she reached out. Her fingers lingered on the switch of the lamp for a heartbeat and then click. The room plunged into darkness.

Eddie was left gasping in the cold night air, his heart detonating inside his chest like a grenade.

She saw me...she must have seen me.

He staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, the wet spot in his boxers cooling against his skin, but the heat inside him was burning him up like the sun.

He scrambled back to his van a mile down the street, fumbling the keys with shaking hands, his body vibrating like a tuning fork.

The drive home was a blur of panic and adrenaline. Her face burned behind his eyelids, that smile. She must have seen him. There was no way she didn't see him, but that smile...she must have and he was terrified.

He parked the van crookedly in front of the trailer, killing the engine but unable to move. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, breath coming in gasps.

He should be terrified, no he was terrified. However underneath his fear, the lust was roaring, louder than ever. She had smiled, she had looked him in the eye while standing there in nothing but black lace, and she had smiled.

Eddie stumbled into the trailer, kicking the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the cheap metal frame. He didn't even bother with the lights; he practically fell onto his bed, the springs shrieking in protest under his weight.

He couldn't stop. The image was seared into the back of his eyelids, the way her hands had ghosted over the curve of her breasts, cupping the soft flesh, the way the delicate lace hugged the swell of her hips. And her eyes. That knowing, heavy-lidded gaze that seemed to strip him bare right there in the dark. It was too much for his fried nerves to handle.

He shoved his hand down the front of his tight black jeans, fingers scrabbling against the rough denim until they found the waistband of his boxers. He freed himself with a animalistic groan, his cock springing free, swollen and angry red. He was agonizingly hard, the head already weeping slick strands of precum that glued the fabric to his skin. It ached so hard it made his vision swim.

He gripped himself, his calloused palm rough against the sensitive, velvety skin of his shaft. His strokes were fast and uncoordinated at first, fueled by pure need. He was dry, but he didn't care, the friction lighting a fire under his skin that bordered on pain.

"Fuck!" he groaned, his voice cracking, hips bucking off the stained mattress in a rhythm he couldn't control. "Fuck! fuck... fuck!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the hallucination to play out again. He pictured her standing over him, straddling his thighs, wearing nothing but that lace. In his mind, she was smiling. She wanted you to see, the devil on his shoulder whispered, the voice breathless and dizzy in his ear. She liked it. She wants your cock ruining those pretty little panties.

His hand tightened, twisting at the base, thumb rubbing frantically over the slit at the tip, smearing the precum down the length of him to provide just enough slip. He pumped faster, his breathing was quick and rough, sawing out of him like a dying engine in the quiet trailer park. His other hand fisted in the tangled sheets, knuckles white.

The pressure built in his balls, a tight heavy coil ready to snap. He was close, dangerously close, chasing the edge of the cliff with reckless abandon. He imagined her mouth on him, her tongue swirling around the head, sucking the sanity right out of him.

"Oh god, fuck—"

He came with a choked cry that was ripped from his throat, his back arching off the bed so hard his spine popped. He spurted hot thick ropes of cum, watching through heavy lids as they shot out in bursts, splattering across his stomach, his chest, coating his trembling hand in sticky white heat.

He rode out the spasms, his cock throbbing as it spilled the last few drops of pleasure, collapsing back onto the mattress. He lay there panting in the aftermath, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his forehead. The sticky warmth was already turning cold on his skin, pooling in his navel, the sharp, musky smell of sex and shame filling the small, dark room.

As his heart rate slowed, reality hit him like a brick in his stomach.

She saw you, The angel on his other shoulder cried, the truth settled in his bones, and terror was heavier than the guilt. She knows and she thinks you are disgusting! you are fucked.

The sun glinted like a guillotine that morning, bleaching the quad into a bright glare, too sharp for Eddie's addled mind. Students clustered in groups, smoking, laughing, leafing through notebooks, but Eddie moved quickly along the edge of the grass, eyes down and shoulders hunched, praying to slip by unnoticed. His nerves were shot, his brain still molten from the night before.

Then he saw her, and his stomach plummeted. She was cutting through the crowd like the tide itself, unhurried but unstoppable, and before he could bolt she was there, right in front of him, close enough that her shadow tangled with his.

“Hey,” she said with a sweet smile on her face, looking up at him through her lashes.

Eddie froze not saying a word, pulse hammering so hard he thought the whole quad could hear it.

“You gonna say hi?” she continued, voice pitched low so no one else could catch it, “or do I have to wait ’til tonight again?”

His throat closed and his brain turned to static. “What?” he croaked, like he was the dumbest fucking idiot in the world.

Her smile curled slowly across her face. “You always watch me, don't you? In fact you’ve been watching me for three weeks.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something sharp. “Figured we could skip the part where we pretend you weren’t.”

He stared, drowning in his own mind, lips parting and closing uselessly like a dying fish.

She stepped closer, and suddenly her perfume was in his lungs, the heat of her body brushing his jacket, and it was all Eddie could do not to stumble back. “You’re not very subtle,” she murmured, amused. “But I don’t mind.” Her gaze dragged over his face, lingering like she was cataloguing the panic there. “I think it’s cute.”

Eddie’s heart tried to escape through his ribs and he couldn’t breathe. She leaned in, close enough that her lips grazed the shell of his ear. The campus disappeared, the chatter, the footsteps, the shouts, it all went mute under the warmth of her whisper.

“Wear something black tonight. I’ll leave the door open.” She pulled back just enough to catch his expression, the wide eyes, the terror, the hunger, and grinned like she’d just placed a collar around his neck, with his name on it and tightened the leash. Then she turned, casually walking away like she just didn't just tip his world on his head, walking away into the crowd.

Eddie stood rooted, vision swimming, he thought about falling to his knees right there on the quad, gravel biting through his denim jeans. He’d been caught. 

Classes blurred, entire lectures passed without leaving so much as a scratch on his memory. Eddie sat in his usual back row seat, pen between his fingers, notebook open to a blank page, but the only thing he could hear was her voice.

Wear something black tonight. I’ll leave the door open.

He tried to fight it. God, he did. He told himself she was fucking with him. That she’d said it just to see him squirm. That if he showed up, she’d laugh in his face, call him sick and tell the whole campus and the police what a freak he was. She was his Venus, a beautiful trap  wrapped in soft skin and sharp teeth. He'd have to be insane to go anywhere near again, but he was nothing more than a willing insect.

Beneath every rational thought, a deeper voice like the devil throbbed. She wants you there.

His knee bounced through every class, his pen cap shattered between his teeth, by noon he was pacing outside the library, chain-smoking cigarettes until his fingers stank of ash. His friends called after him once and he waved them off without hearing a word.

In the cafeteria, food sat untouched on his tray. The sound of a girl laughing at the next table made his chest seize, because for half a second he thought it was her. He dropped the tray, spilled soda across the floor, and bolted before anyone could laugh at him.

He was in his van, parked on the edge of campus, head tipped back against the seat, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. He’d been arguing with himself for hours. Don’t go. Don’t be an idiot. What if she’s waiting, and you’re too coward to show?

The sun sank slowly, gold bleeding into purple, and Eddie’s pulse climbed with every new hour. He couldn’t sit still and paced his trailer, ripped through his closet, tossed shirts across the floor until he found a black hoodie, black jeans, black tee. The man reflected back in the mirror was a wreck: bloodshot eyes, swollen and red chewed lip, the twitch of someone about to snap. He looked like hell.

He sat on the edge of his bed, face in his hands, whispering, “Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t fucking go.” But when the clock ticked toward eight, he was already reaching for his keys.

The drive was a blur, he barely registered the streets, only the beat of his heart slamming against the steering wheel. His stomach twisted with dread, his cock ached with want, his brain screamed both at once until he thought he might veer off the road.

When he turned onto her block he saw the porch light on, glowing warm against the night, everything inside him stilled. He was going. Of course he was, he’d been hers from the second she hummed that damn song.

The street was almost too quiet, It made every sound he made feel illegal. His boots crunched against the gravel shoulder as he climbed out of the van, and it was loud, way too loud. The porch light glowed at the end of the block, haloed in warm yellow, a lighthouse drawing him in and warning him away all at once.

Eddie’s palms were slick inside his hoodie pocket, he’d wiped them three times against the denim of his jeans, but they just kept sweating, like his body knew better than his mind. His breath came short, his heart pounding fast enough that he swore she’d hear it from inside.

He walked halfway up the drive, then stopped. Turned. Walked back down to the sidewalk, chest tight, throat dry. He paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. The porch steps loomed ahead of him like a cliff’s edge. His nerves screamed at him to leave, to get in the van and never look back, but his legs betrayed him, circling, creeping closer with every pass.

You’ll ruin everything, he thought, nails biting crescents into his palms. What will Wayne think when the cops jump out of the bushes and arrest you for being a disgusting stalker.

Her voice whispered again inside his skull, and he knew he’d been fucked from the start.

 The porch light snapped on, harsher up close, painting him in amber. His boots creaked against the first step, and each one after felt like a bell tolling, ringing louder in his chest until the whole neighborhood might as well have been listening. He stood on her porch, eyes darting to the glow seeping through the curtains. His knuckles hovered above the wood of the doorframe.

For a second, one fleeting second, he almost turned away again. He almost fled, but then he knocked. A pause, long enough to make him sweat harder.

Click.

The door creaked open, just a sliver at first, then wider, and there she was. Barefoot, haloed in the spill of warm bedroom light, hair mussed like she’d just woken or never intended to sleep. Her tank top clung loose at the shoulders, her black shorts riding up the curve of her thigh, skin glowing against the wood frame. She looked him over like she’d been expecting him for hours.

“Took you long enough,” she said softly.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. His chest seized, words clogging in his throat. “You, uh. You were serious?”

She tipped her head, a knowing glint flashing in her eyes. “You didn’t want to come?” she teased, lower lip pushed out in a pout as she looked up through her lashes, the sweetest honey. Her fingertips brushing his chest, twisting the hoodie string between them.

His breath stuttered, and his whole body was trembling like he had been out in the cold, as she stepped back, opening the door wider.

“Come in.”

The words pulled him forward through the doorframe like a leash, stepping into her world before he could even think about it more rationally. Eddie crossed the threshold, and the door closed behind him with a sound that sealed the beautiful honey laced trap.

Eddie stood frozen just inside the frame, his back prickling, his chest heaving, his palms damp in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. The air was different inside, warmer with something faintly sweet, some perfume or lotion he couldn’t name but immediately associated with her.

He became hyperaware of his own breath, the scuff of his boots against the entry rug, the way his pulse pounded in his ears. Her bare feet whispered across the hardwood, leading him down a narrow hall that opened into the kitchen. The overhead light was off, but a lamp glowed low on the counter, spilling warm amber that turned every surface soft and shadowed. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, steady and low.

She moved through her own space slowly, with all the grace and poise of a stalking cat, the sway of her hips was unhurried, her shorts riding high enough that Eddie’s eyes betrayed him again and again, as he tried not to stare but failed. He tried not to think about how this was her space, how she leaned against these counters every morning, how she set mugs down on these tables, and how her scent was woven into the fabric of everything here.

He hovered in the doorway, shoulders tight, he felt like a trespasser even though she’d let him in.

“Want water?” she asked casually, pulling a glass from the cabinet.

Eddie blinked, his mouth working before his brain caught up. “That’s… that’s what you open with?” His voice cracked, too loud in the silence.

She turned, smiling faintly as she filled the glass at the tap. The water hit the bottom in a thin rush, a soft shhh sound like white noise in the background. “I figured you’re already thirsty, you probably need some water.” Her eyes tracked the bob of his throat when he swallowed, the throbbing of his heartbeat. Her gaze was unhurried as she looked at him, cataloguing every moment and tucking every detail away for safekeeping. 

The words dropped into him like stones into a well, deep and endless. His hands flew up to cover his face, dragging down over his mouth as a groan escaped him, muffled by his calloused palms. He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or bolt for the door.

Her laugh answered him, echoing against the tile. She stepped in closer, her breath brushing the space between them. The glass of water sat forgotten on the counter, condensation already fogging the sides. Eddie couldn’t even look at it.

“I don’t scare easily,” she said softly, voice lowering into a whisper sweeter than honey. “I know you watch me. I knew it the first night.”

Eddie's chest hitched as her words wrapped around him, each one a finger closing tighter around his throat. Eddie’s breathing was uneven, shallow. He tried to speak, to make some jokes, to diffuse the pressure building in his chest, but nothing came. His mouth opened and then closed. He felt stupid, exposed, stripped bare under nothing but the weight of her calm stare.

She stepped even closer, so close his back nearly brushed the counter edge when he tried to lean away, the air between them was too hot. Eddie’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, but his body didn’t obey him, his hands twitched uselessly at his sides.

Her fingers brushed the hem of his hoodie, a light teasing graze that made his whole-body jolt. He sucked in a breath that rattled through his chest heaving. His head spun, thoughts tangled, heart clawing for escape, and then she whispered.

“I left the light on for you, Eddie.”

The wire inside him snapped. He lunged forward into a consuming kiss, teeth clashing, hands gripping her waist like he’d drown without touching her. The moment his mouth crashed into hers, Eddie realized how long he’d been starving. Weeks of imagining, of watching, of clutching at his pillow, and now she was real under his hands, solid and warm against him. His kiss was messy and frantic, a man devouring food with his bare hands after going too long without. His lips dragged across hers, his tongue desperate for entry, his body vibrating with the raw need to consume her.

She kissed back, her teeth grazed his lip, making him groan against her mouth. His grip tightened at her waist, fingers digging through the thin fabric of her tank top, pulling her closer. His breath came in heated puffs through his nose, her scent flooding his senses until his head spun. He wanted more, wanted all of her, wanted to press her against him until there was nothing left between them.

A sudden shove sent Eddie stumbling backward until his spine smacked against the wall with a dull thud. He gasped, the kiss breaking, his wide eyes snapping open. Her hands pressed against his chest, pinning him. She stepped into the space he’d lost, her thigh sliding between his legs, forcing him open. Eddie’s breath hitched, his body betraying him with a sharp jerk forward, hips grinding helplessly against her.

“You don’t get to hide anymore,” she whispered, her lips brushing his cheek as her nails scraped lightly down his chest through the fabric of his hoodie. The words hit harder than her shove, stripping him bare. Eddie whimpered, actually whimpered, the sound torn from his throat before he could choke it back.

She leaned in again, her mouth crushing against his, her kiss was consuming, dragging her tongue against his like she was trying to take everything from him. The kiss swallowed her own little moans of pleasure, her nails clutching his hoodie tighter, her hips rocking almost imperceptibly against his thigh

She broke the kiss with a gasp, her lips brushing his ear, her breath was hot against his ear. “Tell me,” she breathed, but her voice cracked on the edge, breathless.

Eddie’s lungs burned. His chest heaved. “W-what?”

Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging his head back against the wall. Her eyes bored into his, sharp and unflinching, but the shine in them was feverish. “Tell me.Say it. What do you do?”

His throat worked, the words sticky, shame and desire clawing at each other. “I… I watch you.”

“Louder.” She said dragging his head back to lick at the column of his damp throat.

“I fucking stalk you!” Eddie cried, voice breaking, raw. “Every chance I get. Like a disgusting pervert, I watch you all the damn time—”

Her thigh pressed harder against the bulge in his jeans, forcing another guttural moan out of him. She giggled, before capturing his lips again in a sloppy, spit-slick kiss. 

“What did you see?” she pushed, her tone velvet over steel, but her breathing matched his now, quick and uneven.

“Everything,” he gasped. “The way you touch yourself, the way you bend over, the way you—ahhh fuck—the way you bite your lip when you read. All of it.”

Her pupils blew wide, her lips trembling against his. “Why? what do you want?”

“You,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Like this, just like this. Always.”

She kissed him again, biting down on his lip until he whimpered, she moaned into his mouth, hungry for that confession as much as he was. Her grip in his hair tightened, her thigh drove up harder between his, and when he moaned her name her whole body shuddered before she moaned against the corner of his lips loud, grinding her thigh up into his aching cock. Eddie moaned her name, and her body shuddered at the sound, her own control slipping.

Eddie’s back throbbed where it hit the wall, his scalp stung from the tug of her fingers in his curls, but none of it mattered. All he felt was her, the press of her thigh between his legs, the sting of her teeth against his lip, the weight of her voice echoing inside his chest. His body trembled, desperate for more, desperate for anything she’d give.

When she pulled back, wicked delight stretched across her flushed face, her eyes glittered. She smirked, mouth curling slowly. “Clothes off,” she said softly, like it was nothing more than a casual request. “Now.”

Eddie blinked. His breath hitched, his chest heaving against the weight of her command. “W-what?”

Her grin widened, voice honey-sweet but sharp, and she leaned in close, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Don’t make me repeat myself pretty boy. Strip.”

Heat seared through him, followed by a a hot shame flushing his face, suffocating him. His hands shook as he tugged at the hem of his hoodie, fumbling to get it over his head. The fabric tangled in his curls, caught on the chain around his neck, and he cursed under his breath, teeth gritted, his ears burning with a bright red flush. 

Her smile only widened as she watched him struggle, she didn’t help him or move.  Just watched him undress, her chest rising faster, lips parted like she couldn’t quite breathe evenly either.

Finally, the hoodie hit the floor and his band tee followed, thin cotton ripped over his head with clumsy hands. His skin prickled under the low kitchen light, goosebumps racing down his arms as the cool air licked over him. He felt plucked raw like a chicken, his nerves on fire.

Her eyes dragged over him slowly, she didn’t rush, she looked at him like he was a painting on display.

Eddie’s fingers hovered at his belt. He hesitated, chest heaving, shame twisting in his stomach. “You just gonna stand there and watch,”

“Yes,” she teased with a smirk on her face, laughing softly as she looked into his eyes. “That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

His cheeks burned hotter, but he obeyed continuing to undress under her scrutiny. The buckle clinked, the zipper rasped loud in the bubble of warmth blanketed over them, and his jeans slid down his hips to pool at his feet.

Freed from the confinement, his cock sprang loose, heavy and thickening with every frantic beat of his heart. A thick, pale shaft traversed by a single blue vein that pulsed visibly. The head was a deep bruised plum color, glistening with a single bead of pre-cum that wept from the slit at the tip, betraying just how turned on he actually was.

It bobbed slightly as he shifted his weight. below, his balls were tight, drawn up high against his body in a heavy sac that looked sensitive. 

Her gaze dropped, unapologeticly lingering far longer than she meant it to. She traced the way his stomach concave slightly as he held his breath, the muscles there defined not by bulk, but by a wiry, athletic grace. A dusting of dark hair trailed from his navel down to his heavy leaking cock. She bit her lip, pupils blown wide. “Pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself.

She stepped forward closing the distance, Her fingers curled, wrapping firmly around the base of his rock-hard length. The shock of her touch made him hiss through his teeth. She squeezed, testing the girth of him, before sliding her hand up the veined shaft. Her thumb pressed down on the slit, dragging across the sensitive swollen head, smearing the bead of pre-cum all over the velvety purple tip.

Eddie groaned, tipping his head back until it thumped against the wall. He was burning up, humiliated by how quickly he’d gotten this hard, but the sensation of her skin on his was electric. He was aroused beyond reason, his brain short-circuiting.

“So sensitive,” she teased, she started to move her hand, a slow, deliberate rhythm, eyes glittering and greedy, watching every twitch, every gasp, like she’d been starving for it.

 “All this just from watching me?” She tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips, but her pupils were blown wide. “Eddie.”

He nodded frantically, his hips betraying him, jerking forward to meet her stroke, desperate for more friction. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I’m… fuck, it’s pathetic,” he stammered, his voice thick with lust. “But don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”

She didn’t. In fact, she tightened her grip, twisting her wrist at the top of each stroke to wring a strangled cry out of him. She stroked him faster, the wet slapping sound of her palm against his skin filling the silence. Eddie was panting, his thighs shaking as he started to rut mindlessly into her hand, lost to the pleasure, completely at her mercy.

Her fingers hooked under his chin, dragging his gaze back to hers. “You ever imagine me touching you like this?” she whispered, her hand slowing to a torturous pace, dragging the loose skin tight over the sensitive head. 

Eddie moaned, his voice hoarse and broken, eyes rolling back as he thrust weakly against her grip. “Every night. Every—fuck—every single night. I think about you.”

Her fist tightened around him, squeezing the throbbing shaft until the veins bulged, her thumb dragging ruthlessly over the weeping slit. His knees trembled. She bit her lip, savoring the sight of him teetering on the edge, and then she let go. The absence of the heat of her palm was so sudden it physically hurt, knocking a frustrated hollow groan out of him as his cock bobbed helplessly in the cool air, bereft and aching.

“On your knees,” she said simply, pointing a manicured finger to the floor.

Eddie froze, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead. The blood rushed in his ears, deafening him. He blinked, unsure if his fantasy had finally snapped his mind. “Wh-what?”

Her smile curved sharply, cruel and beautiful, her pupils blown so wide they swallowed the iris. Her breath hitched, coming quick and shallow. “You heard me. Down, boy.”

The word hit him harder than a punch in the gut, flipping a switch deep in his hindbrain. His body moved before his conscious mind could protest. He stumbled forward, shins hitting the hardwood with a heavy, graceless thud as he dropped. He braced his palms against the floor, hunching over, trembling like a leaf. He was breathing raggedly, staring at her bare feet, until her cold fingers caught his jaw and pulled his face up.

Her eyes gleamed in the low light, a predatory hunger burning there that made his stomach flip. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down over her hips, dragging the lace with an agonizingly slow pace. A thick milky slick strand of arousal connecting her nether lips to the damp black gusset. The fabric hit the floor, and she stepped out of it with a sharp inhale as the cold air hit her already dripping cunt.

Eddie’s eyes devoured her helplessly, his lips parting on a choked, needy sound. She was bare, beautifully swollen, the petals of her pussy lips glistening with moisture, inviting and terrifying all at once. The scent of her, heavy, musky, and uniquely her, wafted down to him, intoxicating.

She stepped closer, until the heat of her inner thighs was radiating against his cheeks, his face level with her center. Her hand slid into his dark curls, fingers flexing against his scalp, holding him there, cradling his head close to her heat. “You want a taste?” she asked, before brushing some of his curls back, her voice soft like velvet.

“Yes,” he rasped breath hot against her skin. “Please, please let me-”

She didn't wait for him to finish before guiding him forward, pressing his face right where she wanted him. Eddie didn’t hesitate, he buried himself between her legs like a starving man, a guttural groan vibrating through his chest as his tongue hit her slick flesh. He clutched the backs of her thighs, digging his fingers deep into her plush flesh.

His tongue was frantic and messy, broad flat strokes lapping at her clit, diving into the wet heat of her entrance.

"Ahhh! Fuck—Eddie!” she gasped, her hips snapping forward instinctively.

He moaned into her, the sound muffled by her wetness. The kitchen filled with the lewd, wet sounds of his feast, sloppy slurps and the squelch of his tongue matting against her. He licked at her like a dog, chasing the juices flowing out of her. 

“Mm—fuck, yes, right there,” she hissed, her fingers tightening in his hair, yanking his face closer until his nose was mashed into her pubic mound. Her thighs quivered, betraying just how badly she had needed this release. She looked down at him, at the top of his head bobbing between her legs, completely enslaved by her flavor.

“That’s it,” she breathed, watching saliva and arousal coat her thighs. “That’s what you’ve been dying for, huh?”

He moaned into the slick heat of her, shaking his head side to side, his tongue flattening to lap broad, desperate strokes while his lips formed a tight seal around her clitoris. He was drowning in her, and he never wanted to come up for air. Every whimper that vibrated against his mouth was oxygen, every sharp inhale she took was kerosene on the fire consuming his brain.

He pressed his face harder into her crotch, his neck straining, nose mashed into her soft flesh, inhaling the intoxicating musk of her arousal. His body betrayed him completely; he was rutting helplessly against the hardwood floor, his hips snapping forward in rhythm. His cock, ignored and aching, twitched violently, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that pooled sticky and cold beneath him, a pathetic contrast to the inferno building in his body.

She owned him completely in that moment. Her fingers wound tight into his curls, guiding him with sharp, demanding tugs, angling his jaw exactly where she needed the pressure.

“Y-yes—fuck, right there. Don’t stop—” she whined, her voice cracking, the facade of cool detachment shattering under the assault of his tongue.

Her thighs trembled around his ears, clamping tight as she began to move. She didn’t hold back. She used him, treating his face like a toy designed solely for her satisfaction. She curled forward over him, her hands shifting to cup his cheeks, holding him steady as she ground her dripping slit against his tongue, forcing him deeper. Her panting poured out with every roll of her hips.

When the crest hit her, she didn’t let him pull away. She cried out, a sharp, piercing sound, and shoved her hips hard against his face, effectively smothering him. She rode his mouth through the spasms, her inner muscles clenching around his tongue, soaking his chin, his cheeks, his nose in her release. She forced him to stay there, to drink down every pulse of her climax until he was dizzy from lack of air, his jaw screaming in protest, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Only when the aftershocks faded to a dull throb did she finally loosen her grip on his hair. Her hands slid down to cup his jaw, forcefully pulling his face up to hers.

He looked wrecked, lips swollen and red, chin glistening with her juices, eyes blown wide and glazed with a mix of exhaustion and adoration.

She bent down, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste her release on his palate. She hummed against his lips, satisfied sharing the slick mess he’d made.

She pulled back just an inch, staring into his dazed eyes. “Good boy,” she whispered against his mouth. Her taste was smeared across his chin, sticky and shining in the dim light.

Eddie could barely catch his breath before she yanked his head back, her fingers tangling ruthlessly in his curls. She hauled him upright like a ragdoll, treating him like a toy she wasn’t nearly finished breaking. His knees wobbled, threatening to buckle, and his cock jutted out, red and angry against his stomach, bouncing heavily with every shaky step as she dragged him into the living room.

The couch sagged under his weight when she shoved him backwards. He landed with a heavy grunt, thighs falling open, arms draped uselessly over the back cushions. He was a wreck, chest heaving, sweat shining down his sternum, his cock twitching as it leaked thick, clear drops onto his own stomach.

Her fingers slipped under the hem of her tank top, peeling it up slowly, inches of skin emerging in the dim light. She lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, baring her breasts to the cool air and his starving eyes. Her gaze never left his face, watching the way his chest hitched, the way his hips jolted helplessly at the sight of her nipples hardening. Eddie let a  groan slip out, his hands fisting the soft fabric of the couch to keep from reaching for her.

“You’re killing me, I’m dead.” he rasped, his voice sounding wet and wrecked.

“I would never do that to you,” she murmured. Her smile curved dangerously, though the rapid rise and fall of her bare chest betrayed her own arousal.

She climbed onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. She straddled him, the heat of her bare thighs searing against his skin, before she shifted higher, settling her weight directly over his groin. She gasped quietly as the slick heat of her folds slid along the length of his shaft, coating him in her juices without letting him inside.

Her nails dug into his ribs, slipping against the sweat beading across his skin, pinning him in place. Eddie nearly sobbed, his head falling back against the cushions, his most tender flesh bared and aching for her.

“Please,” he choked out, his hips jerking upward instinctively, smearing his pre-cum against her slick entrance as he tried to thrust, tried to force his way inside the haven of her body.

Her palms pressed flat to his chest, shoving him back into the upholstery with a wicked, denying grin. She leaned close, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her breath hot. “No. You don’t get it that easy.”

Eddie groaned, biting down on his lip so hard he tasted copper, his whole body vibrating with tension under her weight. He couldn’t stop pressing the swollen purple tip of his cock up against her, couldn’t stop chasing the friction she doled out in stingy, torturous strokes. She began to move in slow rhythmic circles, dragging her sensitive clit across his flushed head, making his breath stutter and his stomach clench every time she applied pressure.

It was agony and ecstasy. He could feel the wet heat of her coating him completely, her arousal dripping down his shaft to slick his thighs, mixing with his own leakage until they were slipping and sliding against each other in a mess that threatened to push him over the edge without ever being inside her.

“You’re shaking,” she muttered, a breathless laugh bubbling up through her moans as her nails dug crescent moons into his ribs. “God, you—fuck—you make me…” Her breath hitched, the words fracturing in her throat. She forced herself to stop, eyes narrowing with a mix of lust and playful cruelty. “Stay still for me.”

He whined sweat streaking down his temples to mix with the tears pricking his eyes. “Oh god, I’m… please! please, I’ve been dying for this.”

She leaned down, pressing her sweaty forehead against his, her words spilling in a hot rush against his skin. “I know, Eddie. I’m going to give it to you. You’ve been such a good boy for me.”

His chest seized, his whole body jolting as he nodded frantically, dark curls plastering to his damp face. His eyes rolled back in his head when she finally shifted her hips, lining him up perfectly, and sank down on him in one long, devastating slide.

Eddie groaned, a loud sound that seemed to be ripped from his throat. His hands flew to her hips, clutching the soft flesh like lifelines, his fingers digging in as his whole body shuddered under the sudden, crushing weight of her heat. She engulfed him completely, her tight slick walls stretching around his girth, milking him before he even moved. His jaw went slack, eyes squeezing shut as a strangled sob seeped from his lips. She cried out right along with him, throwing her head back, her nails carving angry red lines down his chest.

She began to ride him, her thighs shaking from the sheer force of it, sweat beading along her hairline and dripping onto his face. The couch groaned, springs squealing in protest beneath their frantic rhythm, but Eddie didn’t hear anything except his own  moans spilling out of him and her voice cutting through the haze.

“You wanted to watch from afar?” she panted, her hips grinding down harder than she intended, chasing the friction that was driving her mad. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her bouncing on his cock. “Now you get the best seat in the house.”

A broken moan tore out of him, and his name slipped from between her teeth, muffled against his mouth as she swooped down to kiss him. She couldn’t stop herself from moaning his name in return, over and over, like a prayer or a curse. His hips jerked wildly, bucking upward to meet her, his body desperate to empty itself into her.

“I… I can’t, oh fuck, I can’t hold it,” he sobbed, tears spilling hot down his cheeks.

Her nails raked him raw; she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to smother the scream building in her chest. “You don’t come,” she growled, but her voice trembled, sounding more like a desperate plea than a threat. “Not until I do.” She leaned in, biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him yelp.

His head thudded back against the cushion, his throat straining with every sound that was ripped from him. He tried not to come. God, he tried. He bit down on his lip until he tasted copper, fighting the release clawing at the base of his spine, but his body was betraying him, twitching and spasming in her tight grip.

Her pace quickened, a frantic pace as she snapped her hips down harder, spearing herself on his cock. Sweat slicked down her breast, dripping onto his heaving chest. Her head tipped back, wild hairs sticking to her neck, and a moan rolled out of her that she couldn’t choke down. Her internal muscles clamped down on him, milking him violently.

When her orgasm hit, she cried out his name, her body clenching around him so tight it dragged a shattered cry from his throat. She shook on top of him, thighs trembling violently, nails breaking the skin on his shoulders.

 Eddie bucked hard, one final, massive thrust, and finally, he was spilling into her, warm ropes of pearlescent cum pumping deep inside her womb, sobbing her name into the crook of her neck as he emptied his soul into her.

She kept riding him through it, refusing to let the moment end. She ground against him like she couldn’t stop herself, her hips snapping in short jolts, desperate to wring the last sparks out of her own release while his cock pulsed wildly, deep inside her. She squeezed every drop of pleasure from his spasming body until they were both spent, drifting in the haze of dopamine and exhaustion.

When she finally slowed, collapsing against him, her bones seemed to liquefy. Her forehead pressed against his collarbone, and she breathed out a long, shaky exhale that ghosted across his skin. “Better than you just watching, huh?”

Eddie, trembling and absolutely ruined beneath her, nodded slowly through the tears still running down his face.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely a croak. His body was completely limp, a dead weight sunken into the cushions. Sweat shone down his heaving chest, highlighting the red marks she’d left behind, and his dark curls were plastered to his forehead. She could still feel him twitching faintly inside her, the sensitive flesh jumping despite how overstimulated he was. His sobs dwindled into shaky gasps, but his arms wrapped tight around her waist, locking her in place his body refusing to let her go even now.

She didn’t move off him. Her thighs still quivered where they bracketed his hips, and her lungs fought for air like she’d just run a marathon. The air between them was heavy with the scent of sex, musk, and sweat.

She rested against him for a long moment, the silence filled only by their synchronized breathing. Her cheek pressed into the hollow of his shoulder, her nails tracing lazy circles over the angry scratches she’d carved down his ribs, the storm finally breaking into a quiet drizzle.

Lifting her head she kissed him hard, sloppily all tongue and teeth, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth like she needed the salt of his tears mixed with the taste of their sweat. When she finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected their swollen lips before breaking. Her breath hitched, her inner muscles giving one last squeeze around him.

“Ahh, fuck,” she moaned softly against his ear, the sound vibrating right through him. She smoothed a damp curl off his forehead, her fingers trembling slightly. Her eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were soft, blown wide and unguarded. “You don’t even know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Eddie’s lashes fluttered, a frown of confusion flickering through his wrecked, endorphin-drunk haze. He stared up at her, trying to process the words. “W-what?”

She didn’t answer at first. instead, her mouth trailed lower to the sensitive column of his throat. Her teeth sank into the tender skin, hard enough to sting, hard enough to leave a mark that would last for days, before she soothed the bruise with a slow, wet lap of her tongue. Her hips rolled in one small helpless circle, grinding his oversensitive cock deep inside her, dragging broken moans from both of them.

Her smile wavered when she pulled back to look at him. It wasn't the cruel, teasing smirk she’d worn earlier; this one was fragile, stripped of its armor. "I’ve liked you for a while, Eddie."

His body jolted beneath her, eyes snapping wide, disbelief twisting his wrecked expression. The shock was almost enough to override the sensory overload. “Y-you—what?”

She leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, tenderly this time. “I was trying to get your attention for months. Leaving things where you’d see them. Laughing too loud when you walked by in the hall, just to make you look. Humming songs I knew you liked, hoping you’d stop and ask me about them.”

Eddie’s heart slammed against his ribs, painful and loud. “That day in the hallway... you were just—”

She smiled wickedly, though her eyes remained soft. “Humming a song from a band you like…yeah. I asked around, and I found out the bands you love. I wanted you to see me. Eddie, you were in my head, under my skin, long before you ever looked through my window. I’ve been waiting for you to look at me the way I look at you.”

His eyes went wide, pupils blown black, fresh tears catching at his lashes as his breath hitched in his chest.

“I know every time you smoke out your window,” she whispered, her nails dragging slowly up his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. Her hips ground down again, squeezing around him possessively until he whined high in his throat. “I know when you come home from practice, when you stay up late with the blue light of your TV flickering on your face. I’ve been sitting here alone touching myself, thinking about this—” her voice cracked, interrupted by a soft, needy moan as she clenched around him, “thinking about you pinned under me.”

Eddie whimpered, his head dropping back against the cushion, completely overwhelmed. “Y-you—fuck—you were—?”

Her laugh was wet and uneven. She kissed him again until he moaned helplessly into her mouth. “I used to wait,” she confessed between feverish kisses. “Wait for you to walk past me on campus. Pretend I wasn’t looking, pretend I was busy with my phone. Pretend I didn’t notice when I would see you smoking out back of the B building just to get a glimpse of you.” Her voice caught, a shiver running through her frame that transferred directly to him.

Eddie groaned, his arms clutching her tighter, every overstimulated twitch of his cock inside her making his whole body jolt with pleasure.

She cupped his jaw with both hands, pulling his gaze up to lock with hers. Her hair stuck wildly to her damp skin, her eyes fevered and wet, lips swollen from their coupling. “When I realized you were watching me too? God, Eddie, I was so happy. Sometimes I’d slow down walking home, just to hear the sound of your boots following me.” Her words tumbling out over each other, her hips grinding harder, the emotional need spilling over into the physical.

Eddie let out a broken, incredulous laugh, covering his face with one hand. “Jesus Christ, I thought I was the freak—”

“You are,” she rasped, ripping his hand away from his face, pinning his wrist to the couch. Her eyes blazed, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left. “But so am I. You think I didn’t get off knowing you were there? You think I didn’t touch myself with the blinds cracked, just enough for a sliver of light, imagining your face pressed against the glass when you came?”

Her thumb traced the wet tracks of his tears, wiping them away, but her voice trembled, stripped bare of all pretense. “The truth is, Eddie… You thought you were watching me, but I was watching you too.”

His chest heaved, his lips trembling as the word scraped out of his throat, barely a rasp. “Why?”

Her hips rolled in a shallow torturous rhythm, her internal muscles clenching around him as her gaze burned steady into his, pinning him to the cushion. “Because you probably don’t even remember,” she whispered her voice thick. “But one night at a party last semester, I got too drunk. Sloppy drunk. I lost my friends, I was stumbling, and some guys were starting to circle like sharks.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “You stepped in. You didn’t even know me, Eddie, but you scared them off. You got me water. You sat with me on the curb until my roommate answered her phone.”

Her voice shook, her nails digging into his jaw, sharpness mixing with tenderness. “You were so kind. When nobody else looked at me like a person, you did. I decided right then… I had to make you mine.”

The confession hit him like a physical blow, shattering whatever restraint he had left. The raw vulnerability of it, mixed with the friction of her wet heat grinding against him, was too much.

They both came hard together. It wasn’t a small shiver but a violent storm, a crashing wave that drowned them both. They were shaking, writhing against the upholstery, their voices tangled together in broken cries. Even when the initial waves finally ebbed, her hips kept grinding, dragging every last aftershock out of both of them, milking him until he was seeing stars. She moaned into his mouth, swallowing every sound he made, chasing her own shudders until her body finally gave in and collapsed, heavy and boneless against him.

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut, a sound wrenched out of his chest, his cock jerked inside her one last time weakly. When he peeled his eyes open again, he looked utterly destroyed. He stared up at her, wholly surrendered to her whims.

“You got me,” he whispered, the admission a flag of surrender.

Her mouth crushed against his, her tongue claiming his with renewed desperation, her hands clawing at his shoulders. She kissed him, sucking his tongue until he whimpered into her mouth. When she finally pulled back, panting against his wet lips, her voice was a fierce whisper. “Y-yes. I have you. And I’ll never let you go.”

Eddie lay sprawled beneath her, chest heaving, curls plastered wet to his forehead, every nerve ending in his body humming and shuddering from overstimulation. She didn’t move off him. Her own body was still twitching from the waves she’d ridden out on his cock. She buried her face against his throat, inhaling the scent of smoke, sweat, and just Eddie.

Their breaths tangled together, rough and uneven in the quiet room. His pulse thundered against her cheek; hers pounded just as hard where she was still stretched tight around him, filling her completely. It was almost unbearable the way every tiny shift made them both flinch and gasp, but neither moved.

Eddie’s fingers found the back of her neck, shaking as they slid into her damp hair. His voice was wrecked when it finally rasped out, “We’re… fuck, we’re both fucked in the head, aren’t we?”

She laughed softly against his skin. “Yeah,” she whispered. “We are.”

He turned his face, pressing his mouth to her temple, eyes squeezing shut against the stinging sweat. She kissed his jaw back, almost feverish, drunk on the taste of him.

Eddie floated, the ceiling softened at the edges, turning into a smear of light and shadow that drifted whenever he blinked. His heartbeat, that frantic kick drum from before, had slowed into a  heavy thud, like a knocking from the other side of a wall. He felt scraped out and full at the same time, emptied of all his anxiety and filled with her.

She lay on him, one hand tracing idle paths along his ribs, up and down, like she was mapping his body, claiming soft warm territory.

His thoughts circled, dazed and syrupy. He replayed each piece of the night and couldn’t find the seam where he might have cut himself loose. Maybe there hadn’t been one. Maybe this wasn’t a trap sprung tonight, but an animal he’d been feeding for weeks without realizing it.

“Still with me?” she murmured, her voice soft, vibrating against his sternum.

“Yeah,” he breathed. His hand found the curve of her shoulder, then the back of her neck to hold her closer.

She pulled back enough to look at him. She had him pliant and trembling beneath her, and she couldn’t stop drinking in the sight. His bitten swollen lips, the flush spread high across his cheekbones, the red weeping scratches her nails had left on his chest. She committed every inch of it to memory, etching him into her mind.

“Close your eyes,” she said softly. “You’re thinking too loud.” Her tone was amused.

“Sorry,” he said in a daze, not even sure what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” She kissed the hollow under his eye, her lips cool against his heated skin.

He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. She shifted once more, only enough to tuck herself higher on his chest, her chin hitching to rest where his heartbeat was easiest to hear. He felt the heavy silk of her hair spill over his shoulder and down his arm; it tickled, and he didn’t move to brush it away.

His last clear thought was of him watching her, the crack in her blinds, the slice of light bleeding out toward the street. Except now, he wasn’t outside looking through the slats, shivering in the cold. He was inside the room the light belonged to, the window at his back, the night outside watching them instead.

Eddie slipped under. Every now and then, when his body twitched in sleep, she soothed it without words, her palm moving slow over his chest in the same looping, hypnotic path. She watched him soften into rest, and beneath the calm, her eyes kept a quiet, burning vigil.

Minutes, maybe hours, bled out that way, two bodies knotted together on a sagging couch. One sleeping soundly, the rise and fall of his chest a slow rhythm; the other refusing to let go of the sight of him. Her thighs still ached, her hips still twitched with the aftershock of release, and she could feel him softening inside her, but she didn’t move. She wanted him cradled inside her all night,  to feel every unconscious shift, every little sound he made when he dreamed.

She watched him a little longer, her eyes tracing each slow breath, before she finally let her own lashes fall. The last thing she felt before she slid under into the dark was the steady, reassuring thud of his heartbeat against her.

✦┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

....Starting to think my definition of “romance” might actually be a cry for help. Honestly, this isn’t a romance story, it’s an “oh no babe, what if we were both deranged” story lol

Anyway, hope you enjoyed(!!??) the stalking fic! It’s basically You if Joe Goldberg wasn’t a brat and actually matched Love’s freak. (Also, not sure if this needs to be stated, but... This is all fictional and should stay that way, don’t stalk people y’all… and definitely don’t invite your stalker in.)

[ 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖚𝖒: research notes + fun facts ] Stalking fantasy is so interesting because in real life, being watched without consent is terrifying right! but in fiction? bring it onnn!

(I recently read "Light Out" by Navessa Allen, and I was obsessed!! Didn't really enjoy the mafia stuff cause that's not my bread and butter usually, but the rest? mwah!! chef's kiss!!!) Also shocker but I (a mentally ill person) am obsessed with psychology and the psychology of kinks and fetishes. Some interesting reading if anyone was also interested! "Monster Theory: Reading Culture" by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and "Desire/Love" by Lauren Berlant.

✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦ This post was brought to you by BUNI  ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Rogers and Barnes,

How are you two doing? It’s been a long time since we last saw each other. Don’t even bother asking how things are over here in the city. I’m surrounded by people younger than me, dressed in suits and ties, commanding me around. Can you imagine how insulting that is for us men nearing forty? Hell, I miss sitting in the front yard of the old house, jamming on our guitars and banjos. I miss that connection. You can’t find anything like that in the city.

Anyway, let me get to the point. You remember my daughter, right? It’s been years since you folks saw her. Since she graduated college, she’s dying to ‘travel the world’ before falling into the hands of corporate life like her old man. She’s growing up too fast, I’ll tell ya.

She came up to me one day and said, “Dad, I wanna travel the world. I wanna go to Europe!” You can imagine the smile on my face. I told her, “Well, if you wanna start traveling, how about you play it safe and start in the States? The countryside, for example. I know a place you can stay. You remember Uncle Steve and Uncle Bucky?” She just scrunched her nose, shook her head, and said, “Nope!”

I know this is a little last minute, but the girl started packing her bags and hopped on a flight before I could give her the full rundown or even ask for your permission. Be careful when you have kids of your own—especially daughters.

I gave her your guys’ address, and she said she’ll be showing up at your front door this weekend. I tried to stop her, but once she starts running, it’s impossible to catch up. Especially when you’re getting older each day. I’m sure you two understand.

I worry about her, and I trust you two with my life. I ask that you folks give her the experience we had when we were younger and carefree.

Show her the life I’m missing out on by being stuck here.

Thanks, guys.

Take care of my little girl.

Bucky scoffed at the letter, gripping it tightly in his calloused, dirty hands. “Are you kiddin’ me?”

Steve entered through the front door, kicking off his heavy leather boots and pulling off his gloves. “What is it, Buck?” he huffed, nodding to the piece of paper. “What’s that in your hand?”

Bucky didn’t glance up. He took a sip of his beer and held the letter over his shoulder.

“You remember Crazy Clyde?” Bucky said with a satisfied exhale. “He sent us a letter—askin’ us to look over his daughter.”

Steve furrowed his brows. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time, much less anything recent about his daughter. “Crazy Clyde?”

The funny part was, Clyde wasn’t even your father’s real name. It was a nickname given to him back when he was growing up in the country alongside Steve and Bucky. The name spoke for itself—he was a shit talker who ran his mouth across half the damn town. It was even worse when he was drunk. “Clyde” only came after because it rang well together, and country folks loved stringing words together, especially when it came to insults.

Steve grabbed the letter, removing his cowboy hat and setting it on the table. His blue eyes raked over the words, his brows pinching together more and more until he reached the very bottom.

“Hell,” he breathed. “When did you get this?”

“Just got it in the mail today,” Bucky explained.

“Christ,” Steve shook his head, rereading the letter as if the ink might change. “Those damn mail carriers. Always takes long as shit.”

Both men wore unpleasant looks on their worn and aged faces. Their day had been tiresome, leaving their muscles aching for any form of relief. Now here they were, standing in a home that was in absolutely no position to be hospitable to a girl they hadn’t seen in over a decade—the daughter of an old friend they hadn’t spoken to in months.

“‘A little last minute,’” Bucky repeated the words on the letter with a bitter scoff, taking another sip of his cold beer. “Talk about an understatement.”

“Buck,” Steve finally set the paper down, hovering over his seated friend. “Crazy Clyde said his daughter would be droppin’ in this weekend.” He gulped, staring his friend dead in the eye as they reached a silent, mutual realization.

“Today is—”

“—Saturday,” Bucky finished.

For a minute, silence took up their space. They looked around their home, taking in the state of it; the couch barely standing on its wooden support beams, the beer and juice stains circling the dining table, and their dirty boots and gloves sprawled across the entrance. To top it all off, they had a mounted deer head hung on the wall that would likely send any city girl running home in tears.

“Hell,” Steve breathed, looking around the room in defeat. “Maybe she’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Either way,” Bucky interrupted, running a tired hand down his face. “We don’t have the time, the energy, or the livin’ space to just… let someone stay with us.”

Steve let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, the sound vibrating deep in his broad chest. He looked at the cramped quarters, then back at Bucky’s exhausted expression, and finally gave a sharp, reluctant nod in agreement.

“Alright,” Steve huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But let’s say… she actually shows up on our doorstep. What do we even say to her?”

Bucky leaned back, his chair creaking as he folded his arms over his chest, staring up at his best friend. “Then we tell her, ‘Sorry, kid. Your daddy gave us late notice and we aren’t fit to babysit while you ‘explore’ the countryside. How about you try Italy instead?’”

“That’s cold, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky cut him off, slamming his beer down on the table and standing up. “You know what’s cold, Stevie? A man who hasn’t spoken to us in years and only sendin’ us a letter when he needs a favor. The city made him soft and spoiled. I bet he raised that daughter of his a spoiled brat, too.”

Steve rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he knew about Bucky, it was that his friend was fiercely protective—possessive, even—of the things he loved. Bucky didn’t do well with interlopers. For their entire lives, it had been just the two of them, and the whole town knew it.

When Sam Wilson first moved to town and Steve started befriending the kind fella, Bucky had been like a territorial cat—hissing and hair standing up every time Sam’s name was mentioned, or if the man was even breathing the same air as Steve.

It was only after months of knowing each other that Sam and Bucky finally became close.

But other than that, Bucky believed anyone outside their usual circle had bad intentions, like they were trying to tear the two of them apart. What they had was a rare, productive, and close partnership that always got the dirty work done—a friendship you’d never find anywhere else.

And with you coming into town—well, in Bucky’s mind, that was going to ruin everything.

Steve let out a deep sigh. “You know what? Fine,” he said with a shrug.

It was already Saturday—and the chances of you arriving ‘this weekend’ were already cutting it short. For all they knew, you’d chickened out and weren’t going to show up at all.

“If this lady shows up on our doorstep, we’ll just turn her down and send her the other way. Happy?”

The corner of Bucky’s lip twitched into the slightest smirk, though he tried to hide it. He just ran his tongue over his teeth beneath his lips and gave a sharp nod.

“Glad we can come to an agreement.”

Steve couldn’t help but grin at his friend’s reaction. He reached for his cowboy hat, settling it over his head and giving Bucky’s shoulder a firm pat. “Enough bickerin’ about ‘what-ifs.’ The horsies need feedin’.”

As Steve approached the front door, Bucky grabbed his own cowboy hat from the hanger and adjusted it over his head. Steve reached for the knob, and as he swung the door wide, ready to breathe in the cool country air, the sight on the other side made the air leave his lungs instead.

There you stood, your hand frozen mid-air, knuckles inches away from where the wood had been just a second ago.

You looked like a fever dream against the backdrop of the dusty porch and green fields. You were wearing designer clothes that probably cost more than their truck and shoes that were never meant for gravel, with a mountain of expensive luggage flanking your sides.

Steve stood there frozen, his large frame filling the doorway. His eyes raked over you with disbelief and something warm… like a sudden, simmering heat building in his groin at the sight of a beautiful woman—

“Who the hell are you?” Bucky’s gruff voice rang out from behind him.

Your face, bewildered at the sight of the two burly, older men in front of you, softened slightly as you smiled despite the rude introduction.

“Uncle Steve, Uncle Bucky,” you breathed, letting your hand fall to extend a polite greeting. “It’s nice to see you guys again!”

You forced a polite, cheerful tone, though the words leaving your lips were a lie and a half. Calling these two men ‘Uncle’—men you hadn’t seen since you could barely speak—felt entirely foreign on your lips.

When your father brought up the idea of you staying in the countryside, he spoke of Steve Rogers and James Barnes with such wonder in his eyes. You were pretty sure you’d never even seen him talk about your own mother the way he did those two.

He’d shown you photographs from their golden days, and they were ridiculously handsome. Your father told you James—who went by Bucky—was the local ladies’ man, and his looks certainly proved it. Steve had been smaller then, thinner, but still just as good looking.

That’s who you expected to see standing on this porch. Instead, you were face to face with walls of muscle hidden beneath dirty denim, heavy boots, and cowboy hats. They were older—much older than the two boys in the photos.

They both wore thick facial hair now. Steve’s was dense, with blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck and blue eyes that looked visibly tired and stern. Bucky had salt and pepper peeking through his stubble. His hair was shorter than Steve’s, and his eyes were much more guarded—agitated, almost.

Bucky’s arms were folded tightly over his chest as he glared down at you like you were some common solicitor.

You swallowed hard, averting your eyes from Bucky’s rude gaze to meet Steve’s—who looked far more approachable and kind, if only by comparison.

“You guys are my father’s friends, right? I hope you got the letter letting you know that I'm…”

Bucky nudged Steve hard in the arm, as if trying to signal him for something.

You frowned, your voice trailing off. “…staying here.”

Steve straightened up as if snapping out of a daydream, not sparing Bucky a single glance. “Uh, yes. Right,” he grunted. “We got the letter, darlin’.”

You beamed, a smile spreading across your features. “Great! Um,” you stood on your tiptoes, trying to peek over that wall of broad shoulders and into the house. “Where should I put my stuff—?”

But Bucky stepped forward, propping one arm high against the doorframe, leaning down at you as he blocked your view and path.

“Sorry, kid,” Bucky grunted, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Your daddy gave us a late notice, and we aren’t fit to babysit while you ‘xplore the countryside.” He shot Steve a look, his next question coming out with a harsh bite. “How ‘bout you try Paris instead?”

Steve just grinned, glancing at Bucky before stepping aside to let you in anyway. “I thought the suggestion was Italy, Buck?”

You could’ve sworn you heard Bucky mutter a litany of curses under his breath, but Steve paid him no mind. He leaned down, grabbing two suitcases at a time as if they weighed nothing, and hauled them into the living room.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve called back. “Help the little lady out.”

Bucky stayed against the doorframe for a second longer. The height difference was dizzying. You had to tilt your head back, straining the column of your neck just to meet his eyes beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat.

He didn’t look like a family friend at all.

He looked like a stormy, grumpy, old raincloud.

Your dad was actually friends with this guy?

After a few more curses, Bucky finally pushed himself off the wall and he moved with a begrudging pace, stepping deep into your personal space to snatch up the remaining bags. He didn’t just take them—he jerked them off the porch as if they were an inconvenience.

As he straightened up, his broad chest nearly brushed your shoulder. The scent of cedar, tobacco, and old leather hit you all at once, making your nose scrunch up. He cut his eyes down at you, giving you one last glare that essentially promised your stay wouldn’t be a vacation.

“Thank you—” you started, the words small and tentative.

Bucky didn’t even let you finish. He let out a grumpy, unintelligible grunt, turned his back on you, and hauled the luggage inside.

Steve set the heavy suitcases onto the floorboards, sending dust particles dancing in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the windows.

He straightened up, but before he could even offer you a tour, Bucky’s hand clamped onto his shoulder.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was low and dangerous. “A word. Now.”

Steve didn’t look surprised—he just looked tired. He gave you a warm, apologetic look that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Make yourself at home, darlin’. Use the water filter if you’re thirsty. We’ll be back in a second.”

Bucky’s entire face contorted into a grimace at the ‘darlin’’ comment. It was a good thing the brim of his hat shielded most of his expression. He hooked his fingers into the back of Steve’s jacket and hauled him toward the narrow hallway. You watched as Steve practically got dragged around the corner, a startled little “Oof!” escaping his lips as Bucky pulled him out of view.

You were left standing in the middle of the living room, feeling unwelcome and entirely out of place.

When your father spoke of these two, he made them sound like friendly, caring men—which had only fueled your excitement for the beginnings of your trip.

But now, standing there and staring up at a mounted deer head in the center of the wall, you were starting to wonder if this was a massive mistake after all.

“Steve, are you shittin’ me right now?” Bucky hissed just around the corner. “Whatever happened to ‘if this lady shows up on our doorstep, we’ll just turn her down and send her the other way’?”

“Come on.” Steve rested both hands on his hips, giving his friend a scolding look. “The girl traveled all this way just to see us.”

“Not us,” Bucky corrected sharply. “She wanted to visit the town.”

Steve continued anyway, ignoring the bite in Bucky’s tone. “She’s only goin’ to be here for—what? A couple of days? We can at least manage that, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, his hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. “I can't believe this. Where is she even going to sleep, Steve? On that couch? It can barely hold the two of us for a Sunday beer, let alone a princess for a week.”

“Your room,” Steve said flatly.

Bucky’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a vibrating growl. “My room? Are you outta’ your goddamn mind? Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“You can sleep in mine. My bed is big enough for both of us, and far comfier than yours anyway.” Steve watched Bucky’s face carefully, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips. “Technically, I’m doin’ you a favor.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue—to tell Steve exactly where he could shove his ‘favor’—but the words died in a frustrated, incoherent mumble.

A heavy silence fell between them. Then, they both leaned out slightly, glancing back toward the living room where you were still standing, looking small and out of place beneath that mounted deer head.

Steve’s gaze softened, his expression turning thoughtful.

“She’s a real beauty, ain’t she?” Steve murmured, his voice turning almost fond. “She’s all grown up now.”

It was a miracle you couldn’t feel the daggers Bucky was glaring into your back. His jaw clenched at Steve’s words, though he didn’t deny it entirely.

“She’s trouble, Steve. That’s what she is.”

“Buck,” Steve turned to him, his voice dropping slightly. “She’s just a girl with dreams bigger than her own head. Her father chose us, even if it’s been,” he blew raspberries, “years since he reached out properly. He was a close friend before he moved away. He did a lot for us—the least we can do is this.”

Bucky shifted his boots uncomfortably, his gaze lingering back on you for a moment longer than he intended. Through the gap in the hallway, he watched as you reached out a hesitant hand to touch the worn fabric of an old armchair, your eyes wide and glassy with wonder.

It was the same look he and Steve used to have back in the day—when the world felt big and full of promise, before the years had weathered them down.

You looked so innocent, completely untainted, and for some reason—especially knowing you were his close friend’s daughter—it was a look he wanted to protect. Though he would never admit it aloud.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, looking down at his boots before meeting Steve’s eyes again.

“Fine,” Bucky rasped, the word barely more than a growl. “But if she breaks somethin’—or if she starts actin’ like a spoiled little brat, I ain’t the one who’s gonna be gentle ‘bout it.”

“Hey,” Steve warned, though he couldn’t help the smile on his lips. “Play nice.”

“You want me to play nice?” Bucky huffed, already turning away. “I’ll show you how I play nice.”

He adjusted his hat, squared his shoulders, and stepped back into the living room. The floorboards creaked under his heavy boots, announcing his return.

“Alright, princess,” Bucky grumbled, his voice startling you as he marched toward your luggage. “Ain’t no five-star fancy hotel, and your tour guide ain’t like the young ones you see in the magazines.” He groaned, hoisting two of your suitcases. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you’re gonna be stayin’ before I change my mind.”

You blinked, not fully processing Bucky’s words until he was already halfway down the hall. He stopped, looking over his shoulder when he realized you weren’t following him.

“Well?” he huffed, his forehead wrinkling as he glared at you. “You comin’? Or do you need me to carry you, too?”

You quickly forced yourself off the couch, the floorboards creaking as your footsteps caught up to him. He let out a grunt of approval and turned back around, leading you toward the bedrooms. Your eyes couldn’t help but trace the broadness of Bucky’s shoulders from behind. He sauntered in front of you, his forearms flexed and straining with the weight of your suitcases.

Despite all his grumpiness, he was an undeniably strong, capable, and handsome man.

So, how could you not stare?

You nearly bumped into him when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a closed door. Setting one of the suitcases down, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Stepping inside, it didn’t take long to realize this was Bucky’s personal space.

The bed was covered in dark blue plaid sheets that had been left unmade. Drawers were cracked open with clothes and socks peeking out. The room carried a scent that was uniquely Bucky—heavy on the masculine notes of cedarwood and worn leather.

“Well, this is it,” Bucky announced, stepping inside and dropping your suitcases in the middle of the floor.

“Your room?” you frowned, following him and taking in the rustic surroundings. “My dad told me you guys had a big family house. I… I thought I’d be staying in a guest room or something. Not one of your own bedrooms…”

“Yeah, well—your old man’s memory’s all fucked up,” Bucky grumbled, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

You bit your lower lip as guilt started to eat at you. You were a woman who prided herself on making good first impressions—a trait your father had drilled into you early. In the city, a good impression meant more connections, and connections meant moving up in the world. It was a survival tactic back home.

With that in mind, the way Bucky was deliberately avoiding your gaze killed you inside.

“I’m sorry—”

But before you could fully express your apology, Steve’s heavy footsteps sounded behind you. He propped an arm against the doorframe, grinning broadly.

“Don’t get too comfortable in here just yet,” Steve said, clearly trying to lighten the tense mood. “You wanted a taste of the countryside, right? Let’s go show you the rest of it.”

To say you wanted a taste of the countryside was a bit of a stretch—your father had only agreed to let you travel if you started here first. With Bucky’s gaze still digging daggers into your back, you felt hesitant, but Steve was so warm, his smile so genuine, that you were grateful for him extending a grapevine.

“You know what? Sure, that sounds nice,” you said, forcing a smile before turning back to Bucky. “Will you be coming?”

“Waste my energy walkin’ around a place I’ve seen a million times just ‘cause a pretty girl shows up on my doorstep?” Bucky looked down at his nails, deciding they were far more interesting than you. “No thanks.”

“Don’t mind him,” Steve leaned in close, offering a small, reassuring smile. “He’s all bark, no bite. He’ll come around.”

With a gentle hand hovering near your lower back, he guided you out of the bedroom and away from Bucky’s brooding presence. Steve walked you through the rest of the rustic home, pointing out the bathroom—a simple but clean space with a clawfoot tub.

“Shower’s right through there,” he noted, gesturing to the brass fixtures. “Water takes a minute to get hot, but once it does, it’ll practically peel your skin off, so be careful.”

Next was the kitchen, which felt like the heart of the house with its cast-iron pans and the scent of bitter coffee. A small, round wooden table sat in the middle with only two chairs. It was clear they weren’t used to company; the house was built for the two of them and them alone. Steve paused at the table, eyeing the two chairs before letting out a small huff of a laugh.

“We don’t have another dinin’ chair, so I hope you don’t mind sittin’ on one of our laps.”

Your face immediately flushed as the words registered. “W-what—?”

“I’m just messin’ around, buttercup,” Steve snickered, though it didn’t sound much like a joke.

Finally, he led you out onto the wide, wraparound porch. Several chairs and comfy benches were scattered about, far more accommodating than the seating inside.

“This is where we gather ‘round, bring some folks over and play some tunes,” Steve explained, gesturing to the seats.

You raised a brow. “You guys play instruments?”

“Guitar,” Steve said, adjusting his hat. “And Bucky plays the harmonica.”

The guitar was fitting for Steve, but you couldn’t help but giggle at the image of a man as grumpy as Bucky Barnes whipping out a harmonica and going to town. Steve’s grin widened at the sound of your laughter.

“You’re gigglin’ now, but just watch,” he pointed a finger at you jokingly. “He’s quite the player. We’ll have to show you sometime.”

Now that you could stand on the porch without the chaos of hauling luggage, the view was absolutely breathtaking. Vast, rolling green fields seemed to touch the sky, turning golden in the afternoon sun. Steve glanced down at you, taking in the way you stared into the distance, your eyes wide and full of wonder as a soft “Wow” escaped your lips.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Steve smiled, sweeping a hand toward the horizon as you stepped into the front yard. “No skyscrapers to block the view, and the only neighbors you’ll hear are the chickens, the cattle, and the horses.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, letting the fresh air fill your lungs in a way city air never could. “It’s different, but it’s beautiful.”

Steve turned, his smile softening as he caught sight of you. With the afternoon sun hitting you just right—with the soft wind blowing in your hair and the sunlight and catching the gleam in your eyes—he seemed to find you much more interesting than the landscape.

To Steve, you were absolutely breathtaking. He knew that if your father were here right now, he’d slap him silly for the way he was staring, let alone for the impure thoughts running through his mind. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the filthy, mental images running through his old mind for a girl who’s more than half his age.

“I’m glad you think so.”

He began walking you toward the side of the house, leading you to a sprawling, well-tended garden and a series of larger fields beyond. “Over here is where we grow most of our own. Corn, beans, squash... and I’ve got a patch of tomatoes that’ll be the best thing you ever tasted once they’re ripe.”

You’d always thought the farmers' markets in the city square were the closest you’d get to whole foods, but this was entirely different.

Steve reached down, casually plucking a stray weed from the edge of a row with a grunt. “Bucky’s the muscle when it comes to the heavy tillin’, but I’m the one with the green thumb. I’m a damn good cook, too, if I do say so myself.”

He stood up, dusting his hands off on his dirty denim jeans as he gave you a playful, confident look. “I’ll have to whip somethin’ up for you one of these nights you’re here. Show you what real farm-to-table food actually tastes like.”

You looked at the vastness of the crops, realizing just how much work these two put in with their own very large hands. “You really do everything yourselves, don’t you?”

“That’s the only right way to do it, baby,” Steve drawled, planting his hands on his hips as his smirk deepened.

Baby.

The word rolled off his tongue—low, honeyed, and thick with a southern accent that made your heart skip a beat. You felt the heat climb into your cheeks, and you quickly looked down at your shoes, suddenly feeling too shy to maintain his gaze.

A little, raspy chuckle escaped his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Let me show you the horses,” Steve said, nodding toward the stables and gesturing for you to follow. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waitin’ now.”

He led you toward the stables, where the heavy, earthy scent of hay and horsehide hit you all at once. It was a thick, unfamiliar smell, and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose.

Steve noticed, glancing over his shoulder with an amused chuckle. “Not exactly the perfume you’re used to, is it?” He gestured toward the wide, shadowed stalls. “This is where we keep our beauties—”

Steve stopped in his tracks as he realized you guys weren’t alone.

Bucky was deep in the shadows of the furthest stall. His hat was tipped back, and his sleeves were rolled past his elbows to reveal beefy, corded forearms as he brushed down a massive, coal-black mare. The horse huffed, leaning into his touch, and for a split second, you saw a flicker of softness in Bucky’s eyes.

It was clearly a side he didn’t want you to see, because as soon as he heard your footsteps, his head snapped to you with a cold glare.

His jaw tightened, and his movements with the brush grew sharper, almost more aggressive.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Bucky grumbled, his eyes returning to the horse.

You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully to not upset him further. “Uncle Steve just wanted to show me around—I didn’t mean to bother you, Uncle Bucky.”

“Don’t call us uncle, kid,” Bucky snapped, still refusing to look at you. “We haven’t seen you since you were in diapers. We ain’t family.”

You flinched slightly at his cold words.

“Buck,” Steve warned, his voice dropping as he rested a protective hand on your shoulder.

Bucky finally looked at you. His eyes landed on Steve’s hand before snapping back to your face. He clicked his tongue dismissively and went back to tending his horse.

A slow, tired exhale escaped Steve behind you. With his hand still on you, he gently nudged you to the next stall, where a horse with a beautiful chestnut mane and the softest brown eyes was watching you curiously.

“This right here is my horse,” Steve said. His voice was much softer now, a far difference to the tone he’d used with Bucky just seconds ago.

You finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Bucky told you off. A small, shy smile tugged at your lips as the horse huffed a warm greeting against your palm. “She’s beautiful.”

“Her name’s Peggy.”

A loud, unmistakable scoff echoed from the far end of the barn where Bucky stood. He didn’t say a word, but the sound was enough to let you know there was a history with that name you didn’t quite understand yet.

Steve ignored Bucky’s attitude entirely, his focus remaining solely on you. Peggy, sensing your gentle energy, let out a soft whuff and began nuzzling her velvet nose against your palm, rubbing her head into your hand with an affectionate push.

You let out a startled, breathless giggle. Back home, you were used to lap dogs and small cats—not a thousand pound animal demanding your attention. You weren’t used to something so large being so friendly, and you instinctively pulled your hand away, stumbling back half a step when the sensation became overwhelming.

“Be a good girl now, Peg,” Steve murmured to the horse, though his eyes never left you. “You’re scarin’ the misses.”

Before you could fully retreat, Steve’s large, rough hand moved from your shoulder to your waist. His grip was firm and steadying, pinning you right where you were between the stall and his body. He stepped closer until his chest was a solid, warm wall against your back.

He leaned down over your shoulder, his face so close you could feel his heat. You swallowed hard as his voice came out raspy and hot, vibrating right against your ear.

“Wouldya look at that? She loves you.”

The heat from Steve’s chest was seeping through your clothes, and your gaze dropped to his hands. They were huge, his tanned, calloused fingers practically wrapping halfway around your waist, holding you in place almost possessively.

You felt like you were on fire. Being pinned between a massive horse and an even more massive man had your heart running circles in your chest.

But then, your eyes drifted just past Steve’s shoulder.

At the far end of the stable, the shadows couldn’t hide Bucky, no matter how hard he tried to tuck himself away.

His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle bulged in his cheek, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the handle of the brush. He looked beyond grumpy—he looked almost livid. His dark eyes were hidden beneath the brim of his hat, but you could still feel them boring into the exact spot where Steve’s hand met your hip.

“Can I… can I meet your horse too, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out soft and breathy.

The silence that followed was deafening. You nearly regretted the question the moment it left your mouth. Steve went still, hovering just behind you as he, too, waited for Bucky’s response.

Eventually, Bucky huffed out a harsh, dry laugh. “My horse don’t like strangers,” he murmured. “’specially ones that smell like expensive city soap. It’ll just aggravate her.”

“I’m sure she’s not that picky,” you said, forcing a small smile in an attempt to crack his shell.

Despite the safety of Steve’s hand and chest, you took a breath as you gently ducked out of the way. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you took a step toward the far end of the stall.

Bucky didn’t push you away, which was a surprise in itself. Instead, he just mumbled, “If she bites, I’m not suckin’ on your finger.”

You didn’t doubt him for a second.

As you drew closer, the massive black mare—the one Bucky claimed was so ‘aggravated’ by city folk—perked her ears up. She didn’t huff or stomp. She stretched her long neck over the gate, her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of you. Before Bucky could tell you to leave, the mare let out a low, vibrating nuzzle against your shoulder.

“Oh!” a small, genuine laugh of disbelief escaped you. “She likes my soap, apparently!”

Bucky stood still, his eyes widening as he watched his beloved horse befriend a stranger in a matter of seconds. He folded his arms over his chest, watching your delicate fingers work through the mare’s dark mane.

He watched the way your small smile lit up your face, the pure joy that took over once you’d won the animal’s affection. His heart swelled, though he couldn’t tell if it was because of how soft and innocent you looked or because his horse was being such a good girl by opening up so easily.

For the sake of his blood pressure, he chose the latter.

But then, the mare got a little too excited. Eager for more attention, she tossed her heavy head and snapped her teeth toward your fingers, catching you off guard.

As you gasped, Bucky’s hand shot out. His fingers—rough and surprisingly warm—grabbed around your wrist, pulling your hand back toward his chest and out of harm’s way.

“Easy, girl,” he cooed.

If someone were to touch your face right now, they would’ve pulled back from the heat alone.

His voice wasn’t the usual grumpy mumble he used to tell you off. It was a low, almost melodic vibration. And although he wasn’t speaking to you, your heart thrummed just the same. His thumb brushed against the pulse point of your wrist, and he could surely feel how fast your heart was moving because of him.

“She’s got a bit of a temper when she’s happy,” Bucky explained, finally dropping your hand.

You frowned slightly, feeling a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact. To Bucky, however, it looked like you were just shaken from nearly losing a finger.

“What’s her name?” you asked softly.

Bucky swallowed hard, reaching out to pet the mare’s nose. “Rebecca. Named after my late sister.”

“Oh,” you breathed, your shoulders deflating slightly at the news. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. It’s a beautiful name.”

Bucky didn’t look at you. He just kept his hand on Rebecca’s nose, his thumb tracing a slow circle over her skin.

“Do you guys have family that live nearby?” you pried gently, glancing between him and Steve, who was stepping up beside you. “Or is it just the two of you out here?”

“Just us now,” Steve said, his voice gentle. “Our folks passed on a good while back, but they were the ones who started all this.”

He gestured to the sturdy beams of the barn and the fields beyond. “Our parents were best friends, just like us. Raised us side-by-side on this very dirt. Sarah and Winnie—those were our mothers.”

A small, almost shy smile touched Steve’s lips as he looked at the garden rows outside the stable door. “My ma, Sarah, she was the one with the green thumb. Always takin’ care of the crops, talkin’ to the tomatoes like they were her own kin. Pretty sure I got my patience from her.”

He then nudged his head towards Bucky.

“And Buck’s mom, Winnie?” he whistled, making Bucky shake his head with a deep chuckle. “She was a horse girl through and through. Could break a wild stallion before she even had her morning coffee. She’s the one who taught us how to ride—and how to listen to ‘em. Ain’t that right, Bucky?”

Bucky looked down at his boots, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes, but you still managed to catch a glimpse of that real smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah. She was a hardass, that’s for sure,” Bucky nodded, his voice surprisingly soft. “Was hard on your dad, too.”

You smiled at the thought. The few times they had brought up your father today, it was always a petty remark.

“Were you and my dad close?” you asked gently.

Steve watched Bucky, his expression unreadable, as if waiting for his friend to take the lead on the answer. When Bucky remained quiet, his thumb still tracing circles on the mare’s nose, Steve finally spoke up.

“We were very good friends,” he explained with a kind, steady smile.

Before you could dwell on their tension or press for more, Steve clapped his hands together. The sharp sound made you jump and caused Bucky to snap his head up.

“Well, how ‘bout it?” Steve asked, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. “Sun’s gonna be setting in a bit, and there ain’t no better way to see the back acres. You wanna go for a ride?”

Your eyes widened. “I—I don’t really know how to ride,” you admitted, a bit embarrassed. “I’ve only ever seen horses in movies or… through a fence.”

Steve’s smile widened as he stepped closer, resting a hand on the small of your back and gently guiding you toward his horse. “Don’t you worry none, buttercup. We won’t let you fall.”

The sun was starting to set, and Steve and Bucky led the horses out of the dim stable and into the open air. The wide expanse of the ranch felt even more intimidating now that you were expected to traverse it on the back of a living, breathing animal.

Steve checked the cinch on Peggy’s saddle, tugging it tight to ensure it wouldn’t slip. He swung himself up and settled, looking like he’d been born in the saddle itself. He looked down at you, holding the reins loosely in one hand while offering the other.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice deep and sweet. “Left foot in the stirrup. Don’t be shy now.”

You looked at the height of the horse, then at Steve, feeling hesitant. You took a step back, shaking your head. “I… I don’t know about this, Steve. Maybe I should just walk—”

Before you could finish, Bucky appeared behind you. He didn’t give you a warning, he simply pressed up against your back and gripped his hands around your waist tightly. You gasped as he hoisted you into the air effortlessly, lifting you upward until were seatled firmly on Peggy’s back in front of Steve.

Steve’s hands found your waist as you wobbled, steadying you in place.

Bucky stepped back, adjusting the brim of his hat. “You don’t decline a ride out here,” he lectured, his voice gruff. “It’s rude.”

He turned on his heel and walked back to his own horse, leaving you slightly embarassed after being humbled by Bucky yet again.

“He’s got a point,” Steve chuckled warmly from behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his frame as he took the reins in his hands. “And besides, I’ve got a real firm hold on you. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

With a sharp click of his tongue, Bucky urged Rebecca into a brisk trot, quickly pulling ahead and taking the lead. You watched him go, the silhouette of his broad shoulders dipped in the gold of the setting sun, making him look like he’d stepped straight out of a cinematic painting.

In contrast, your ride with Steve was gentle and slow, but you prefered it that way.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” Steve murmured behind you. He noticed the way you were white knuckling the saddle horn and reached around you. “Here. Take the reins.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you admitted, but Steve was already sliding his large hands over yours, guiding your fingers to grip the leather straps.

He kept his hands over yours, warm and firmly in control. “I’ve got you.”

You watched Bucky and his horse tread on, his pace never slowing. You bit your lip, the silence and the distance between you and him finally giving you the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on your mind since you arrived.

“He doesn’t like me much, does he?” you asked softly.

Steve’s hands tightened just slightly over yours, a small sigh escaping him.

“It ain’t that…” he trailed off. “Buck’s just… he’s really big on loyalty. Friendship, family—all that kind of stuff.”

Steve watched his friend ride into the distance, his eyes filled with earnestness.

“When your dad had you, Buck was so damn happy. Your dad was the first guy out of the group to do the whole marriage-and-kid thing. Buck thought, ‘A kid of yours is a kid of mine.’ He was excited to be a godfather, or an uncle. We were just excited to be in your life, you know?”

You stayed silent, prompting him to continue.

“So, when your ma wanted to pack her things and move you all somewhere ‘better’—Bucky was livid. He told your dad, ‘How are you gonna let a girl dictate how you live your life?’ and your dad just said, ‘When you fall in love with a woman, you’d do anything for her. You just don’t get it.’”

Steve swallowed hard as he went on.

“And since you all left for the city, we never heard back from him. So you can imagine how it felt for Buck to get a letter from your daddy out of nowhere, askin’ for his daughter to stay with us after all these years.”

You bit your lower lip, the broken raspiness in Steve’s voice making the guilt eat at your heart even faster. You knew Bucky’s resentment was technically unfair—a result of your father’s silence rather than anything you had done—but you couldn’t help the sympathy you felt for the years of friendship they had lost.

“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you both wanted them to,” you whispered.

“Don’t apologize, darlin’,” Steve reassured you. He momentarily shifted his grip, one hand coming up to ruffle your hair in a playful, teasing gesture that made you lean back into him. “Sometimes you just gotta see the glass as half-full. I’m just glad your dad still chose us to take care of you after all these years. To me, that’s better than nothin’.”

He squeezed your hand where it rested on the reins, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“And my,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating through your spine, “what a fine woman you’ve grown up to be.”

Your face went hot, the heat of it rivaling the setting sun that touched your skin. The way he said it—with a dark, sultry appreciation that wasn’t at all familial—sent excitement from your heart straight to your core.

Instinctively, you shifted in the saddle, trying to find your breath, but the movement only caused you to lean back further. Your hips moved against the hard, muscular denim of his thighs, and you felt the hitch in his breathing the moment you rubbed against him.

Steve didn’t pull anyway—if anything, one hand found your waist, giving it a possessive squeeze.

“Don’t rub up against me like that, baby,” he rasped against your ear, his hat shielding the dark, hungry look in his eyes. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

Meanwhile, Bucky spurred Rebecca into a trot, circling back until he was riding parallel to Peggy. His eyes didn’t stray to you, but he was clearly aware of how closely you were tucked into Steve’s lap.

“Steve,” Bucky called out, deliberately ignoring your presence. “We hittin’ the Country Club tonight?”

The Country Club wasn’t the kind of place with golf courses and polo shirts. It was the heart of the town—a sprawling, wood planked hall where the beer was cold, the line dancing was fast and sloppy, and the mechanical bull was the only thing meaner than a hungry coyote.

It was loud, rowdy, and exactly where every cowboy in the county ended up on a Saturday night.

Steve leaned back a little away from you. “Yeah, I reckon we are.” He looked down at you, eyes twinkling. “How ‘bout it, sweetheart? You wanna tag along? We’ll show you more of the countryside your dad wanted you to see.”

You felt Bucky’s gaze then.

It was practically screaming for you to say no.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” you said, forcing a polite chuckle. “I’ll just stay home and get settled in. I’m sure you guys want some time with your friends.”

Bucky let out a short, huffed breath of what might have been relief, but Steve wasn’t having it.

“There ain’t much to do at home but listen to the chickens, darlin’,” Steve insisted. “Come with us. It’ll be fun. You can watch good ol’ Buck here get thrown off the bull for the third time this month.”

“I don’t get thrown off,” Bucky mumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he glared at the horizon.

“Come on,” Steve urged. “And if you aren’t havin’ a good time, or if it gets too loud for ya, just say the word. We’ll leave right then and there. Promise.”

You stayed silent, still hesitant as your eyes flickered between the two of them. Bucky technically wasn’t saying no, yet he still avoided looking at you. Steve, on the other hand, was a presence you couldn’t ignore.

“You know, your daddy loved the place.” Steve added, coaxing you in.

You smiled softly, already picturing your father getting giddy and rowdy with these two men in their younger days. You glanced at Bucky warily, seeking some kind of confirmation. “Is that true?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “Never missed a night.”

“Okay,” you breathed, a small smile finally tugging at your lips. “I’ll go.”

The tension in Steve’s shoulders dropped instantly at your agreement.

“Great. Let’s head home and freshen up, and then we’ll be right on out.” He took control of the reins, spinning Peggy around toward the house. “You’re gonna have a lot of fun, sweetheart. I promise.”

By the time you arrived back at the house, the evening air had turned crisp, and the sun had long since dipped beneath the silhouette of the mountains. You retreated to Bucky’s room—the space he had begrudgingly vacated for you—and closed the door behind you.

You began to strip out of your travel-worn clothes, shivering slightly as the cool air hit your skin. You were down to your undergarments—simple, soft white cotton that felt wholesome and modest, yet left you feeling incredibly vulnerable in the middle of this… very masculine sanctuary.

As you reached for your fresh clothes in your suitcase, your eyes caught on one of Bucky’s hats sitting atop of the dark wood dresser. It was worn at the edges, shaped perfectly to the curve of his head.

On a very curious whim, you picked it up and placed it on your own head. It was far too big, the brim dropping over your eyes, but you couldn’t help but glance at yourself in the mirror.

There was something about the rugged piece of him covering your hair that made you smile.

Here you were, in a grown man’s bedroom, wearing nothing but his cowboy hat and white cotton undergarments, grinning at your reflection. You felt like a little girl playing pretend. You practiced adjusting the brim, trying to mimic the way Steve and Bucky did it, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous it all felt.

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open, the sharp creak of the hinges making your head snap to the sound.

Bucky stepped inside, his head down as he fumbled with the buttons of a half-done shirt, his mind clearly a million miles away.

“Steve, have you seen my brown jacket? I think I left it in the—”

As Bucky lifted his head, his breath got stuck in his throat. The air in the small bedroom vanished instantly, leaving a vacuum of pure, suffocating tension. You felt like you could choke.

There you were, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. You were dressed only in soft white cotton, the little pink bow at the center of your underwear greeting him shamelessly. But what truly made Bucky’s throat go dry was the sight of the hat—his hat—perched on your head. The brim was tilted at that same playful angle you’d been practicing, casting a shadow over your wide, startled eyes.

“I…” you started, face flushing in embarrassment. “I didn’t—”

You braced yourself. You expected him to yell, to tell you to take his precious hat off your head and stay home for the rest of the night. You were, after all, standing in his bedroom, stripped down and wearing his most personal possession.

“I came for my jacket,” Bucky croaked instead, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass.

He took a step past the doorframe, ostensibly to find his coat, yet his eyes were traitors. They kept snapping back to your face, to the hat, to the curves of your body, and back to the hat again. He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing sharply.

“You look…” he stopped himself, his chest rising and falling in a heavy breath as he struggled to find his composure. “You’re wearin’ my hat.”

Mortified, you felt the heat climb from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. You ripped the hat off your head—leaving your hair a bit fuzzled and messed up—and clutched the stiff felt against your chest in a desperate attempt to shield your body.

“I just…” you stammered, small and breathless. “I saw it sitting there on the dresser and I got a bit curious, I guess. I didn’t mean to—”

You squeezed your eyes, waiting for his sharp tongue to lecture you on boundaries, but instead, you heard his boots move closer to you. His large hands reached out, gently prying the hat from your grip. You held your breath as he lifted it, but he didn’t set it back on the dresser.

With a slow, careful motion, he propped it back onto your head—his fingers lingered at the brim, adjusting it just so, tilting it until the shadow of it played across your flustered cheeks.

“No,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, making your bare toes curl against the floor. “Wear it tonight.”

Bucky stepped back, though he was still far too close for you to think straight. He licked his bottom lip, the moisture glistening, before he caught the skin between his teeth, biting down. His eyes were dark, hooded, and heavy as they trailed a slow, scorched path down to your face, then dropped to the curve of your body, before snapping back up to lock onto your gaze.

“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me, anyway,” he rasped.

You felt the words die in your throat. You could only stare back at him, wide-eyed, because that was the first genuinely kind thing he had said to you since you arrived.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you breathed.

Bucky didn’t say anything else. He pressed his lips together, giving you a curt nod before grabbing his brown jacket from the chair near the door.

“Meet us out front in ten,” he called out over his shoulder. His voice had returned to its usual gruffness as he walked out, though he shut the door much softer than he had opened it.

Ten minutes later, the cool night air hit your skin as you pushed through the screen door, but the atmosphere on the porch turned stiflingly hot the second you stepped out.

Steve and Bucky were leaning against the porch railing, deep in a quiet conversation that died the moment they saw you. Both of them straightened up immediately, their bodies rigid as if they’d been struck by lightning.

You stood there, a little self-conscious, wearing a dress that hugged your waist and flared at your hips. It was cute, feminine, and a stark contrast to the rugged, oversized cowboy hat resting on your head.

Steve’s breath left him in a sharp, audible hitch. With his blue eyes wide, he let them travel from the tips of your toes up the length of your bare legs, lingering far too long on the way the dress fit before landing on the hat. A slow, crooked grin spread across his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve exhaled. “You’re gonna start a riot in that town, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s reaction, however, was worse. He didn’t even give you the courtesy of a smile. He just stood there, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes dangerously dark.

Every time Bucky looked at you, he saw his old friend’s face—the man who had trusted him to watch over his daughter—but every time his gaze dropped to the swell of your breast or the curve of your shining lips, that trust felt like a fraying rope.

He looked at the hat on your head, and to Bucky, that hat meant he had already made his claim on you.

Long before Steve ever could.

“We should go,” Bucky strained, his voice sounding like he was physically fighting the urge to say something he shouldn’t.

“Before it gets any darker.”

By the time the neon sign for the Country Club flickered into view, the parking lot was already a sea of mud caked duallys and vintage pickups.

As you stepped out of the truck and Steve held the door for you, your ears rang with the muffled thrum of music. The entire building seemed to vibrate with the stomp and clacking of leather boots on hardwood, punctuated by the roar of a crowd cheering on someone at the mechanical bull.

Nervous, you tuck between the two men for comfort.

Steve noticed your hesitation. He placed a steadying hand on your lower back, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the fabric of your dress.

“Stay close, darlin’. It’s a bit rowdy tonight.”

They led you through the swinging double doors and straight to the long, scarred bar. The bartender—a man who looked like he’d seen a century’s worth of bar fights—gave Steve and Bucky a nod before sliding three coasters onto the wood.

“Andy,” Bucky greeted, his voice barely audible over the fiddle music.

“If it isn’t Cap and Winter,” the bartender, Andy, said, already turning around to grab a well-worn bottle of whiskey. He cut a sharp look toward you.

“And who’s the little lady?

“This here is Crazy Clyde’s daughter,” Steve said, pulling out a barstool and gesturing for you to take a seat. “She’s visitin’ town.”

You took a seat on the high stool, eyeing Bucky and Steve with a raised brow. “Crazy Clyde?”

“That was your dad’s nickname,” Bucky explained, already taking a slow, steady sip out of the amber whiskey Andy had poured him.

You couldn’t help it; a small chuckle bubbled up in your throat. The idea of your father—the man you knew as relatively composed—running around with a name like a low budget cartoon character was too much.

“How come he gets stuck with a corny nickname like that while you guys get to walk around with cool ones like ‘Cap’ and ‘Winter’?” you asked, tilting your head.

Steve let out a huff of a laugh, leaning his elbow on the bar so he could tilt his head closer to yours.

“Well, now, don’t go feelin' too bad for him, sweetheart,” Steve said, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “He earned that name fair and square. Your daddy had a habit of chasin’ down drinks and jumpin’ off barn roofs on a dare. He was a wild one—made us look like choir boys back in the day.”

Your smile widened, letting out a soft laugh at the thought. Steve’s eyes crinkled as he laughed along, and in the corner of your eye, you were fairly certain you saw Bucky’s lips curve into a faint smile as he watched the two of you.

“So, what can we get ya?” Steve shouted over the music. “They make a decent gin fizz if you want somethin’ light.”

You looked at the rows of whiskey bottles and the rough edged men around you. Bucky’s fingers were already nursing an amber glass, drinking it without any reaction, and although you knew you couldn’t do the same, you still wanted to try and fit in.

“I’ll just have whatever you guys are having,” you tried to sound more confident than you felt.

Steve’s eyebrows raised, amused. He looked at Bucky, who only snickered behind the rim of his glass.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing in concern. “That’s a lot of kick for someone who ain’t used to drinkin’.”

“Just get the damn girl what she wants, Steve,” Bucky grumbled.

He set his glass down, the heavy thud punctuating his words as he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the hat again.

“If she wants to bite off more than she can chew, let her.”

Steve gave Bucky a skeptical look, then turned his gaze back to you. Eventually, he sighed and signaled with his fingers for Andy to bring over another glass. Once the whiskey was nestled on your coaster, you lifted it, and the pungent, medicinal smell immediately made you scrunch your nose.

Bucky snickered, taking satisfaction in your hesitation.

Steve lifted his own glass, the rim of it hovering right against his lips. “Are you sure ‘bout this, sweetheart? You know, it’s never too late to order a fruity cocktail—”

But before he could even finish the sentence, you inhaled deeply, tilted your head back, and downed the entire glass in one go.

Steve’s jaw hung open while Bucky turned his head toward you, his eyes widening.

The drink was disgusting.

The burn hit your throat like liquid fire, making your eyes water, but the look on their faces made every bit of the sting worth it.

You slammed the glass down, the heavy thud punctuating the silence of their shock. For a second, your mind was dizzy and your eyes watered. The whiskey hit your stomach like a ball of hot lead, and you couldn’t help but gag, a hand flying to your mouth as you fought to keep your pride and the liquid down.

“Not… not too bad,” you choked out, eyes watering.

Steve blinked in disbelief before throwing his head back and slapping a hand on the bar with a laugh. “Jesus, baby!”

“Hell, if you wanted to shoot it back, you could’ve just ordered a shot,” Bucky remarked.

You shivered, your throat still feeling like you’d swallowed a hot coal.

“What do you mean?” you rasped, genuinely confused. “Isn’t that how you do it?”

Steve reached over, his fingers gently brushing your arm as he laughed. “Usually, with a pour that big, you’re supposed to sip it, sweetheart. Savor the flavor, or whatever the hell the distillers say.”

Your face felt hot from a mixture of embarrassment and the alcohol.

“… Oh.”

He shook his head, looking at the empty glass and then back at your flushed face. “But hey, looks like you got your daddy’s traits after all. Clyde never did have much patience for sippin’ either.”

Suddenly, the crowd exploded into a loud roar of hooting and hollering that made the floors shake. Across the room, a young cowboy had just been launched into the padded mats by a mechanical bull that looked… more like a prehistoric beast than a machine.

The adrenaline from the whiskey and the booming atmosphere was blooming fast in your chest, making you feel braver and a little more reckless than you had any right to be.

You looked at the bull, then back at the two men who were cheering along with the crowd.

“I want to try it,” you blurted out over the noise.

Steve’s laughter caught in his throat, and he looked down at you with wide eyes. “You want to ride on that?”

“What’s the matter, Cap?” you teased, encouraged by the alcohol. “Don’t think I've got enough of my dad’s traits in me?”

You glanced at Bucky, but he hadn’t said a word. His eyes trailed from your face down to the hem of your dress, his expression slightly judgmental. He looked as though he were a father himself, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“It’s a long way down,” Bucky warned, his voice bordering on condescending. “And your dress is hardly fit for a machine like that. You tryna’ flash the entire bar, city girl?”

You weren’t fond of the way Bucky was talking down to you, treating you like a child who didn't know any better. If gulping down a glass of whiskey neat wasn’t enough to prove you were capable, then riding that bull would have to do it.

“I’m going,” you declared, sliding off the barstool.

You felt a little lightheaded as your feet hit the floor, but you straightened your shoulders and adjusted Bucky’s hat, pulling the brim down low over your eyes exactly the way he did. In the ruckus of the club, you didn’t hear the soft, reluctant chuckle that escaped Bucky’s lips at the sight of you mimicking him.

Steve’s hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could take another step.

“Listen, it’s not going to be like how it is in the movies, sweetheart. It’s hard—you’ve gotta use your core, and if you don’t grip it right, you’re gonna go flyin’,” he warned.

You gently pried your hand away, giving him a playful, tipsy nudge in the shoulder. “I’ve got it, Steve!”

You turned to head toward the pit, though you wobbled slightly as the whiskey did a little dance in your head. You caught your balance quickly as you approached the announcer—a guy in a dark Stetson who was holding a megaphone. You leaned in, shouting over the music that you were a family friend of Steve and Bucky’s and that you wanted a turn.

“Well, alright now!” his voice boomed through the rafters. “Looks like we got a brave one tonight! This here is Steve and Bucky’s girl! Let’s see if she’s got the grit to match ‘em!”

The crowd erupted, and you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Men whistled and women cheered, and you felt like your heart could explode in your chest from the rush.

At the bar, Bucky’s face went a deep shade of crimson that he tried to hide beneath his hat.

Steve, however, didn’t look embarrassed at all. He caught your eye and gave you a little nod, his chest puffed out like he was more than happy to claim you in front of the whole county.

The operator gave you a hand up, and you swung your leg over the leather saddle. Bucky was right—the dress was an issue. It bunched up high on your thighs, but with the adrenaline and whiskey singing in your veins, you didn’t care.

The bull started with slow rolls, and you shifted your hips, digging your knees in. As the machine began to pick up speed, spinning and bucking in sharp gallops, you held on tighter and engaged your core just like Steve told you.

Steve leaned back against the table next to Bucky, letting out a low whistle.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Look at her, Buck. She looks…” Steve’s eyes trailed from the tilt of your head down to your bare legs, clenched tight around the machine, “… delicious.”

Bucky scoffed, but he wasn’t even looking at you anymore; he was looking at the crowd. His eyes kept darting around the room, noting every low whistle and hungry gaze coming from the local cowboys. He saw the way the men were eyeing the curve of your legs and the way your dress hugged your chest as you held on for dear life.

“Stevie,” Bucky muttered. “I don’t like this.”

“What?” Steve shouted over the noise, leaning in closer to his friend.

Bucky looked around, his jaw locked tight. “I don’t like the way they’re lookin’ at her, Steve.”

He looked less like a proud family friend and more like a predator protecting his territory. The more the men around them whistled or ogled your legs, the more he wanted to walk over there and pull you off that machine himself. He hated the way they looked at you because he knew exactly what they were thinking—mostly because he was thinking the exact same thing.

“She’s doin’ a great job and she’s havin’ fun,” Steve countered. “Look at her, Buck. She’s smilin’ all cute. Just let her be.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver from the crowd, his knuckles nearly turning white as he gripped the edge of the bar.

“That’s the point,” he muttered under his breath, but the ruckus was too loud, and Steve didn’t hear him.

A group of younger guys moved in right next to them, not even trying to be quiet. They leaned against the railing of the bull pit, their eyes glued to the way your dress was riding up as the machine bucked and made you bounce.

“That’s Steve and Bucky’s girl?” one of them jeered, his eyes raking over you with a slow, dirty look. “You think they’re sharin’ her?”

“Hell no,” his friend laughed behind his beer bottle. “They’re way too damn old for a girl like that. Probably just their caretaker.”

“Ain’t that Crazy Clyde’s daughter, though? We haven’t seen that old man around town in a minute.”

“Sure is,” the first guy drawled drunkenly, his voice rising over the music. “Man… the things I’d do to Crazy Clyde’s little girl the minute she gets off that machine.”

Bucky’s head immediately snapped toward them, his face darkening as he sneered in their direction. It was one thing to insult him—that, Bucky could take. But insulting the people he cared about was enough to make him see red.

As he pushed himself off the bar top and clenched his fist, Steve’s hand shot out, grabbing Bucky’s forearm in a tight grip.

“Don’t,” Steve hissed. “Not when she’s here, Buck. Not tonight. She’ll look at us differently if we start a brawl over her.”

Bucky’s breath came in harsh, jagged hitches as he fought the urge to drive his fist into the guy’s face. “Did you not hear the shit he was talkin’, Steve?” he snarled. “He needs a sock in the mouth, and I’m gonna be the one to give it to him.”

As he tried to shove Steve’s hand away, Steve’s grip only tightened.

“What’s gotten into you? Look at her!” He gestured toward you on the bull. “She’s enjoyin’ herself. Just let her have her fun tonight. We’ll deal with these kids later.”

Bucky hesitated, looking back at you. He saw your pure, genuine smile and heard that warm laugh ring out over the music. He knew he’d been treating you like hell since you arrived, and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the one good moment you were having.

A slow, impatient breath escaped Bucky’s lungs as he finally let his shoulders drop. “Fine.”

But their exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed. One of the guys glanced over, eyeing Bucky up and down, entirely unimpressed by the glowering man in the cowboy hat.

“What’s wrong, grandpa?” the guy sneered, emboldened by his friends’ laughter. “Don’t like the way I’m talkin’ ‘bout your niece?”

Another string holding Bucky’s patience together snapped.

“She ain’t my niece,” Bucky warned. He glared at the man from beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes sharp enough to cut.

The guy just took a slow swig of his beer, a greasy smirk stretching across his face, emboldened by the audience of his friends. “Well, you’re sure as hell too old to be anything else.”

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched.

He took a heavy step forward, the movement so sudden it nearly jerked his arm right out of Steve’s hold.

“The hell is that ‘sposed to mean?”

The guy shrugged, his eyes flicking back to you on the bull before returning to Bucky with a sneer. “It means a fine thing like that needs a man who can actually keep up. Not someone who’s probably lookin’ for his reading glasses and a heating pad. Why don’t you go back to the retirement home and let a real man show her a good time?”

Bucky didn’t wait for Steve’s permission, and he certainly didn’t wait for the guy to finish his laugh.

With a movement so fast, Bucky’s fist collided with the guy’s jaw. A sharp, meaty crack cut through the country music, leaving the man’s head snapping and his greasy smirk disappearing as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He didn’t even have time to put his hands up to defend himself before he was lifted off his feet, crashing backward into the railing of the bull pit.

“Jesus, Buck!” Steve barked from behind.

The moment the first guy hit the floor, the bar turned into a powder keg. The two friends who had been laughing seconds ago looked at Bucky, their expressions turning furious as they lunged for him next.

Steve didn’t think.

He didn’t have to.

The minute he saw his best friend getting jumped, he clicked his tongue and rolled up his sleeves. He intercepted the second guy mid-swing, catching him by the collar and throwing him back against a table, leaving the people around him in shock.

“I told you to let it go!” Steve yelled over his shoulder at Bucky, even as he ducked a swinging bottle and delivered a punishing blow to another guy’s ribs.

To you, perched high on the spinning bull, the noise of the fight was easily mistaken for cheering. Between the flashing lights, the shouting, and the whistles, it sounded like the whole bar was rooting for you. The buzzer finally droned, and the bull slowly came to a halt. You were flushed and panting, a proud grin plastered on your face as you slid down the side of the machine and hopped onto the mats.

You tried to push through the dense wall of people to where Steve and Bucky should have been.

“Did you see that?!” you laughed, shaking your hair out of your face as you stepped out of the pit, your legs still a little wobbly. “Steve! Bucky! I stayed on the whole—”

As the crowd parted, the sight made your eyes go wide. Steve and Bucky were standing in a cleared out circle, surrounded by the bar’s security and several local guys who looked ready for another fight. Bucky looked rough—his lip was torn and bleeding, staining the edge of his jaw while his chest heaved in anger. Steve was right beside him, his breathing heavy and his knuckles bruised and bloodied.

You couldn’t hear much over the blaring music and the crowd, but the owner of the bar was pointing a finger toward the door, his face red with rage.

They were in the middle of getting kicked out.

“W-what happened?” you stammered, stepping toward them while carefully dodging broken glass and the several men groaning on the floor.

Steve’s expression softened as soon as he saw you. He stepped forward, putting a protective hand on your shoulder.

“It’s nothin’, sweet—”

“It’s time to go,” Bucky interrupted, his voice snapping.

He didn’t even look at you. He just bent over with a groan, picking his hat from the floor, and propped it low over his eyes as he walked to the exit without looking back.

The bouncer gave Steve a final shove toward the door. Steve sighed, his shoulders dropping as he carefully led you out with him.

“Let’s… let’s just get to the truck.”

As the three of you walked outside, the gravel crunched under Steve’s boots. He eventually let go of your back, walking next to you while Bucky stayed a good few feet ahead.

“I’m sorry,” Steve started, his voice thick with guilt as he kept his eyes on his friend’s back. “You shouldn’t have seen that. There was a couple of guys talkin’ ‘bout some things they shouldn’t have. He… we shouldn’t have let it get that far. It was stupid, and we should’ve handled it better.”

Bucky’s stride was long and aggressive. He reached the truck and grabbed the door handle, but he didn’t open it. He just stood there for a second, his back shaking with each ragged breath as he listened to you and Steve.

“It’s okay,” you whispered with a frown. “I just don’t understand. What could they have possibly said for you guys to get into such a big fight like that—”

Bucky let go of the door handle and spun around so fast that gravel kicked up under his boots.

“This is all your fault,” he snapped, his blue eyes burning with a dark, concentrated anger as he looked at you—and only you.

You flinched back, eyes widening in surprise. “M-me?”

Steve’s hand was back on your shoulder instantly, tightening in a comforting way as if he had seen this outburst coming. “Buck, knock it off. She didn’t do anything.”

“The hell she didn’t!” Bucky shot back, gesturing wildly toward you—toward the dress, the bar.

He looked at you, his torn lip curling as he pointed a finger.

“You just had to go up there. You had to have everyone lookin’ at you, didn’t you? Shakin’ around on that thing like you don’t know exactly what men in a place like this are thinkin’ when they see you.”

“Bucky,” Steve tried to step in between you two. “Stop.”

But Bucky gave him a rough shove, causing Steve to stumble back as Bucky stepped even closer, nearly getting in your face. “We were just ‘sposed to have a few drinks, but you had to make a scene.”

“Make a scene?” you huffed a disbelieving laugh, your eyes flickering to Steve before landing back on Bucky. “Is this some sort of joke? All I did was ride the mechanical bull—!”

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “You want to know what a joke is? It’s your damn father sendin’ us a letter with zero communication after years, tellin’ us to take care of his little girl without even askin’ for our approval.”

He stepped closer, invading your space until you could smell the copper of the blood on his lip. But you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, feet planted in the gravel as you met his hostile gaze with your own, despite having to crane your neck just to look up at him.

“Is that what this is about?” you challenged, your voice trembling but firm. “You’re mad at a letter? So you’re taking it out on me?”

Bucky’s face scrunched into a snarl. “Your old man vanished without a proper goodbye, talkin’ ‘bout how we were gonna be the best uncles, just for him to cut us out of your life for years. And then you just... waltz in. No warning, no care in the world, taking up space in my house. Taking up my damn room and makin’ yourself our responsibility.”

His voice was shaking now, the resentment he’d been bottling up finally boiling over.

“And then I have to watch you,” he hissed, his eyes scanning every inch of your face with a dark, restless energy. “I have to watch Steve look at you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to this town. I have to sit at a bar and listen to every low life in there talkin’ ‘bout what they’d do to you, while you’re up there smilin’ and givin’ them exactly what they want to see.”

“So, a few guys talk dirty about me and you decide to get into a fight?” you scoffed, your chest nearly brushing against his jacket. “I can handle my own, Bucky. I’ve been taking care of myself long before I showed up on your doorstep. I don’t need you two defending me like I’m some helpless kid!”

Bucky’s jaw tightened so hard you heard the bone click. A dark, incredulous laugh bubbled up in his throat—a sound entirely devoid of humor.

“Handle your own?” he mocked.“You could’ve traveled anywhere else, yet you’re stuck here with us ‘cause your daddy told you to come. You need grown men tellin’ you what to do, sweetheart. You can’t handle a damn thing.”

Your anger was boiling over at this point, and you felt like you could cry. Steve stepped up next to Bucky as he clamped a hand on his shoulder, trying to pry him away from you. But Bucky didn’t even look at him—he just delivered a hard, two handed shove to Steve’s chest that sent him stumbling back.

“Bucky, enough—”

“You’ve been an asshole to me from the minute I arrived,” you said, your voice uncontrollably shaky as you fought to keep from sobbing. “And you’re upset because my dad didn’t keep in touch with you. I get that! I do! B-but none of that is my fault, Bucky! That shouldn’t be a valid reason to hate me!”

“You’re right, it’s not your fault,” he hissed. He leaned closer, and you could smell the whiskey.

“But it is your fault you’re here. If you were half as independent as you claim to be, you wouldn’t have come crawlin’ to two men you haven’t seen since you were in fuckin’ pigtails.”

He stood up straight, letting out a heavy, annoyed breath.

“We were doin’ just fine with just the two of us before you showed up and started makin’ us feel like we owed you somethin’.”

Your brows, which had been furrowed in anger, slowly softened as his words punched you right in the gut. Your shoulders deflated, and all the fight drained out of you, leaving only a cold, hollow ache.

He didn’t just want the guys at the bar to stay away.

He wanted you away.

Steve, standing just behind him, could only stare at his friend with wide, horrified eyes. There was clearly history there—some old wound Bucky was reopening—because there was no other reason to be this cruel. You realized then that you were just a nuisance to him. An immature girl with a silly dream of traveling the world who had simply chosen the wrong first stop. You were an interloper in their already established life.

Looking down and finally breaking eye contact, you reached up and lifted Bucky’s hat off your head. You shoved it hard against his chest, catching him off guard. Bucky stumbled back a step, his fingers instinctively curling around the brim, crumpling the felt beneath his hands as he caught it.

“You want me to go?” you whispered, your voice cracking painfully. “Fine. I’ll leave. I’ll get my things and I’ll be out of your house—and your life—by morning.”

Your eyes were blurry as you looked past Bucky’s shoulder, sniffling as you called out for Steve.

“Will you take me back?” you asked, the words barely a breath. “I need to… I need to repack.”

Steve swallowed hard, the guilt on his face agonizing to look at. “Of course,” he nodded, his voice softening instantly. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you home.”

He walked around the truck, and you didn’t give Bucky even one last glance as you stepped around him. Steve held the passenger door open, helping you in with a steady hand. Once he made sure you were settled, he walked back around the front of the truck, stopping in front of Bucky with a look of cold disappointment.

“You need to fuckin’ calm down, man,” Steve whisper yelled. He gestured angrily toward the truck—toward you. “Find your own ride home, ‘cause this—all of this—is unacceptable.”

Bucky didn’t lift his head. He didn’t even try fighting back. He just stood there, staring down at the scuffed leather of his boots, his hat shielding his broken eyes as the realization of what he’d just done—of what he just said, finally began to settle in the cold, dusty air.

As the truck started and you and Steve drove off, you glanced at Bucky one last time through the side mirror. You saw him standing there in the red glow of the taillights, staring down at the hat in his hands—the one you’d just shoved back at him.

He looked at it longingly before shouting outloud to himself—angry and broken.

“Fuck!”

The entire ride back to their house was suffocatingly silent. It was clear that there were a lot of things Steve wanted to say to you, but the words wouldn’t find him.

When you finally made it back, you crossed the front door with Steve trailing cautiously behind you. Steve let out a long, tired sigh, shutting the door softly as you immediately started toward Bucky’s room to gather your things.

“You’re not actually goin’ to leave us, are you?”

You frowned, though Steve couldn’t see it with your back turned to him. “He hates me, Steve. I’m…” your voice shook as you stared down the hallway. “There’s no space for me here. I shouldn’t have turned up on your doorstep with no warning. He was right—I shouldn’t have come.”

You continued down the hall and into Bucky’s room while Steve followed at a respectful distance. You knelt in the middle of the room as you began shoving your clothes back into your suitcase.

Steve let out a low groan as he knelt down next to you. He reached out, running a hand up and down your back in a slow, soothing motion, trying to comfort you.

“Honey, he… he didn’t mean any of that,” he said. He swallowed hard, realizing how ridiculous that might’ve sounded to you. “Buck’s a guy that’s rough around the edges. Always has been. When he lashes out like that, it just means he cares. He doesn’t know how to handle feelin’ like this.”

“He cares?” you let out a small, incredulous laugh that felt more like a sob. “He doesn’t care about me, Steve. The only thing he cares about is me being out of his hair.”

You picked up another piece of clothing, your shoulders slumping as your eyes began to fill with hot, frustrated tears. You kept your head down, chin tucked toward your chest. You refused to let Steve see you like this before he started thinking you were just a helpless kid, too. Just like Bucky said.

You stood up and reached for a shirt left on the bed, a broken sniffle escaping you as you tried to fold the fabric with trembling hands.

Steve’s heart felt weak in his chest at the sound. He got up, stepping behind you and resting a steady hand on your back. He leaned down, trying to meet your eyes and gently pushing a stray lock of hair out of your face.

When he finally saw a tear roll down your cheek, he looked absolutely destroyed.

“Oh, baby. No, no... come here,” he murmured softly. He wrapped two strong arms around you, pulling you firmly into his chest.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Being in the comfort of something so warm after being faced with such coldness was enough to send the tears flowing freely. Your arms came up weakly to hug him back, your face buried against his shirt as you cried.

“He’s got a heart like a bruised fist,” Steve whispered into your hair, his chest rumbling against your ear. “And he doesn’t know how to open it without hurting someone. But you aren’t a nuisance, and you sure as hell aren’t helpless. I’m gonna have a talk with him, and you’re gonna stay here and enjoy the rest of your trip—with us.”

You sniffled, clutching the front of his shirt. “I can’t stay where I’m not wanted, Steve.”

Steve slowly guided you down onto the edge of the bed without letting go.

“Sit with me, sweetheart. Just for a minute,” he urged gently, his voice low and steady.

You sank onto the quilt, the fabric bunching under you as Steve sat right beside you. He pulled you back into the crook of his arm, tucking you in so your head rested on his shoulder. He took one of your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing motion to stop your shaking.

“I need you to listen to me for a second. Can you do that?”

You nodded against his chest as his fingers began to trace your back tenderly.

“I want you here, and believe me, Bucky does too. Hell, does he want you here.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tried to lighten the mood. “Earlier today, when he caught you wearin’ his hat... he would not stop talkin’ ‘bout it. Said you looked better in it than he ever did.”

You lifted your head slightly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Steve promised, a small smile playing on his lips. “Called you pretty and all that, but don’t tell him I said it.”

Steve’s expression softened even further, his gaze turning intense as he looked down at you. He reached up, his large hand cupping your cheek as he used his thumb to brush the last of the dampness from your skin. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch warm against your skin as his finger trailed down, tracing over the curve of your bottom lip.

“And he’s right,” Steve murmured deeply, making your body shiver. “Who wouldn’t go a little insane over a girl as beautiful as you?”

Your face felt warm, and you couldn’t tell if it was the remnant of your tears or from the intense way Steve was staring at you.

“Steve…” you whispered, your breath hitching as you felt his thumb graze your lips again.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, relishing the way his name sounded on your tongue. “You know, your dad told us to take good care of you when you arrived. And now, here you are, cryin’ in Bucky’s bed and packin’ your bags.” He muttered, leaning in until his hot breath ghosted over your face. “We’re not doin’ a very good job now, are we?”

Steve applied pressure to your bottom lip, dragging it down to reveal the wet flesh. “I think I’d like to do a much better job,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to your mouth and staying there. “Starting now.”

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tears shimmering like glass against the warm glow of the lamp. Steve let out a low, pained groan at the sight of you—so vulnerable, and yet so devastatingly inviting.

“God… you really are so beautiful,” he rasped.

With his gaze fixed on your mouth, he pushed his thumb past the seal of your lips, his finger pressing firmly against your tongue. It was unexpected—it was wrong for a ‘family friend’ to be doing this—but you couldn’t help your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. Without thinking, you sucked on his thumb, the heat of your mouth swirling around his skin.

Steve’s entire body went rigid. You were so accepting of him, so eager for the comfort he was offering, and he should’ve expected it—because you were a good girl, after all.

“Christ, baby,” he breathed, his voice slightly cracking.

Steve watched with hooded eyes as your lips moved against him, the way your tongue flicked around his digit. If it felt this good with just a finger, he could only imagine the wreck you’d make of him with his cock buried in your mouth instead.

With your eyes still shut, you heard him let out a deep, jagged groan as he shifted his weight on the bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and your gaze fell directly onto the obvious bulge straining against his denim. It was heavy and prominent, twitching as it jumped for your attention.

You blinked up at him, your breath hitching as your eyes met his again.

The idea of arousing a man so much older than you—someone so wise and experienced in his years—gave you a thrill that should’ve sparked guilt. This was your father’s friend, a man meant to be your protector, but for some reason, the wrongness of it only made the heat in your stomach burn hotter.

Clenching your legs, your mouth continued to explore his thumb. Your hand came up against his thick forearm, holding him steady as you swirled your tongue, tasting the salt on his skin as you watched him watch you with hungry eyes.

Steve was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in shallow pants.

Then, his eyes lifted past yours, landing on something—someone at the doorframe.

“Bucky,” Steve panted.

Your eyes went wide. You immediately popped Steve’s thumb out of your mouth, a thread of saliva breaking from his finger as you whipped your head toward the door.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was deep, almost broken, as his eyes flickered from his best friend to you. “Sam gave me a ride home,” he explained, his voice low as he took a slow, predatory step toward the two of you on the bed.

In that moment, you wished you’d just packed and begged Steve to drive you straight to the airport. Bucky’s expression was dark and unreadable, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat—you couldn’t tell if he was about to explode or crumble.

You were expecting him to yell. You expected him to drag you by the arm, kick you out the front door, and hurl your luggage after you.

But he didn’t.

He just stood over you, the hat you’d borrowed gripped so tight in his hand that the felt was beginning to crush. You swallowed hard as you met his gaze. You should’ve been terrified, but you couldn’t deny the lingering arousal Steve had sparked in you.

Because right now, with the way Bucky was looking at you... it was almost like you wanted to be hurt by him.

“Bucky… I—”

Slowly, Bucky reached out. You flinched, expecting a rough shove, but his hand was surprisingly gentle as he hooked two fingers under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. He stared at your mouth, his eyes tracking the wet shine of saliva on your bottom lip.

“You tell me you’re packin’ your bags, and just when I think you’ll finally leave me alone, I come home and find you suckin’ on my best friend’s thumb like a baby?”

You glanced at Steve out of the corner of your eye, desperate for some sort of backup. But instead, you found Steve staring intensely at Bucky’s lap. Your eyes followed his, and a small gasp escaped at what you saw.

You didn’t know how long Bucky had been standing in that doorway watching you two, but the undeniable erection straining against his jeans told you he’d seen more than enough.

“Answer me,” Bucky hissed. He gave your cheeks a firm squeeze, the pressure forcing your lips to pout and making you look back up at him. “You want to stay so bad?” he whispered, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “You want to be taken care of by us, don’t you?”

After seeing the physical reaction Bucky had from watching you and Steve, and despite being pinned beneath him, you felt emboldened.

“… Do you want me to stay?” you whispered, refusing to break eye contact. “Do you want to take care of me, Bucky?”

Bucky’s expression went completely flat. He released your face and set your hat down on the quilt.

“Steve’s a gentleman,” Bucky said, gravelly and raspy. “He’ll give you a shoulder to cry on and tell you everythin’ is gonna be alright. But if you’re gonna stay in this house, under my roof, you’re gonna have to deal with me, too. And I don’t play as nice as he does.”

Steve’s hand slowly crept over your thigh, giving the soft skin a firm, possessive squeeze as he leaned in. His eyes cut up toward Bucky, challenging him.

“She thinks you don’t care ‘bout her, Buck,” Steve murmured, his voice low and raspy against your ear. “I think our girl here wants to see firsthand how much you do.”

Ours.

Bucky’s pupils flared at the word, his gaze dropping to where Steve’s fingers were digging into your skin and trailing up the hem of your skirt. He scoffed—a hard, bitter laugh that sounded more like a growl.

“Is that right?”

Steve’s hand bunched the fabric upward, his rough knuckles grazing your skin until the material pooled around your hips. He nudged your shoulders, urging you to lean back against the pillows until you were splayed open before them, revealing the thin cotton panties Bucky had caught a glimpse of earlier when he’d walked in on you changing.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto the pale fabric. It was just as he remembered—except now, a dark, damp patch was blooming in the center, hinting your arousal.

“You know…” Steve began, his voice teasing as he looked up at Bucky’s tortured expression. “Bucky here was talkin’ reeaal dirty about you earlier, darlin’. You just didn’t know it.”

You shuddered, your eyes—half-lidded—glanced up at Bucky. You expected him to deny it, but all you saw was his slack jaw and the way his hand was mindlessly rubbing at the ache in his jeans.

“He told me how he wanted to pin those wrists of yours above your head,” Steve whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Said he wanted to see if you’d make those same sweet little sounds if he was buried deep inside you instead of just yellin’ at you and bein’ mean to you...”

You gasped softly, your face flaming.

It was as if Bucky couldn't even hear him— the blood was thumping so loud in his ears he could only focus on the sight of you. His knee hit the mattress, the bed dipping as he crawled between your legs, looming over the damp cotton of your panties.

“And that’s not even the best part,” Steve continued, his hand moving to the waistband of your panties, his thumb hooking just inside the elastic. “He told me he wanted to mark you so bad your daddy wouldn’t even recognize you. Wanted to leave his teeth marks all over these pretty thighs just so everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.”

Steve’s gaze shifted back to you, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He leaned in closer, his thumb tugging slightly at the elastic of your panties, revealing your mound to Bucky’s gaze.

“But then you had to go on and get on that bull,” he muttered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Showin’ yourself off to everyone. That’s not a good girl now, is it?”

A little mewl left your lips, and Steve chuckled—amused by your lack of response.

Bucky let out a low groan. He couldn’t take the talking anymore. His hands went to his waist, fumbling the buckle of his belt as he undid it with trembling fingers. His eyes were glued at to the damp center of your cotton panties, just begging to be licked and touched by him.

“Remove her panties, Stevie,” Bucky ordered desperately.

Steve’s eyes darkened instantly. His thumb stilled at your panties, and he looked up at Bucky, his expression shifting from teasing to territorial.

“You’ve been on thin ice all night, Buck,” Steve countered, the raspy warning of his voice making you shiver. His thumb slowly trailed down against the cotton, rubbing at the damp spot against your clit. “You better ask me real nice if you want me to share.”

You held your breath, bracing yourself as you expected him to snap—to lunge at Steve or roar in frustration at being told what to do in his own house.

But instead, Bucky’s shoulders slumped, his lips curving into a pained, desperate frown. He ducked his head, finally pulling off his hat and dropping it blindly to the floor. His dark, messy hair fell over his eyes as he stared at your lap, his chest heaving.

It was a jarring sight—the man who had been yelling at you in the parking lot was now physically shaking with the need for Steve’s approval.

“Please,” Bucky choked out in pain.

Steve kept his thumb pressing firmly against the damp cotton over your clit, circling it slowly, making you gasp and arch your hips up into his hand.

“Please what, Buck?” Steve prompted calmly.

Bucky’s breath hitched, a broken sound leaving his throat as he finally looked up. His blue eyes, usually so gruff and distant, were glassy and pleading. He looked like a man starving, and you were the only meal in sight.

“Please, Stevie… let me see her,” Bucky begged in a desperate whimper. “Let me have her. I’m sorry. Just… please take ‘em off. I’ll be good.”

Steve hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He looked down at you, his thumb never ceasing that slow rub against your slit, making the damp cotton cling to your skin with every pass.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Steve asked. “You want Bucky to make it up to you?”

You looked from Steve’s calm, commanding face to Bucky, who was still kneeling between your legs, trembling. His eyes were wide, glued on the movement of Steve’s thumb, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips as he waited for your verdict.

The difference in how he’s acting was dizzying—Bucky, the man who had spent the day pushing you away with cold glares was now hanging on your every word.

But after how he’d treated you, you weren't ready to let him off the hook.

You almost felt bad for what you were going to say next.

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you taunted, using Bucky’s nickname for Steve against him. “I don’t think he deserves it.”

Bucky’s face went from pleading to almost murderous in a heartbeat. A low growl ripped from his throat as he lunged forward, his hand snapping out to grab the hem of your panties.

“What did you just say—”

Before he could even tug the fabric down, Steve’s hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around Bucky’s forearm, forcing him to halt.

“You heard the lady, Buck,” Steve warned, his voice turning cold and authoritative. “You don’t deserve it. Not yet.”

Bucky looked up, his chest heaving as he stared at Steve with wide, disbelieving eyes. “W-what?”

“I’m gonna have my turn with her,” Steve declared. He released Bucky's arm, his hand sliding instead to your waist to pull you flush against his chest, claiming you in front of him. “And you’re going to be good and watch.”

You didn't even have time to process Bucky’s shock before Steve’s rough hands were threading through your hair. He fisted the strands to tilt your head back, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips crashed onto yours. His tongue pushed past your teeth, deep and demanding, intertwining with yours as he drank you in like a man dying of thirst.

Your mind spun, caught in a dizzying haze of desire.

You had never been kissed with such need, much less by a man twice your age, whose experience and strength made you feel so small and claimed.

“Fuck,” you heard Bucky groan, the curse followed by the rattle of a belt being yanked through loops and the friction of denim being pushed down.

Steve ground his hips against your leg, the hardness making you ache for more. Your only coherent thought was the desperate wish that he’d follow suit—that he’d also strip out of those jeans and let you feel him properly.

Moaning softly against Steve’s lips, you couldn’t help but peek your eyes opening, flickering over to Bucky.

He was kneeling at the edge of the bed, his face grimaced into tortured longing. One hand was fisted tightly around his cock, stroking in a frantic, uneven rhythm, while his other fingers were clutching the bedsheets as he watched you being devoured by his best friend.

Bucky was being good—doing exactly as Steve had instructed. But the second Steve spread your legs wider, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and peeling them down to reveal your wet cunt, Bucky felt the last of his restraint snap.

He squeezed his dick hard, a mewl—or a whimper—escaped his throat.

“Steve, please,” he begged, the words ragged with pain as he stroked himself faster, his breath coming in short, shallow hitches. “I’m… I’m so hard. I can’t take it anymore.”

Steve ignored him. His lips never left yours as his own hands found his belt, the metallic of the buckle and the slide of the zipper echoing through the room, only making Bucky more agitated.

Desperate to hear more of Bucky crumbling apart for you, you trailed your hand up your side, cupping your own breast through the fabric of your dress and squeezing. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know his reaction—you could hear the air being punched out of his lungs.

“Fuck, look at her—look at that little slut,” Bucky groaned, the mattress dipping and groaning as he scooted closer, unable to keep his distance a second longer. “She’s askin’ for it now. Steve, tell me she's askin’ for it.”

Steve sat up, the bed creaking under his weight as he freed himself from his jeans. He wrapped a thick hand around his cock, giving it a few heavy strokes that had your eyes widening.

He was big. And you weren’t sure how it was going to fit.

He leaned forward, the head of his cock probing against your entrance, smearing your own slickness back and forth over your sensitive folds. He was teasing you, pushing just a fraction of an inch inside before pulling back, over and over, until you were arching off the back in a desperate attempt for friction.

“Are you seein’ this, Buck?” Steve murmured, his eyes watching Bucky’s face, watching his best friend’s eyes trace over every wet, sliding movement of his cock against your skin. “Look at how she’s openin’ up for me.”

It was pure torture for Bucky, but it was agonizing for you, too. Your hands fisted the sheets as you tried to tilt your pelvis up to catch him, but Steve held you firmly in place with his free hand on your hip.

“Steve, please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking.

Steve let out a dark, amused chuckle, his gaze still locked on Bucky—whose hand was moving in a blurred frenzy against his own cock. “You hear that, Buck? She wants it so bad. She wants me to take care of her.”

Bucky let out a strangled sound. “I hear her, Stevie. God, I hear her. Let me… let me help. Please let me hold her while you fuck her.”

You tilted your head back, your hair spilling across the pillows as you looked up at Bucky. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you would finally let him in after the way he’d treated you.

“Hold me, Bucky.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, his hand pausing at his cock as he glanced at Steve, waiting for the final word.

Steve gave him a sharp, single nod. “Come here, Buck,” Steve commanded, his voice thick and low. “Hold her while I fuck her.”

The mattress dipped violently as Bucky scrambled forward, crawling up the bed urgently. He didn’t just touch you—he cradled you, gently lifting your head onto his lap. His hands came up to frame your face, and you could feel his slick fingers from his pre-cum trail your face.

You stared up at him, breathless and upside down, as he loomed over you, breathing heavy at the sight of you desperate for them.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, his pupils so blown they’d nearly swallowed the blue of his irises. “So fuckin’ beautiful up close, too.”

Steve leaned forward, his large hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he finally guided himself in. Your mouth dropped into an o-shape as he pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you inch by inch. You let out a sharp wince, your back arching off Bucky’s lap as he forced your walls to accommodate him.

Bucky’s face scrunched into a pained expression—as if he were feeling every bit of the stretch you were.

“I know, baby doll—I know,” he whispered, his voice broken. “He’s so big, ain’t he?”

You nodded, eyes watering as you looked up at him. “So big…”

Bucky’s cock was twitching beneath you, his pre-cum leaking and trailing along your skin as he watched his best friend’s length disappear in and out of your wet cunt.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. “Need… need to feel somethin’ too, baby doll.”

Shifting his hips, he laid you flat on the bed and shuffled to the side of your head, his cock springing free as he knelt beside you. His fist returned to his length, his thumb swiping over the tip to smear his pre-cum over the swollen head.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your body jolting as Steve buried his full length into you. “W-what are you—”

Your words were cut off as Bucky’s salt slicked tip rubbed against the curve of your lips—still puffy and sensitized from Steve. A low, ragged groan escaped him at the contact with your mouth.

“Need… need somethin’ warm and tight,” Bucky hissed through clenched teeth, his control evaporated. “Can’t take it anymore.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, who watched him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “I ain’t waitin’ anymore,” Bucky snapped defiantly. “Punish me later for all I fuckin’ care. I need to fuck her mouth.”

Inside you, you felt Steve’s cock twitch at the mention of his friend’s own punishment.

“Careful,” Steve warned, his breath hitching. “Go easy on her, Buck. She’s so—fuck, she’s so tight down here… I don’t know if she can take you all the way in her mouth either.”

Despite the warning, Steve was very much losing the battle for his own control. His grip on your hips were tight, forcing himself to maintain that slow, agonizingly deep movement even as his own body screamed to pick up the pace and fuck you ruthlessly.

“I don’t give a damn,” Bucky grunted.

He fisted his hand in your hair, giving it a harsh, possessive tug to tilt your head back toward his lap. He slapped his cock against your lips, the wet, heavy sound of it making you wince as his masculine scent filled your lungs.

“Open up,” he ordered, his pupils so blown with lust that his eyes looked like bottomless black pits.

Your cunt clenched tighter around Steve as Bucky’s tip parted your lips to let himself in. His thick length dragged past your teeth and along your tongue, sliding deep until he hit the back of your throat. You let out a muffled, helpless choke around him—a sound that only made Bucky groan, his head tossing back in visceral pleasure.

“Thaaat’s it,” he cooed with a rasp. He drew his hips back slowly, letting you catch your breath for a split second before rocking hard against your face again. “Breathe through your nose, baby doll. Just take it.”

Bucky began to move, his movements were frantic and messy compared to Steve’s slow and easy rhythm inside you.

“Look at him, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, his voice dropping condescending. “Look at how pathetic he is. After all that growlin’ and actin’ like a big man earlier, here he is now…”

You blinked through a haze of tears, watching as Bucky’s face scrunched in pure, agonizing pleasure. His forehead wrinkles were deeply lined, his eyes rolling back as his thrusts against your mouth became sloppier, driven by pure needy instinct.

Strings of saliva and drool slicked your chin, dripping down to the base of his cock with every frantic thrust. Every time your lips made wet, heavy contact with his heavy slicked balls, Bucky let out a deep, raspy groan that vibrated through your tongue—a sound so primal it made you clench even harder around Steve.

“Christ,” Steve moaned, his head dropping as his pace finally fractured faster and more desperate. “She’s squeezin’ me, Buck.”

Bucky huffed a shaky, dark laugh, his fingers tightening in your hair to hold you steady. “You like this, don’t you?” he grunted, looking down at your tear streaked face. “Bein’ used by your daddy’s two best friends. Shit... we’re supposed to be watchin’ over you. Keepin’ you safe. But instead, we’re just ruinin’ you.”

“Old enough to be her father,” Steve agreed with a rough, mocking laugh. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, tilting your hips up to plunge even deeper, his thick length stretching you to your absolute limit.

“Now look at her. She’s ‘sposed to call us uncle, and now she’s got your cock in her mouth and mine stuffed deep in her cunt. She’s a filthy little thing, ain’t she?”

Bucky’s cock pulsed deep in your mouth after Steve’s filthy words registered. Your face was hot with shame, but you didn't care. The room reeled with the scent of sex and Bucky’s masculine musk, and all you wanted was to be filled by these two older men.

“Fuck—her daddy’s gonna kill us,” Bucky gasped as your tongue flicked against the sensitive underside of his head. “But I don’t fuckin’ care. It feels too good to stop.”

Steve’s thumb pressed against your sensitive clit, making you arch your back and muffle useless moans around Bucky’s cock. You felt like you were getting close—with the filthy words that they were both spurring, mixed with moans and grunts filling the air—it was becoming too much.

Your walls fluttered around Steve, and he barked out a rough laugh. “Fuck, she’s cummin’ all over my cock!”

“You know what that means, Stevie.” Bucky groaned, his dark eyes meeting his. “Means she’s beggin’ you to breed her. Beggin’ you to put your cum where it doesn't belong.”

You let out a broken whine, your vision blurring as your orgasm ripped through you. You came hard, sobbing around Bucky’s cock as Steve continued to piston into you like a rabid animal, uncaring of your sensitive state.

“Yeah?” Steve moaned, his thrusts turning sloppy and heavy as his own release caught up. “Shit—I think you’re right, Buck. I'm gonna fill her up.”

Your father had practically sent you into a den of wolves, leaving you to fend for yourself against men who had been starving. Steve and Bucky pawed at your body with a desperate hunger, the sounds leaving their throats sounding less like men and more like animals scenting prey.

Steve’s hips began to rut against yours uncontrollably, his breathing turning into a series of uneven, jagged hitches. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing violently against your cervix before he finally snapped. You let out a muffled cry as he came, a heavy, searing stream of cum flooding your overstimulated flesh, filling you until you felt like you were overflowing.

You saw Bucky’s balls draw up tight against your lips, , and as his fist tightened in your hair, you knew he was about to cum, too.

“That’s right,” Bucky encouraged, his voice dry. “Fill her up, Stevie. Make sure she’s spillin’ over with your cum, and then I’m gonna finish inside her, too.”

Bucky’s cock popped out of your mouth with a wet, sloppy sound, leaving a string of saliva trailing down your chin. Before you could even draw a full breath, Steve was pulling out of you, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you feeling cold and hollow for a split second.

But you didn’t stay empty for long.

“S-Steve?” you whimpered.

Bucky shuffled around the mattress as Steve moved to the side to make room. Bucky scrambled into the space between your thighs where Steve once was, his face dark and distorted with hunger. He wrapped his hand around his cock—now red, angry, and pulsing—and rubbed the head up and down your slit, slicking himself through the mess Steve had left behind.

A thick, pearly blend of his best friend’s seed and your own wetness coated the entire length of him. Bucky groaned at the sight, the friction of Steve’s fluids making him growl.

Using your arms to weakly prop yourself up, your stared at Bucky wide-eyed.

“Bucky… I—”

“You’re gonna be a good girl for him now,” Steve interrupted. He wasn’t asking. He was demanding.

With a heavy breath, Bucky guided himself against your entrance and pushed past the tightness, your walls enveloping him just as it did with Steve, except it was more intense this time.

“Oh my god—!” your eyes bulged wide, your breath leaving your lungs.

Bucky was thicker—and with your pussy already so raw and overstimulated, the feeling of him claiming that space was overwhelming. You were stretched deliciously, every nerve ending burned as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Look at you,” Bucky rasped, a shameful, shaky laugh bubbling in his chest as his lungs burned.

“God—when I found out…” he rocked his hips into you, Steve’s leftover seed making a wet, squelching sound. “…your daddy was gonna have a baby girl—shit, I was so ready to take care of you. I promised I’d be there for you, for Christ’s sake.”

He grabbed both of your legs, lifting them high and urging you to lock them around his waist so he could get even deeper.

“I never thought I’d be balls deep inside his precious girl.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Steve lectured, his voice mocking. He gave himself slow, lazy strokes over his half-hard cock, his eyes stuck on the way your entrance was struggling to accommodate Bucky’s thickness.

“You should be beggin’ her father for forgiveness right now. But she feels too good, doesn’t she?”

Bucky growled, his eyes glassing over as he watched his thick length disappear in and out of your wet, stretched out heat.

“Hell yeah, she does.” He met your eyes now. “You’re so much tighter than a girl your age ‘ought to be for dirty, old men like us. You were made to be ruined, weren’t you, baby doll?”

You looked up at Bucky, and the sight of him between your legs—his composure fraying and completely undone, made your head spin with a dizzying rush of power.

“Bucky,” you panted, eyes half-lidded as you held his hungry gaze. “I want you to forget who my father is. I want to be the reason you can never look him in the eye again.” You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into the mattress. “Fill me up just like Stevie did… show me how much you really want to take care of me.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, his pupils swallowing the blue as he processed the absolute, unadulterated filth coming from the girl he was sworn to protect.

Steve huffed a laugh, already feeling his cock twitch at your words. “Jesus—this girl…”

He had been close to bursting when he was in your mouth, but now, being swallowed by your tight pussy while those dirty words rang in his ears, it was too fucking much. His cock trembled and pulsed in a final, violent act of betrayal against his conscience.

He was close. Too fucking close.

“You little…” Bucky choked out, his voice failing him.

He grabbed your hips together, pulling you impossibly closer until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

“Fine,” he hissed, face scrunching in pleasure. “You want me to fill you up? I’ll fuckin’ knock you up, doll. You’re gonna carry my mess and Stevie’s all the way back home, and you’re gonna smile at your daddy while our cum is leakin’ out of you.”

The words were like a match to a fuse.

Between the wet slap of his thighs against yours and the rough sounds of his heavy breathing, you hit another breaking point. Your walls began to spasm, tightening down on him so hard that it made Bucky’s head roll back.

“Bucky… I—ah!”

Your pussy clenched almost painfully around Bucky’s cock. Even after the fucking Steve gave you, you were still so tight—and cumming again while Bucky was still buried deep made him grind his teeth together, his jaw clenching as he fucked you right through your second climax.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped as he fought to hold back his own release for just a second longer. “Steve, she’s—fuck, she’s goin’ again.”

Steve grinned, leaning over Bucky’s trembling shoulder. His large hand reached around your waist, overlapping Bucky’s grip, while his other palm rested on Bucky’s lower back—pushing him even deeper.

“That’s it, Buck,” Steve rumbled against Bucky’s ear. “Don’t you dare pull out. You put it right where I put mine. Got it?”

Bucky hissed, his hips moving in a frantic, uneven stutter as he felt himself unwinding. “Fu-fuck, okay—I’ll cum inside, just like you told me to—shit!”

He bottomed out completely, his entire body locking into a rigid arch. “Fuck!”

His length pulsed violently inside you—his cock streaming thick, hot ropes of heat into your overstimulated cunt. He was absolutely flooding you, his seed mixing with Steve’s and filling you until you felt heavy and stretched to the brim.

“Oh my god,” Bucky breathed, his chest heaving as he gave your hip a final, possessive squeeze. He looked down, taking in the sight of how completely debauched you looked. “I… shit. That felt too damn good.”

“Good boy,” Steve praised softly, his hand moving to stroke Bucky’s damp hair before his eyes dropped to the messy, wet junction of your thighs. “Look at that. She’s so full of us.”

Steve leaned down, gently pushing a stray hair out of your sweaty face. He gave you a soft, boyish smile—one that looked entirely too innocent given his age and the brutal way they had just had their way with you.

“Now, you’re not still thinkin’ about leavin’ us, are you?”

Bucky’s jaw remained slack, his chest heaving in heavy breaths as he stared down at you.

“No,” he rasped. “She ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You could barely process their words. Your head felt light, and your limbs turning to jelly against the damp, sweaty sheets. The air in the room was stifling—heavy with the scent of sex and musk. Every time you tried to draw a full breath, your lungs felt weighted, and your eyelids began to flutter, growing heavy.

Steve and Bucky stayed right where they were, hovering over you like two twin peaks of heat and muscle.

“Aww, look at her,” Steve cooed, his voice dropping tenderly yet still mocking. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing a tear off your cheek. “The little baby’s fallin’ asleep on us, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky breathed, his body finally beginning to soften inside you, yet he still refused to pull out—anchored in place as your body began to shut down. “We put her through a lot today. When she wakes up, we should…—”

Bucky’s voice trailed off into a low, indistinct murmur as your eyelids finally failed you. The room faded into a hazy blur.

With your body overstimulated, heavy, and utterly spent, the only thing you could think of—the only thought that managed to pierce through the fog of exhaustion—was how the hell you were ever going to explain this to your dad.

thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! this is my longest fic ever, and i tried my best to proofread as much as i can so apologize for any mistakes. and in case you haven't noticed, yes, the fic title is inspired by the song tennessee whiskey!

Roe's March Mating Madness 2026 Masterlist

Day 1 - KNOTTING (alpha!steve x omega!reader)

Day 2 - PACK ISOLATION SICKNESS (alpha!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 3 - SIZE DIFFERENCE (alpha!steve x omega!reader)

Day 4 - SCENTMATES/SOULMATES (alpha!billy x beta!reader)

Day 5 - ACCIDENTAL MATING (alpha!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 6 - DYSTOPIAN SOCIETY (alpha!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 7 - COLLARS (omega!steve x alpha!reader)

Day 8 - NAUGHTY IN THE UPSIDE DOWN (alpha!vampire!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 9 - BITCHING/STUDDING (omega!steve to alpha!steve x omega!reader)

Day 10 - SEX POLLEN/SURPRISE HEAT OR RUT (alpha!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 11 - MUZZLES (alpha!billy x omega!reader)

Day 12 - PUPS/CHILDREN (omega!steve x alpha!reader)

Day 13 - MATING RUN/CHASE/HUNT (alpha!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 14 - AGE GAP/LATE IN LIFE (omega!eddie x alpha!reader)

Day 15 - OMEGA TOP/ALPHA BOTTOM (alpha!steve x omega!reader)

Day 16 - REJECTION SICKNESS (omega!eddie x omega!reader)

Day 17 - PREGNANCY (alpha!billy x omega!reader)

Ari Levinson x Reader (Princess)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Stucky x Reader

Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Your fingers curled in an effort to restrain yourself, your fingertips digging into the soft mounds of your breasts where you were groping them over the slightly damp fabric of your bathing suit. You were sitting in Bucky’s lap, the warmth of his body a teasing reminder of the game you two had started earlier in the summer. 

“It’s fine, Buck,” you whispered, staring into your brother’s best friend’s tortured blue eyes, holding yourself still as if trying not to spook him. “We’re not touching,” you reminded him. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the basement stairs that led up to the kitchen, his mouth screwing into a frown, and you knew what he was thinking. When Bucky had joined your family at the lake house where you spent your summers, your older brother had given him an explicit warning: Keep his hands off you. 

But the moment you’d met Bucky, you’d felt an inexplicable pull to him. He was charming, with his easy smiles and his gently teasing words, and you hadn’t been able to resist the sparkling mischief in his eyes. 

And you knew he felt the same pull because of the way he looked at you when he thought no one could see. 

On more than one occasion, especially late at night after everyone had had a few beers or glasses of wine at dinner, you’d caught Bucky staring at you. There’d been a desire so exquisite in the depth of his eyes, it made your heart ache. 

On one particularly muggy night in July, when the heat and humidity of the day clung to the air and made you feel nearly out of your mind with a need for relief, you’d finally approached him. 

It was late, and everyone had been drinking since mid-afternoon. You’d finally gathered the courage you needed to do what you’d wanted to do for weeks. 

Bucky had been sitting alone in the near pitch-black night on the back deck, his chair facing the lake as he listened to the soft lapping of the gentle waves. While everyone else made their way to bed, you stepped through the sliding glass door, shutting it behind you and glancing back inside to make sure everyone was out of sight.

You’d slipped into Bucky’s lap before you could talk yourself out of it, winding your arms around his neck and letting the words spill from your lips, “I want you.” 

Gently, but firmly, Bucky had tugged your arms from around his neck, setting them at your sides as he said what would become a constant refrain between the two of you: “We shouldn’t.” 

But Bucky hadn’t pushed you off his lap, and that, along with the alcohol swirling in your belly, made you bold. 

Still, you’d been almost shy that first night when you’d groped your tits in front of him, and rubbed your clit teasingly over your clothes. But the longer he’d watched you, heat blazing bright in his blue eyes even in the dark of the night, your inhibitions fell away.

You’d sat in Bucky’s lap, spurred on by the way his pupils had blown wide and his chest had heaved with ragged breaths, and made yourself cum. He’d shuddered violently when you squirmed through your release, his eyes closing like he couldn’t take the sight of your pleasure anymore. 

Bucky’s body had been tense, his hands curled into fists so tight, his knuckles were white. He’d still refused to touch you, but he looked nearly feral with desire, and you’d been unable to hold back a wicked smirk at the way you’d affected him. 

He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, of that you were sure. 

When your release had ebbed, you’d placed a hand on his shoulder and brushed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. Then you’d hopped up and gone to bed, high on the power you held over your brother’s best friend. 

That night, you’d assumed it was only a matter of time before Bucky snapped, gave in and touched you. But, although your stolen moments became more and more frequent—with you sitting in his lap, getting yourself off while he watched—he still stubbornly refused to touch you. . 

After a few weeks, Bucky finally gave you a slight concession.

It had been late one night in early August, the heat still lingering even hours after sunset, and everyone had gone to bed, exhausted by the sun and the activities of the day. You and Bucky were on the deck again, swathed in darkness, but your eyes had adjusted enough to see the bulge in his gray sweatpants.

As you’d watched, transfixed, Bucky had reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. He was long and thick, with a slight curve that you ached to feel inside you. He’d taken himself in his fist, stroking the hard shaft, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

Your fingers had slipped against your slick folds, drool immediately gathering beneath your tongue with the urge to take Bucky’s perfect cock in your mouth. It had taken all your self-control not to do just that, holding yourself back and remembering the unspoken rule of your stolen moments. 

Instead, you’d leaned back, pulling your panties to the side and giving Bucky a perfect view of your fingers playing with your pussy. You’d pumped them inside your dripping hole while he’d fucked his fist, both of your eyes fixed on each other. 

You’d gotten yourselves off like that, in the dark of the summer night, not touching, but watching. The pleasure had been delicious, but left you with a twinge of dissatisfaction. You’d take anything you could get from Bucky, but you desperately wanted more. 

You couldn’t get enough of Bucky Barnes, which was how you’d found yourself perched in his lap again, stealing a moment after an afternoon swimming in the cool water of the lake. You both still wore your bathing suits, the fabric damp and cool, lake water seeping into the plaid couch in the basement of your family’s house.

Everyone else was upstairs, napping after a long day in the sun or getting ready for dinner. Anyone could walk down the stairs to the basement and catch you and Bucky—anyone including your brother, Bucky’s best friend. While that made things hotter for you, it had concern creasing Bucky’s brow.

“We’re gonna get caught,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Despite his words, though, his hand was gripping his cock through his swimsuit, the stiff length jutting against the fabric and making your body warm with a familiar yearning ache.

“Then we better make it quick,” you whispered back, flashing Bucky a shameless grin as you slid one of your hands down your front and into your bathing suit bottoms. You were warm and slippery, your body already turned on by being so close to Bucky.

His eyes darkened as he watched your hand move between your thighs, but a second later, he was groaning, his head falling back against the couch. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?” His gaze was trained on the ceiling, and you missed the heat of his eyes immediately.

At his sudden change of mood, a sliver of unease slid down your spine, and you withdrew your fingers from your bathing suit. Your hands curled into fists, laying useless on your thighs. 

“I’m not doing anything to you, remember?” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to regain the playful tone that typically came easy when you were fooling around with Bucky. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?”

There was an edge of bitterness in your voice, and it must’ve been plain enough to catch Bucky’s attention because he lifted his head to give you a long, searching look. His face became even more tortured at whatever he saw in your expression. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, the words falling from his mouth in a rush, like he couldn’t contain the confession anymore. “I walk around this house, constantly half-hard, thinking about your eyes and your smile, and the way you go a little dazed when you sink your fingers into your pretty pussy.” 

He paused only to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing tantalizingly in his throat while you sat still, your breath caught in your throat, too stunned by his admissions to form words. His blue eyes were bright and intense as he stared at you. 

“All I can think about is you,” he rasped. “And how fucking good it would feel to push inside your snug little hole, to have your warm cunt wrapped around my cock. I want you so fucking bad, and I can’t…” 

Bucky closed his eyes, overcome with emotion, and you felt for him, you really did. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and tuck his head against your chest. You wanted to rake your fingers through his hair and coo soothingly at him until he felt better.

But you knew the rule, so you kept your hands to yourself. 

In a small, broken whisper, you told him, “I want you, too.” You paused when Bucky’s eyes opened, pinning you with the intensity of his stare. “Can’t we…?”

“You know we can’t,” Bucky said, cutting you off with a frustrated shake of his head. “You know your brother will kill me.”

That statement had you huffing an annoyed sigh and crossing your arms, glaring at Bucky—though he was momentarily distracted by the way your arms were pushing up your tits. 

“I don’t know any such thing,” you snapped, sharp enough that Bucky’s gaze flicked to your face. He seemed taken aback at how angry you were. “We’re adults, Bucky, he doesn’t get a say in what we do.”

Bucky didn’t seem convinced by your perfectly rational argument, his eyes mournful as he looked at you. You could practically feel him pulling away, even if neither of you was moving. 

So you decided to get right to the heart of things. You spoke with your gaze trained on his chest, unable to look him in the eye, knowing how much your words were going to devastate him.

“The whole point of my brother telling you to keep your hands off me was because he didn’t want you to hurt me,” you said in a small voice, your shoulders hunching as if your body was bracing for the fallout of your words once they landed. “But you’re already hurting me.”

You paused, almost unable to continue. But you knew he needed to hear this, so you kept talking. 

“It hurts that you won’t let me touch you or do more than this,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the way you were sitting on his lap, a wide gap of space between your bodies so you had enough room to touch yourselves without touching each other. You closed your eyes and gathered yourself before delivering the final blow. “I like you, Bucky, I can’t help it, and the way you’re treating me hurts.”

“Baby,” Bucky rasped, his voice so desolate that you finally opened your eyes and looked at him. His face was even more handsome in the soft afternoon light filtering into the basement, and he looked even more tortured that you’d ever seen him before. “Baby, you’re killing me.” 

He reached for you, but before his fingers could brush against your skin, he stopped. His hands curled into fists and you watched them fall to his lap. Useless.

“We can’t,” he repeated, his tone choked but firm. “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

Hurt and anger swirled into a messy cyclone in your chest, eclipsing the way your heart was breaking for Bucky. Tears gathered in your lashes, but you swiped them away. “Then, I’m done,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You’d barely shifted your weight to one side, moving to get off Bucky’s lap, when his big hand landed on your hip. You froze. 

There was so much of his bare, warm skin pressing against yours. You could feel the callouses on his palm, and the heavy weight of his hand. It was almost too much after going so long without his touch that you shivered, your eyes closing briefly at the pleasant sensation.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Bucky rasped, his eyes wide and terrified as they darted back and forth across your face. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to let you go.”

“Then don’t, Buck,” you whispered, swaying into his chest. Your hands pressed against his pecs, your fingers digging into his warm, sun-kissed skin; you felt his big body shudder under your touch. “I’m yours, all you have to do is hold on to me.”

“Baby,” Bucky groaned, the pet name rough and delicious in his low voice. Then he was sliding his other hand around the side of your neck, cupping your cheek and drawing you in even closer until the heat of him was nearly overwhelming. “I like you, too, and I’ll hold on to you forever if you’ll let me.”

With that promise murmured against your lips, Bucky closed the remaining distance between your mouths and kissed you for the first time.

Fireworks popped and crackled behind your eyes, fizzling through your entire body as you sank into the kiss. Your heart raced in your chest, your mind barely able to understand that Bucky’s mouth was finally—finally—on yours, his lips moving as you tentatively explored each other.

When his tongue teased the seam of your lips, you opened for him, feeling him slip inside and invade your mouth, making you moan at the delicious decadence of it. He answered you with a low, gruff groan that you felt all the way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. 

The hesitancy at the start burned away, and Bucky’s mouth became hot and hungry on yours. The kiss grew more and more frantic as your tongues tangled, your bodies clinging to each other. Your fingers sank into Bucky’s soft brown hair, and his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you on his lap while he devoured your mouth.

Your body moved on instinct, your thighs spreading wider so you could press closer. The change in position allowed your center to settle more fully on Bucky’s lap, the bulge of his cock digging into the soft mound of your pussy. Beneath your bathing suit, your folds spread for the hot, hard shaft of Bucky’s cock.

Experimentally, you rolled your hips, grinding your dripping wet slit down on the hard ridge of his length through your clothes. You moaned wantonly into his mouth, Bucky grunting as he swallowed the sound down greedily, nipping at your lips as if begging for more. 

“Bucky,” you gasped when he pulled away to suck desperate kisses down your jaw and neck. Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair, using your grip as leverage while you rocked your hips, humping shamelessly against his cock as a pitiful whine tumbled from your lips. “Oh god, Buck, I’m already so close—I could cum on your cock just like this.”

He chuckled into the side of your throat, the sound so warmly affectionate and devastating, it sent a shiver down your spine and urged you to grind harder on his cock. That made his laughter dissolve into a groan, and his hands grabbed your hips, guiding your pussy to rub faster on his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky moaned, his breaths hot and heavy against your skin. “You feel so good, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

As soon as he said those words, you knew it was exactly what you wanted—you wanted to make him so feral that he couldn’t help but cum in his shorts. 

A sly smirk curled your lips and you raked your nails through the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, delighting in the feeling of his big body giving another helpless shudder. Between your thighs, his cock twitched, and you slowed the roll of your hips, grinding harder on him but taking your time.

“Can you feel how hot my pussy is, Buck?” you teased, whispering in his ear before taking the lobe between your teeth and biting softly. “I’m sooo wet and empty—my little hole is begging for your big cock to fill me up.” 

You had to bite back a giggle when you felt his hard length twitch again, like it was jumping at the chance to push inside your cunt and empty his seed inside you. Bucky grunted, but before he could say anything, you went on. 

“Want you to slide inside me bare—want you to fuck me raw with your big, thick cock, and pump me full of cum. Want you to mark me as yours, only yours, all yours, Bucky.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Bucky cursed, one of his hands sliding up your spine and wrapping around the back of your neck, towing you back far enough that he could catch your eye. “You’re a filthy girl, baby,” he said, his tone almost accusing, but his eyes sparkled like he loved it. “You want my cum—you wanna cum on my big cock like a little slut, baby?” 

Before he’d even finished his question, you were nodding your head. All thoughts of making him cum in his shorts were forgotten once the idea of him cumming inside your pussy entered your mind. 

You were biting back a wide, eager grin as you bobbed your head, but Bucky’s thumb swiped across your plush lower lip, tugging it free and letting your smile bloom across your face. His blue eyes softened with affection, his mouth curving into a grin of his own as he stared at you for a moment, lost in the look on your face.

Then Bucky was moving, reaching into his shorts and pulling out his cock while he slid his hand under your ass and guided you to lift up on your knees. Once you realized what he was doing, you curled two fingers in the fabric of your swimsuit between your thighs, pulling it to the side and lining up your entrance with the tip of Bucky’s cock.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, his gaze raking over your face like he was searching for any hint of hesitation. There was a slight furrow of concern between his brows and you reached up, smoothing it away as you smiled happily at him.

“I’ve been ready for this since the beginning of the summer, Buck,” you promised, settling your hands on his bare shoulders and gripping him tightly. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmuring, “Now give me your cock, Bucky, please.”

Bucky let out a low growl, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, and a second later he gave you exactly what you asked for. His hips surged up, his hand on your hip pulling you down, and in one swift thrust, his cock was buried inside your body. Your kiss ended as you both broke away to moan your delight.

The stretch of him filling you up so suddenly sent bolts of pleasure streaking through your body, leaving you teetering on the edge of your release. When his hands fell to your hips and he guided you to rock on him, your clit rubbing against the base of his cock, you were done for.

“Bucky!” You came with a hushed cry of his name, remembering yourself at the last second as you plunged into the depths of your pleasure. Your entire body trembled in his arms, and Bucky held you tight, his mouth pressed against your ear, his scruffy cheek rasping over your skin as he spoke.

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock like a good slut. Show me how good I make you feel,” he encouraged in a low rumbling voice right into your ear. “Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned, his hips shifting as you rocked against him. “Feels like you were made for me—fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum.”

“Cum inside me, Buck,” you gasped against his neck, your tongue darting out to taste the salt and sun of his skin. “Please, Bucky, want your cum, want you to cum in my pussy, fill me up—please!” 

Your babbling devolved into desperate moans when Bucky began thrusting up into you, bouncing your body on his cock as he chased his pleasure, grunting and groaning into your throat. Your fingers twisted in his hair and your mouth pressed to the side of his neck, licking and sucking on his skin as you reveled in the pleasure he offered.

“Fuck—baby, fuck!” 

Bucky’s cursing was muffled against your skin, his body going taut for a second as he held you tight in his arms before he let loose a delicious, devastating groan when he came. His cock twitched inside you, pumping you full of rope after rope of his cum. 

You pulled his head up, blindly finding his mouth and kissing him desperately. It was a hot, messy kiss, both your mouths clumsy as you moaned through your pleasure. Your bodies writhed against each other, wringing out every ounce of bliss from your releases together.

Finally, when you both were sated, you pressed your forehead to Bucky’s, feeling his warm breath against your kiss-swollen lips as you caught your breath. A slight smile curled the corners of your mouth, enjoying the closeness, and you wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders, clinging to him. 

Bucky’s hands splayed across your back, pressing you more tightly against his chest, and you were nearly dizzy with the heady feeling of so much of your skin against his. The two of you stayed like that for several long moments—until Bucky broke the silence. 

“You’re on birth control, right?” he asked in between heaving breaths. He didn’t sound particularly concerned, and you let out a breathless laugh, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes.

“Yes, of course I’m on birth control,” you told him.

Bucky chuckled, leaning forward and stealing a quick kiss from your lips. But he wasn’t satisfied with just one, kissing you half a dozen times before he leaned back against the couch again, grinning at you. 

“That’s good,” he said, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “Probably best if we tell your family about us before I knock you up.” His blue eyes sparkled as they watched your face, like he couldn’t wait to see how you’d react to that statement.

Your eyebrows winged up, and you tilted your head to the side as you stared at him, trying to pretend like you were affronted, but you couldn’t hide the way your pussy clenched around Bucky’s cock at the idea. In response, his hard length twitched inside you, and his hand squeezed your hip lightly.

“Oh?” you asked, continuing to pretend like you weren’t excited by the idea. “You planning to knock me up, Barnes?” you teased, purposefully clenching around his softening cock, managing to milk another drop of cum from his spent shaft.

Bucky’s blue eyes went heavy lidded and he chuckled affectionately, gathering you up in his arms and holding you against his chest. He kissed you sweetly, his mouth moving mesmerizingly against yours until you’d melted in his arms.

“When you’re ready, yeah,” he murmured, his tone warm and so affectionate it made your heart thump in your chest. “You want a couple rugrats, don’t you, baby?”

Your gaze found Bucky’s, and you saw he had that little furrow of concern between his brows. You reached up and kissed it away, just like you’d wanted to earlier, and smiled fondly at him.

“Yeah, I do,” you assured him, your smile turning sly. “But let’s give it a few years—I want to enjoy being with you, just the two of us, for a little while first.”

“You got it, baby,” Bucky said, kissing you again. His mouth lingered against yours. The two of you got momentarily lost in each other, in the heat of your mouths and the glide of your tongues. 

When Bucky finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, the edges of his mouth curving in a smile.

“I plan to hold on to you forever,” he said. “So we’ve got all the time in the world—we’ve got all the time in forever.”

With a soft laugh, you nodded and pulled him in for another kiss. It felt like such an indulgence, after going so long without being allowed to touch him, and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stop. You certainly wouldn’t ever be able to take it for granted.

For a long, lazy while, the two of you lounged on the couch, enjoying the feel of your bodies joined together and kissing until you were breathless. The spell of your first time touching without restriction was broken only when you heard people moving around upstairs.

Instead of trying to sneak past the others, you and Bucky raced out of the basement through the back door that led down to the dock. You took a quick dip in the lake together to clean up a little, laughing and splashing each other until you finally hauled yourselves out of the water.

You walked back up to the house holding hands, and when you stepped through the sliding door of the deck, you announced your relationship to everyone gathered—which was pretty much your entire family.

To your and Bucky’s relief, your brother didn’t kill him. 

He approached the two of you warily, pulling you aside to make sure you were happy and that Bucky didn’t hurt you. You told your brother that Bucky had been respectful, and that you’d been the one to pursue him. 

With a nod, your brother seemed to accept this. He told you that if Bucky ever did hurt you, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. You laughed and shook your head at your brother’s threats, just happy he seemed to be respecting your newfound relationship with his best friend.

For the rest of the evening—and for the rest of the summer—you reveled in being able to touch Bucky any time you wanted. You held his hand all through dinner, sat beside him on the couch with his arm around your shoulders, and kissed him in the rare moments when no one was looking.

It was a wonderful end to the summer, and the best part was that you were going to go back to your lives and start building a new one together. You’d finally gotten your brother’s best friend, and you planned to hold on to Bucky Barnes forever.

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

There was a male voice and an accented female voice, and as you slowly dragged yourself back into consciousness, you realized who exactly was on either side of you. Rowena, and Dean. 

Dean. A giddy feeling rushed your chest and your eyes flew open despite the dull ache in your head, searching for his. The argument stopped abruptly and Dean leaned over the bed, a soft, relieved smile on his face. Your heart ached at the guilt hidden in his eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted, his voice soft and warm, comforting you like a blanket fresh from the dryer. “You okay? You scared us for a second there.” 

You nodded, but immediately frowned. Brushing off the worry and confusion you should probably be feeling about what exactly happened to you, you focused on Dean. “I did? I’m sorry, Dean. I really didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s alright, just take it easy, yeah?” He requested, his voice still as soft as ever. You smiled and nodded, and he smiled back. Then, he turned his attention back to Rowena, his face hardening. Jealousy twinged sourly in your stomach, but you ignored it. “What the hell happened to her, Rowena?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Rowena insisted, her voice strained from the other side of your single bed. It was then that you fully registered that you were in the infirmary. “I had to put her DNA in the counter-spell to save you. Something must’ve gone wrong.” 

“‘Gone wrong?’” Dean repeated, his voice gruff and angry. Something excitable stirred within you as he came to your defense. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say? What if you had killed her, Rowena? Or cursed her like I was? What then?”

“Oh, give me a break!” Rowena argued shrilly, and that jealousy seemed to flare back up. “She’s fine! You’ll have to keep an eye on her for a few days, of course, but I did what was required of me, Dean. She asked me to cure you, and look! You’re no longer wanting to rip anybody’s throats out, are you?”

Dean growled, the sound low and angry in the back of his throat. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. I don’t have to stick around here anymore. If things change, then you can give me a call. I may or may not answer. But for now, I have my own business to attend to.” Rowena simply stated, humming with a wicked smile before turning on her heel and leaving the infirmary. 

You finally sat up, cheeks flushing as Dean reached out to help you. 

His hand landed on the space between your shoulders, warm and comforting. His eyes stayed on you, watching out for any signs that you were hurt or different in any way.

You didn’t feel all that different. At least, you didn’t think you did. You managed a smile as your eyes trailed up to meet Dean’s, and your heart felt like it was going to burst when he smiled back. You were sure it was about to explode when Dean put a hand on your waist to steady you as you stood up. 

“Thanks,” you murmured quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Look, about what I said,” Dean started, his voice rough and guilty. You hated how upset he sounded. You wanted to do whatever it took to make him not sound so upset anymore.

“It’s okay,” you responded, practically cutting him off as you rushed to get the words out. “It was the curse. I know. I forgive you.”

“You—” Dean paused, his expression puzzled as he looked down at you. “Sweetheart, I said some pretty nasty shit. It’s okay if you’re mad at me. Hell, I probably deserve it.”

You laughed, the sound soft and forgiving. “No, Dean. I’m not mad.”

“Yeah, well, you should be,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his mouth. You could see the guilt swimming in those mossy green eyes, and your heart ached. You wanted to get rid of that look in his eyes and never see it again. “The second I realized something was wrong with me, I should’ve locked myself up, kept my damn mouth shut.”

“It wasn’t you,” you insisted, your heart hurting in your chest. You had to make Dean feel better. “It was the curse. That— that witch made you say those things. I forgive you.”

The insistence in your words was a little startling to Dean. He hadn’t expected you to be so vehement about forgiving him. You’d remained mad at him for much longer over much smaller things than for yelling at you the way he did when he was cursed. A sense of worry crept up his spine as you smiled brightly at him, seeming perfectly fine, when even he knew you shouldn’t be.

“You feeling okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, hesitant as he stared at you with one raised brow, as though trying to analyse you and whatever response you’d give.

Beaming, you nodded. “I feel fine, Dean. Better than fine.” Then your eyes widened, and somehow, your smile widened too. “We should go watch some movies. Do a marathon.”

Then, before he could register the full sequence of events, you squealed in excitement, clapping your hands before taking off. You. Squealed. Dean Winchester had known you for years now, and never once had he heard you squeal.

Something was definitely wrong. 

The next week and a half was unbelievably, undeniably odd. Sam had been saying he didn’t notice anything off with your demeanor, but Dean did. He definitely did.

Everything, for the most part, seemed normal. Except now, you were always around. Dean could barely move three feet without you ending up in his peripheral, right at his side. Of course, he wouldn’t think too much of it if it weren’t for the fact that he could barely get a second alone to use the bathroom anymore.

At first, he tried to just brush it off. There were only so many places to hang out in the bunker, and you always did enjoy movie marathons with Dean in what he had begun to call the ‘Dean Cave’.

But you wouldn't give him a break. You just couldn’t help it. Every time you were away from Dean, your heart ached. You could actually feel it twisting and writhing in your chest, calling out for him. It longed to be in his presence, to make him happy and content. You didn’t like seeing him upset, and you just wanted to smooth that furrow in his brow, to kiss the pout from his lips — if he wanted you to. You’d never do anything to make him upset.

You made him pies, got up early to make breakfast, everything. You’d do anything to make him happy. To keep him happy. To witness his smile, watch his eyes light up when you surprise him; anything. It’s what kept you going, if you were being honest. And you were. In fact, a lot of the time, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore. Especially around Dean. 

Like now, you were sitting with him in the Dean Cave, watching a movie. It was one of the few ways Dean could get you to be mostly quiet while remaining in his presence. The you that he was used to — not this new, strange, almost starry-eyed version of you that clung to him all the time — would make stupid comments or critiques about every single movie you watched, but Dean had asked you to be quiet if you wanted to watch something with him, and you just… obeyed. You didn’t smack his arm, or glare at him and talk through the whole thing on purpose like you usually did. It, along with everything else, really freaked him out. 

The movie was old, like most of the stuff that Dean watched. He had tried to get you to pick something out, but you insisted that he do it, that you would watch whatever he wanted. It was, again, something that bothered him. You used to bicker over what to watch on movie nights. Clint Eastwood classics or early 2000s comedies. 80s actions or psychological thrillers. But now, you just rolled over for his sake. 

So Dean picked something he knew you would enjoy, just to make him feel a little less freaked out. Some rom-com movie that he’d heard you mention a few times, even made him sit through once a few years ago. But you weren’t looking at the screen. You kept looking at him. 

Glancing every few seconds, absorbing every reaction he had to the scenes on the TV, like you were constantly analysing every single atom of his being. Sitting quietly on the couch next to him — the one you remembered he had bought after you complained for three weeks that two recliners weren’t comfortable enough to watch movies on — like you were waiting for him to say or do something else. 

Eventually, Dean decided that he would test something. See if he was right in his suspicion. On the screen, the female lead had set up a nice, romantic dinner at home to surprise her boyfriend with. A nice white table cloth, candles and dim lights, his favorite meal, the whole nine yards. It was cheesy and gross, as Dean would have told you. But you weren’t you right now. 

So instead of making fun of the whole ordeal, he inhaled deeply and said, “You know, I think that’s nice. The whole surprise dinner thing.” 

You perked up. You looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised slightly, cogs turning behind your eyes. “You do?” 

Dean smiled, trying his best to act normal, and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’d be nice, I think. To have someone make burgers and fries and pop open a few beers just to surprise me. There’s gotta be some fun in life, y’know.” 

Dean watched you smile and nod. He felt kind of bad, testing you like this, but he needed to prove to himself and Sam that something wasn’t right. And when he did, he was going to kick Rowena’s ass for messing you up when she cured him. 

“Hm. I guess you’re right, Dean.” Even those words sounded wrong. They came out too soft. They weren’t teasingly mocking him for admitting something so domestic and un-Dean like. “A surprise every once in a while is nice.” 

You proved Dean right two days later. 

He honestly hadn’t been expecting it so soon, but when he realized that he’d spent an hour and a half alone in the library — completely, totally alone, without you sitting next to him or Sam researching something across from him — he put enough of the pieces together to assume what you were doing. He actually managed to squeeze out another 45 minutes of alone time before his phone pinged with a text from you. 

‘Come to the kitchen ;)’

Dean sighed, but he knew he had to go. You’d just come looking for him otherwise. 

He couldn’t say he was surprised when he walked into the kitchen, but he could at least say he was shocked. He expected, at most, dinner and some beer. What he really hadn’t expected to see was you, makeup done — yes, he noticed, he always noticed when you dolled yourself up — and a nicer, but not too obvious outfit on, standing proudly by the bench.seat. Candles were lit on practically every surface, including the table, which had a white tablecloth on it. There were burgers and beer, just like he had said, but the smile on your face, proud and blinding, was what made his heart clench. 

“Surprise!” You said, tone bright and cheerful, like you thought he’d never even expect it. “I made the burgers from scratch, extra onions and bacon, just like you like. And I couldn’t find a tablecloth, so I used a bedsheet, I hope that’s okay,” you rambled, watching Dean take in the scene, stepping closer to you. “Do you like it?” 

Dean sighed, his expression faltering. His face wasn’t supposed to fall. He was supposed to smile. This should have made him happy. “Sweetheart…”

“Do you not like it? Did I do something wrong?” You asked, and Dean almost got whiplash with how quickly you went from excited to nearly in tears. “Is it the bedsheet? Or maybe the burgers? I can make you something different, I promise, just give me some time, and I’ll—”

Dean said your name, soft and concerned, shutting you up and giving you a moment to take a breath. Your eyes tracked him as he stepped closer, as his hands raised and grabbed you gently by the arms. “Something is wrong. I don’t think you know it, but this isn’t you. You don’t do things like this. Not for me. Not even for yourself.” 

You stared at him, wide eyed and nearly crying. “You said you’d like it,” you tried to reason, your voice shaking like somebody was dead. “I thought you’d like it. Why don’t you like it?” 

“Because this isn’t you!” Dean snapped. He hadn’t meant to yell at you, not when he was already mostly sure that you were under some sort of spell, but he couldn’t take it. He felt even worse when you flinched in his loose grip. “You’ve been following me around like a puppy! I feel like I can’t breathe, sweetheart!” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice trembling. Dean’s guilt only grew when he saw your tears start to fall, but maybe you’d forgive him for it when you were cured. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I don’t want to make you upset, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, I promise. Anything to make it better, please, just don’t be mad.” 

Dean sighed, his touch recoiling as you practically began to sob. He ran his hands over his face, scrubbing hard at the skin. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t really expected you to break down, but then again, he couldn’t really expect any of your usual behaviours right now. He looked at you for a long moment and swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, watching you frantically begin to clean up the dinner you had prepared for him. You stood up, grabbing each of the plates, but didn’t listen to him. He called out your name gently. “Sweetheart,” he said, firmer this time, reaching out to gently grab your wrist, heart aching at the sight of your mascara streaking down your dolled up face and the slight awe in your shining eyes. “I… I like the dinner. Thank you. Just… leave it here. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Where are you going? Do you want me to come with you?” You asked, going right back to being oh so eager to help Dean out however you possibly could. Dean believed, right now, that if he told you walking into traffic would make him happy, you would do it. And that thought, your utter devotion to him, it hurt. Because he knew it wasn’t real. He knew it was just whatever curse had been inadvertently placed on you when Rowena had cured him. He still wanted it, though. Not to this intensity, but the idea remained the same in his mind. 

“No,” he said quickly, covering it up by clearing his throat and offering an unsteady smile. You matched it with a concerning amount of joy. “No, uhm, I’m just… not dressed up enough. I’m gonna go find a nicer shirt to wear.” 

Dean generally didn’t like lying to you. He could lie to Sam no problem, especially when it was for Sam’s or the greater good’s sake, but you… Dean could never stomach lying to you very often. Not unless he believed it was truly, absolutely necessary, and even then it left a rock sitting in his stomach until whatever situation that had warranted it was over or if he told you the truth. This, albeit it seemed small compared to the few other times he’d lied to you, was one of those times.

You smiled, a small ‘oh’ falling from your lips as you nodded. Dean smiled tightly, and guided you to put the plates down and to sit at the table again. His touch left you and his guilt rose as you sat and stared up at him, a ditzy smile on your face. 

“I’ll… I’ll be right back. Wait here.” Dean said, and then he was practically rushing out of the kitchen. He had two things to do, and unfortunately, changing his shirt and having dinner with you weren’t either of the things on his list. 

The first thing; he needed to show Sam the proof he had that something was wrong with you. The second, Dean had to make a few demands to Rowena. 

“Okay, yeah, that’s… weird,”

“Exactly! She’s not herself, Sam. We gotta fix it.” Dean said, slapping his brother’s shoulder in a clear gesture of ‘I told you so’. He hated to be right about this exactly, but at least now he had his younger brother’s attention. 

They were in the hall, hiding away from the kitchen entrance. You were still in there, sitting patiently, staring at the wall, waiting for Dean to come back inside. Dean’s gut churned violently at the sight, guilt still gnawing at him as Sam peered in again, like he couldn’t really process the scene. 

“So, what, she- she got hit with an opposite spell or something?” Sam suggested quietly, wrinkling his nose in curiosity as he leaned out of the door frame to look back at Dean. “Your anger curse turns into her devotion curse?” 

“I don’t know, Sam! I’m not a witch! If I was, she’d be normal by now!” Dean argued in a hushed tone, staring incredulously at his brother. “Call Rowena. Get her ass here as fast as you can. I don’t care what she wants from us in exchange, she is fixing her,” 

Dean’s finger pointed to the door, pointing at the shell of yourself in that kitchen, smiling mindlessly and waiting for him to walk back inside and enjoy dinner with you. His shoulders sagged slightly when Sam nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, just… keep her busy. It shouldn’t be too hard, all things considered,” Sam shrugged halfheartedly, patting his brother on the arm before disappearing toward the library. 

Then, Dean was left alone in the hall, staring at the door like walking through it would set off some kind of bomb in his chest. This all felt wrong to him. Like he was using you somehow, taking advantage of your altered state because you were currently under a curse. The normal you — the one that bickered with him all the time and still managed to get him to tell you things he wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else, the one that patched him up without a word, the one that criticised everything about him but always went along with his bad jokes and sang along to his old ass music — wouldn’t be bending to his will without question. He knew you. You’d fight with him on it until one of you gave up or gave in to the other. 

He took a breath, reminding himself that this was temporary. Just a few more days, that was all. He swallowed past the giant lump in his throat, rubbed his hands on his jeans, and faked a smile. That was the easiest part about all of this, because even he knew that this cursed version of you wouldn’t ask questions. Not like the other you would; no, that you would recognise it right away and call him out on it, even if he didn’t want to talk. 

You looked at him the moment he stepped back into the kitchen, your idle smile turning into a beaming grin as he returned to the table. “You’re back!” You said, eyes tracking Dean as he moved toward the table. “The food is getting cold. You should eat.” 

Dean nodded, the lump in his throat growing bigger at the seemingly genuine excitement at his presence. The way you seemed to light up just by looking at him. He couldn’t deny that it would be something he would miss once Rowena cured you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, the words trailed by a shaky exhale as he sat down at the table. “Thanks for the… for the food. It looks great.” 

You smiled wider as you watched Dean dig in, waiting for him to take a few bites of his burger — now cold, but he wouldn’t tell you that, because he didn’t want you to get upset and insist on making new ones — before beginning to eat your own. Thankfully, Dean thought, neither of you spoke much as you ate. 

Dean let you clear the plates and blow out all of the candles. He let you hand him another beer and watch him sip on it, eerily quiet as you did so. He put the beer down on the table, a soft thud that was cushioned by the bedsheet-tablecloth, and cleared his throat. He stared at the bottle, watching the cloth beneath it soak up the condensation pooling at the bottom of the glass, fingers grazing it. Then he forced himself to look up, forced a smile as you smiled at him, and cleared his throat. 

“We should watch a movie,” he said, his voice gravelly and not-quite-Dean like, but it seemed you didn’t even notice. He said it purely because he knew that it would be a good way to get you to stay in his presence and not dote on him every moment of the day, and if he was being honest with himself, that was the last thing he wanted. 

His stomach churned as your smile widened. It didn’t even look like you. You always gave him half smiles, or adorable crooked grins when he made a joke that you wouldn’t admit was actually funny. He missed you. Even if he was sitting right in front of you, he still missed you. The real you, anyway. 

And as he stood up and led you back to the Dean Cave, all he could do was hope that Sam could convince Rowena to come and cure you. Fast. 

“What?” 

“Oh, don’t pretend to be daft, Dean. It’s really not a good look anymore.” Rowena scoffed, standing at the War Room table across from the Winchester brothers. It had taken a lot more bargaining and groveling for Sam to be able to get her here, but she had to admit, she liked the girl much more than either of these buffoons. 

“You know what—” 

“Dean, hey—” Sam stopped his brother from rounding the table, knowing he’d get his ass kicked far faster than he’d even be aware of. Rowena wasn’t one to be defenseless, at any point in time. He’d rather not deal with two cursed or otherwise not themselves people right now. 

“All I’m saying is, the solution is quite obvious, Dean.” Rowena shrugged, as if all of this could’ve been solved with a simple phone call. “She’s infatuated with you. Kiss her, and all of this will go away.” 

Beside Sam, Dean fumed. Not out of anger, but out of embarrassment. He didn’t know how any of this made sense, but the last thing he wanted to do was kiss his best friend. Not because he didn’t like her that way — of course he did, she was freakin’ perfect, he’d be insane not to be some kind of in love with her — but because he was scared. He was older than her, and she could do much better than him. He was broken, glued together with whiskey and violence, and he didn’t want to break or ruin her, too. He’d done that to too many good people before. 

“How did this even happen, Rowena?” Sam asked, seeming to be the one with some sense left in his skull. 

Rowena sighed, rolling her eyes. “These things can occur from time to time, Samuel. Witchcraft can be risky business, you know.” 

“Cut to the damn chase, Rowena,” Dean managed to growl out, keeping an eye on the hallway entrance. As far as you were aware right now, Dean had asked you to bake him a pie, and he didn’t want you walking in on this kind of conversation. 

“If you insist,” Rowena sighed, glancing at her manicured nails. “Like I said, these things happen. I used her hair in the counter-curse elixir, which she asked me to make to save you,” she sent a pointed look toward Dean, “and I underestimated her… care, for you. Strong feelings don’t mix well with magic. Instead of fully curing you, the elixir amplified her feelings for you, Dean. In the same way that the curse amplified your anger.” 

Dean still didn’t really understand it, but it made more sense now. Kind of. He stayed silent for a long few moments, trying to grasp the idea of kissing his best friend. The woman he’s wanted to kiss for years now. The one he said so many horrible things to when he was influenced by a witch’s curse. Did you even like him that way? He didn’t mean any of the things he said when he was cursed. Did your actions have any meaning behind them, or was it just the magic talking? 

“Dean?” Sam asked, looking at his brother with concern etched into his features. They softened when he understood what his brother was likely thinking about. “Look, I know this is difficult, but it’s—” 

“This isn’t difficult, Sam.” Dean cut his brother off, voice deeper than normal and full of uncertainty. “This is— it’s her. It’s ruining everything I’ve built with her, on purpose, because the good witch over here messed up her damn spell!” 

“I did not—” Rowena argued, her face the picture of pure offense at Dean’s accusation. “Magic is not an exact science, you lumberjack! I did what was asked of me when it was in my interest to do so. You’re lucky I’m even here to help you out of this, again.” 

Dean huffed, but he didn’t argue back. As much as he would’ve loved to, he knew that, deep down, Rowena was right. She was helping them, which was far more than he had expected from her. From what Sam had told him, you had to give her a lot of stuff just to get her to agree to curing him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyebrows scrunched. The thought of kissing you at all made Dean feel woozy in the best ways, and then the thought of kissing you while you were cursed and practically unaware of anything but him made him want to punch himself in the face. 

He heard Rowena sigh across the table. “Whether you like it or not, it’s the only way to cure her. She’ll only get worse. If you want her back, you’ll just have to believe that she’ll understand.”

Dean still didn’t open his eyes. He felt like he was going to be sick as he listened to the clacking of Rowena’s heels as she ascended the stairs and left the bunker. He could practically feel Sam staring at him, picturing that puppy dog, ‘I wish there was another choice’ look on his brother’s face. He didn’t think he could stand seeing it with his own eyes, so he turned around and left. He marched right through the library, and followed the sounds of humming down the halls. 

He ended up in the kitchen doorway, watching you hum ‘Tangerine’ by Led Zeppelin. He could recognize it just by the sound of your voice, carrying the tune right to his ears without the words. His heart ached as he took in the image before him. Your hands, flour coated and meticulous as you laid the dough into the pie tin, fingers delicate as you shaped it to the dish. Voice soft as you hummed to no one but yourself, thinking you were completely alone. 

For a brief moment, Dean wondered if he could have this. This moment, exactly as it was, but far off someplace else. In a kitchen with windows that streamed sunlight right over you, in a house with creaky staircases and the laughter of kids playing outside. Fresh baked pies on the weekend and peace. 

But he knew he never could. Because he was about to ruin everything, again. Just like he always would. His hands shook as he clenched them into fists at his side, trying to steel himself against the fallout of what he was about to do. 

Just as he had gathered enough courage to take a step into the room, preparing to clear his throat and call out to you, you looked up. A soft, bright smile split your lips as you stopped humming, and just like every other time, you seemed absolutely delighted to see Dean. And just like every other time, it was going to destroy him. 

“Hi Dean,” you said, voice softer than he expected, two simple words landing like a killing blow. “Your pie should be done soon. I just have to put the filling in.” 

Dean managed a tight smile, forcing himself to nod in reply. “That… that sounds great, sweetheart. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you said, your smile turning bashful but still remaining genuine. “You asked. You know I’d do anything for you.” 

Dean’s heart felt like it was being crushed in an iron grip. You sounded so sure of yourself, so certain that pleasing him was all you wanted to do with your life. He froze up in his own guilt and watched you for a few more moments, until the pie filling was in the crust and covered with more dough. Until you turned, sliding the tin into the oven with a satisfied hum. 

“Sweetheart, I—” Dean forced himself to speak, his voice dry before he managed a swallow and a clearing of his throat. “You said you’d do anything for me, right?” 

You smiled and gave him a firm nod, rounding the counter that separated you to look up at him. Your eyes shone under the warm white lighting, glittering and enchanting and not-all-there. “Of course, Dean. Is there something you need me to do?”

Dean nodded, jaw tight. He swallowed hard, his heart feeling like it would betray him and make him keel over at any moment. “Yeah, I do. When this is over, I need you to be able to forgive me and be my friend again.”

“Wha—”

Before you even got the words out, Dean was moving. His hands came up to cup your jaw on either side, pulling you into him. You made a soft squeaking sound when his lips met yours, body tensing for just a moment before you seemed to relax into it. 

Dean’s eyes were squeezed shut, pretending like the sound didn’t give him butterflies like a horny teenager. He didn’t take it any further than that, even if he wanted to. God, he was desperate to. He wanted to lift you onto the counter and worship your body until you were a writhing, panting mess, but he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t that person to you. 

When he pulled back, his eyes searched your face for any kind of sign that it worked and he hadn’t messed anything up and maybe you wanted him to kiss you again. He watched you intently as your eyes fluttered open, brow furrowing in confusion. 

When your eyes met his, no longer glittering but still just as enchanting, you spoke. “Dean…?”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, your face still in his hands. He didn’t want to waste a second, his eyes wild and desperate as he spoke. “I— I didn’t want— I mean— God, damn it,” he sighed, frustrated with himself. “I had to kiss you. I’m sorry.” 

For a moment, all you could do was look at him with confusion. It felt like a fog had been hanging over your head, clouding all your thoughts and specific memories of the past few weeks. Your brows furrowed at him, lips tingling with the ghost of his touch, head throbbing slightly. “I—” you tried, still confused, but becoming increasingly more aware of yourself. “What happened to me?” 

Dean sighed, eyes squeezing shut. His fingers tightened against your skin, sending a small shiver up your spine. You were just glad he wasn’t letting go just yet. “Rowena messed up. Put some kind of counter-curse on you when she cured me. You were…” he swallowed, like he didn’t want to say anything, “she said it made you infatuated, or something.” 

Your cheeks began to burn, growing scorching hot as you realized what he might’ve meant. Things started coming back to you — the movie night, the dinner, the way you cried when he snapped at you instead of snapping back like you usually would’ve. Doing everything he’d asked, even things he hadn’t asked you to do. You glanced over at the oven, a soft, almost unnoticeable hum filling the air as it baked the pie he had asked you to make. The one you made without question, put so much focus and care into. 

What Dean didn’t know was that even if you hadn’t been cursed, you probably would’ve made him a pie if he’d asked you, anyway. Just because it would’ve made him smile, and he made a lot of comments about pie being better when it was homemade and not store bought. He’d eat the store bought pie anyway, but you knew he would’ve liked a homemade one better.

You opened your mouth, tearing your gaze from the oven to look up at Dean again. His words echoed back to you, apologizing for kissing you. For a second, your mind recalled the things he shouted at you when he was cursed, claiming to know all about your feelings for him. Did he really not believe himself? Was he in so much denial that he wouldn’t see it for himself? Or had he apologized for kissing you because it was an obligation, and not something he wanted to do all the time like you did? 

Your heart ached for a moment, and it must’ve shown on your face, because Dean’s expression faltered. His grip on you loosened, and then let go of you altogether. Your skin felt like ice in the absence of his warmth. 

“Like I said, I’m sorry for the… for kissing you. It was the only way to cure you.” He said, his voice softer, more of a murmur than anything else. It felt like a punch to the gut. 

“Did you want to?” You asked, voice more vulnerable than you had meant to sound. Even if you wanted to, you didn’t think you would’ve been able to stop the words from falling out of your  mouth if you tried. But even if you had to say them, you wanted to sound strong, sound sure of yourself, sound like, if his answer was ‘no’, you’d be able to brush it off and move on with your life. 

You knew, though, that if his answer really was no, you wouldn’t be strong. You’d save face long enough to leave the room, and then you would shatter indefinitely. 

Dean stared at you for a long moment, like his brain simply couldn’t comprehend the question you had asked him. Four of the simplest words to string together, yet they felt just about as loaded as his Colt 1911 before a hunt, aimed right at his chest for a killing blow. His breath caught in his throat, eyes widening ever so slightly, hands clenching into anxious fists.

“What?” He breathed, his voice shaking with disbelief; like he hadn’t heard you correctly. 

You licked your lips, trying to stop your voice from trembling as you swallowed roughly. Blinking, you took a deep breath and steadied yourself against the raging turmoil in your chest. “Did you want to kiss me?” 

Dean’s breath faltered as you spoke again. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, blinking at you. His brain felt like mush, his heart like a raging animal in his chest, beating against his ribs in a desperate attempt to escape his own body. He saw you falter slightly, and realized he had taken a second too long to respond. He jumped slightly, panicked, and nodded with a frantic kind of desperation. 

“Yes. I did, I swear, I…” he paused, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself for a second. His chest was heaving, his body battling his mind. It was now or never, and while his heart was screaming at him to rip the band-aid off, his mind was desperate to keep himself safe. 

But he didn’t really have to fight that battle. Not this time. Because it was you that stepped forward first. 

Pushing up onto your toes slightly, your flour covered hands reached up. One landed on his jaw, the other on the back of his neck, and tugged him closer. Your breath ghosted over his lips for a mere moment before he felt his whole world explode around him. Your lips pressed against his, slotting perfectly along the seam like you were only ever supposed to kiss him for the rest of your life. 

His hands reached up instinctively, gripping your hips and pulling your body flush against his. Dean practically melted against you, lips moving in perfect synchrony. He could’ve sworn you could feel his heart hammering wildly in his chest, this time in the best way. And, if he had a heart attack and died on the spot, Dean would die a happy man, knowing that he got to kiss you. 

When you pulled away for air, Dean’s eyes traced every minute detail on your face. Flushed skin, swollen lips, and that glimmering, enchanting look in your eyes. He’d seen it a lot over the years, but he figured that’s just how you looked at everyone. Now he knew that it was just how you looked at him. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since we met,” you breathed, voice warm and honeyed, unable to stop a smile from splitting your lips. 

Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that came from his throat, warm and rumbling as he squeezed your hips, keeping you close to him. “I’ve wanted to do a lot of things to you since we met, sweetheart.” 

His smile turned into a smirk when you flushed further, smile turning bashful as you tried to hide from his gaze. He lifted a hand up, slotting his fingers beneath your chin to pull your gaze back up to him. “Nuh-uh. No more hiding. We’ve done enough of that.” 

You stared at him, eyes soft, nodding in his grip. “Yeah,” you whispered tenderly. “I guess we have.” 

For a moment, everything seemed… peaceful. And it was. But you knew Dean, and he knew himself, too. Even if the kiss solidified something, it didn’t mean that everything was suddenly, magically, okay. 

“Look, I…” Dean sighed, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw, thinking over what he wanted to say. Choosing his words carefully, not wanting to mess this up before it started. He opened his eyes, finding that you were looking at him with unspoken understanding. “You know me, sweetheart. I’m not… good at this. I’m fucking terrified. But I want to make this work. You’re… you’re more than worth it, to me.” 

Your heart and expression softened, feeling tears prick your eyes even though none actually formed. “I believe that we can make it work.” You told Dean, and you fully believed it. “We’re already best friends, you know? It’s just… we get to do more stuff together. We don’t have to hide it anymore.” 

Dean smiled, a soft expression that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Your thumb reached up, brushing the crinkles with a soft, loving touch. He leaned slightly into your palm, a soft exhale leaving him as he resisted closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice so soft you wouldn’t have heard him if you weren’t already in his arms. “We don’t have to hide anything anymore.” 

Despite what it took to get you to this point, you were glad that it happened at all. Because, no matter what, you had each other. And you wouldn’t have traded it for anything else.

everything taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

dean winchester taglist: @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @killerqueenfan @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12 @dravinor @magic-sprinkled-daydreams @breniii @naturalswifty89 @soullessambs @applespider0 @kelseaackles @staarflowerr @moralgraymatter @cranberrysauce666 @melancholysanatomy @tofics

Growling, you flipped off the gas burner and shoved the pot onto the cool back burner. At the very least, you could prevent yourself from burning down Steve’s apartment. 

Your apartment, too, your inner omega chirped happily, and you just rolled your eyes, shoving her deep down because it was her fault that you had discovered how completely inept you were at cooking.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you felt an omega urge beyond wanting to be desperately railed during your heat. In fact, you weren’t convinced you had ever really had a niggle of anything domestic at all, especially when it came to being with an alpha.

But damnit, Steve just made you feel all of these things–so many of them new and unfamiliar–and when you woke up this morning to your favorite pastry and coffee awaiting you on the nightstand, along with a cute note from Steve complete with an obscene drawing to make you laugh, you just felt all warm and gooey inside and…

Well, you wanted to surprise him when he got home from work with a nice, homemade dinner. 

By you.

Your narrowed gaze flickered to the ruined pot of definitely-not-stew, and you glowered even harder. “So really, this is all his fault,” you decided.

“What’s all my fault?” Steve’s voice sounding from behind you startled you so badly, you screeched as you whirled around, your gaze narrowing even further as it landed on him. 

“You scared me, Hercules, Jesus Christ, make more noise when you move!” you huffed.

Steve’s grin was amused, tender, and boyish all at once–lighting up his whole handsome face–and it made your belly flutter and swoop and goddamnit. 

You were turning into such a lame ass sap for this man.

Steve’s smile faltered as his nostrils flared, and he got a whiff of the burnt concoction cooling on the stove. 

“What…” he started, and you could see the realization flicker across his features, his face softening exponentially as his gaze returned to you, and he gave you honest to god Disney princess eyes. “Did you try to cook me dinner?”

“No!” you denied immediately. 

Stupidly.

Because the evidence literally sat on the stove, mocking you.

A dopey smile spread across Steve’s lips as he moved closer, but you retreated, pointing a warning finger at him as your gaze remained irritated. 

“Don’t–”

“C’mere, omega,” Steve rumbled, using that low, husky tone with just a touch of possessiveness–for you–that he knew weakened your knees and made you immediately soften for him. “You’re so sweet to try to do this for me.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumped, as Steve cornered you against the counter and gently slid his arms around you to tug you against him. “I don’t have a sweet bone in my body.”

You were rigid for all of three seconds in Steve’s hold, still trying to cling to your annoyance–because it was much easier to feel than the humiliation that was lapping at you–but then he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. And the tones of happiness and fondness for you that intensified his always-addictive alpha scent filled your nose and had your body going pliant as you sank against him.

All while your inner omega chirped up a storm.

You huffed–at her, at Steve, at this whole dumb situation–but you didn’t pull away from Steve’s hold. You may have even enjoyed the way he nuzzled along your hairline and pressed a kiss to your forehead as his hands swept up and down your back in soothing strokes. 

“Thank you, omega,” Steve murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

You scoffed. “For what? Almost burning down your kitchen and having nothing to show for it?”

“For thinking of me and trying to do something nice.” 

You were quiet for a long moment, your brain zeroing in on one word–trying.

Trying and failing. 

Spectacularly. 

“I don’t understand what you see in me,” you muttered against Steve’s chest. “I bring literally nothing to the table. I’m a leech, crashing here and living off of your success and your wealth. You’re the perfect alpha, a doctor to boot, and I’m just… nothing.”

Now Steve was the one going rigid. His hands shifted so he could cup your arms as he pulled away to seek your gaze. “That couldn’t be further from the truth,” he rebutted earnestly. His brows furrowed as he ducked his head, trapping you in his gaze. “Sweetheart, to me, you’re everything.”

You hmphed even as your insides fluttered and rejoiced. Despite still feeling sore about the whole cooking debacle, you didn't resist as Steve pulled you into another hug. 

“You don’t need to do or give me anything. All I need is you,” he said, giving you a squeeze. “You just being here, being your cranky, wise-ass self makes me so happy. The happiest I’ve ever been.”

It felt like something in your chest cracked wide open and flooded your insides with warmth and wonder, and something else. Something you didn’t ever think yourself possible of feeling. 

Something you weren’t quite ready to face head on. Not yet. 

So instead, you huffed and puffed some more, muttering out a sassy, “Glutton for punishment,” as you gave Steve an unamused look. 

He smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he replied without missing a beat, “And we both know how much I love to just eat you all up.”

His smile turned wicked with a dash of boyish thrown in as he winked at you, chuckling as you rolled your eyes but also visibly squirmed. 

But before that could progress into anything interesting, your stomach growled. Loudly. You felt your face warm as Steve’s features shifted to soft amusement. 

“My favorite treat can wait though. Let’s take care of dinner first. We can cook something easy together. I have some pizza dough in the fridge, and the sauce and cheeses you like. It’ll be fun. And not even you could mess up homemade pizza.”

You squawked in outrage, poking a finger against Steve’s stupidly firm chest as you hissed, “Challenge accepted.”

He grinned, pulling you close for a beat so he could kiss you right on the mouth, slipping you a teasing hint of tongue that had you sinking against him before he abruptly pulled away.

Steve shot you a playful wink as you glared at him before turning and gathering the pizza ingredients while you tried not to watch him like such a smitten idiot.

Your inner omega was totally living her best smitten idiot life though. 

“You know, I wasn’t always good at cooking either,” Steve confessed as he set all of the ingredients on the counter before turning the oven on to pre-heat. As he faced you again, there was a gentle fondness to his smile that you had never seen before as he murmured, “I learned from my ma.”

Something about Steve’s demeanor shifted ever so slightly, and you got the sense that he was sad now, thinking of his mother, who you knew had passed away when Steve was barely an adult.

Something inside of you ached at the thought of him being sad–at him experiencing that kind of loss, and so young–so you did what you did best…teased him to try to cheer him up again. 

“I bet you were at least good at lifting heavy stuff and kneading or whatever with all those muscles.”

Steve blushed. “Actually…” his gaze fell away, the blush spreading up to his ears as he told you, “I was pretty scrawny and sickly when I was younger. Didn’t really hit my growth spurt till my mid-twenties.”

Your delight was obvious–uncontainable–as you grinned and bounced on your toes, leaning against the counter across the isle from him as you demanded, “Tell me more!”

Stealing your signature move and rolling his eyes, Steve couldn’t suppress a smile as he sighed before he started to tell you more about his Before.

And you hung off of his every word, easily falling into line and being his not-so-cranky-about-it sous chef as he tasked you with helping him make the pizza as he recalled his not so glory days.

After dinner found you curled close to Steve on the sofa, your belly pleasantly full from what had turned out to be very good pizza.

That you had helped make.

But you didn’t even obsess over the fact that you had actually helped cook something edible, because you were too busy obsessing over the photo album filled with old photos of Steve when he was young and scrawny.

“Oh my god! You were so fucking precious,” you cooed, grinning from ear to ear as you stared down at a close up shot of a young adult Steve. 

He was so small and skinny, and he definitely looked sickly, the angles of his face alarmingly sharp. But it was still the same handsome face, the same warm, earnest eyes. 

“I would have pounced on you so fast,” you declared, gently touching the bottom edge of the photo you couldn’t pull your gaze from. 

It felt so special–and intimate–for him to share this with you. Especially after witnessing your bout of insecurity earlier after having botched dinner. 

It was almost like Steve wanted to show you that although you thought him perfect, he knew he wasn’t, but it didn’t change how you felt about him. 

Just like how you sometimes felt about yourself didn’t change the way Steve thought of you–as his everything.

And yet, sharing this bit of himself and his past with you seemed to stir up some of Steve’s own insecurities, his voice sounding less amused and more unsure–even disbelieving–as he responded to your claim with a, “Really?”

That first hint of self-consciousness you had ever seen in him was enough to finally pull your attention from the photos you’d been enamored by. 

Awaiting you in Steve’s almost shy gaze was something you had never seen before–a worried kind of uncertainty–like he was concerned that sharing this less desirable truth about himself would somehow make you think of him differently. 

Would make you want him less. 

It was like he didn’t actually believe that you could have ever found him attractive and worthy before. 

Which was a total crock of bullshit, and you would make sure he knew that. 

So, you closed the photo album and set it on the coffee table before promptly straddling Steve’s lap. 

You smirked as his eyebrows shot up in surprise, twining your arms around his neck as you shifted closer, until your chest was pressed to his. 

“Even back then, you were a smoke show, Hercules. Besides,” you purred, your eyes twinkling as you watched some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “I bet there was one part of you that never needed a growth spurt in the first place.”

Your grin was wicked as you palmed the front of his pants, and Steve made this choked sound in the back of his throat as his nostrils flared and his eyes blew black with lust. 

“You want me to show you just how much I want you, alpha?” you hummed softly, moving your hand away so you could shimmy impossibly close and set the warm, hot center of you over the growing bulge at the front of Steve’s slacks. 

“Yes,” he breathed, his hands falling to frame your hips and squeeze before he started to gently urge your body over his, rocking you against him as his hips shifted restlessly beneath you. “Show me. Please. Please.”

You had never seen Steve so wrecked and wanting so quickly, and you had the fleeting thought that maybe it was an insecurity hangover, which was totally something you could relate to. Either way, you were more than happy to show your appreciation for him.

For the him Before, and the him Now. 

All of him.

“Such a needy alpha,” you taunted before leaning in to brush your lips against his. 

Your intention had been a quick tease of your mouth against his before getting your lips on the mating gland in his throat, but when you went to pull away, Steve’s massive hand caught the back of your head. He cradled your skull and reeled you back in as he tipped his face up, sought your mouth with his, and kissed you like he would simply perish if he didn’t. 

His intensity had you moaning into his mouth, your hips having a mind of their own as they rutted against him more eagerly. And you–an omega–nearly purred as Steve groaned into your mouth, gasping sharply as the press of your clothed cunt against his hard cock caught just right.

His gaze was wild–feral–as he watched you, need and desire spiking his scent and flooding the space, making your insides quiver in response and your inner omega nearly vibrate with the need to satisfy your alpha. 

So that’s exactly what you did. 

Keeping your lustful gaze fixed on Steve’s, you raked your fingers through his hair, nipping at his kiss-swollen lips before your fingers gripped his golden locks hard enough to make him grunt as you pulled his head back so his throat was bared to you. 

Your lips descended down the side of his neck, and you gave a playful nibble to the tendon bulging there before your lips arrived at their destination–Steve’s unmarked mating gland. You dragged your tongue over it slowly, your pussy clenching around nothing as Steve moaned and jerked up against you.

He rasped your name as your tongue did another slow, rough swipe, and when you gently scraped your teeth against his sensitive skin before puckering your lips and sucking, Steve made a sound that sounded very close to a whine.

Which had you moaning and writhing against him even harder. 

Steve’s hands found purchase on your hips, his big body tense as a bow string and rocking up against your own. When one of his hands rounded the curve of your ass, then slid lower, until his fingers teased between your folds from behind, shoving the wet mess of your panties and pants against your throbbing cunt, you keened. 

Your head shot up as your pussy fluttered wildly, and you met Steve’s equally rabid gaze as your lips hovered just over his–the two of you panting against each other’s lips–as you rutted against each other desperately.  

And you didn’t stop until Steve came with a shout. You watched the gorgeous sight of him coming undone, his head thrown back, his face ruddy with exertion and shining with sweat, his lips parted on a throaty moan of relief–of release–as his hips jerked against yours. 

You felt a warm deluge bloom beneath his pants, your breath catching as you watched the wet spot grow. It wasn’t even a cognizant decision, to drop your hand between your legs and rub at your aching clit through your clothes. 

Until you were reaching your own climax with a ragged cry, and jerking against Steve as you rode out the wave of pleasure, until all of your bones seemed to melt as one, and you sagged against his still heaving chest, completely spent. 

For a long moment, the two of you remained quiet, pressed close–a pile of boneless, tangled limbs–as your panting slowed to normal breathing, and Steve’s hands were once again gently sweeping up and down the length of your back as you nuzzled against the crook of his neck. 

Feeling as content and satisfied as Steve’s scent revealed him to be, you tilted your head back, your smile playful with a side of smarmy as you drawled, “Believe me now, Hercules?” 

It was the way you waggled your eyebrows that had Steve barking out a laugh. His gaze was the embodiment of warmth and that same feeling you yourself felt earlier but couldn’t bring yourself to label just yet. 

But seeing it reflected at you now by Steve had your insides fluttering all over again, and you couldn’t help but giggle, nearly ecstatic and not even mad about it, as he tugged you against his chest and kissed your cheek. 

Steve’s lips skimmed a trail to your ear before pausing, his breath a warm, pleasant rush as he rumbled out a fond, “Yeah, trouble, I believe you.”

And he did.

I had zero intention of any smut in this installment, but these two gone-for-each other hornballs had other ideas lolll. I love them so much 🥹

—

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Since you both worked together at the district attorney’s office, it immediately eased the awkwardness. With a slip of the tongue, you had offended Andy during lunch. Stating that you never had seen ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’. Andy practically had demanded you to come over for dinner and watch the film together.

As the day came to an end. You had declined his offer to give you a ride as you still had some errands to run for Neil. Andy had huffed at the mention of his name. Muttering that Neil hadn’t been worth all the extra hours so that he could get praise for the work you had done.

It had been almost two hours later than initially planned. “Andy, I’m home.” You yelled excitedly through the house as you stepped through the front door.

His muscular frame appeared in the opened-up arch of the kitchen. With a wide smirk, he placed his hands on his hips and scanned you from head to toe. A comforting warmth wrapped around you like a blanket preventing the cold from creeping in.

You weren’t prepared for the intrusive thoughts to flood back the way they did. Laurie had won the bet between you both all those years ago. It wasn’t so much a bet, it was more a way to give you stick for not going after what you desired. Your heart shattered the moment she told you she started to develop feelings for Andy.

Seeing Andy like this made all the old feelings resurface. The doting husband waiting for his partner to come home. A soft yearning for his touch or those lingering eye contact moments. Mentally rolling your eyes when you looked straight at his wedding ring. Wanting to curse yourself for having allowed their relationship to go on this way.

Their marriage was based on a lie. Laurie didn’t love him the way you did, all this yearning had stopped the moment they said “I do”. Only to find out now that those feelings never had been gone. Just stuffed and locked in an imaginary filing cabinet.

Insufferable reminders of what could’ve been clouding your head. That’s where Laurie thrived, your discomfort. And it had become her running joke, teasing you for fawning over the man that she fucked at night.

“I hope you like pizza,” Andy let out a heavy sigh, “I’ve ruined the pasta.” He confessed, supporting an embarrassed look. Leaning back against the counter of the kitchen island. His hands gripping the edge so tightly it almost seemed like it drained the blood.

Was he nervous? He couldn’t be, he had never been nervous when you were around in the past. Though the tension between you both could be cut by a knife.

“I brought beer.” You smiled, holding up the six-pack in your hand breaking the slightly awkward silence.

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not polite to come empty-handed.”

“You’re family, you’re not obliged to bring anything.” He gave you a smile grabbing the six-pack from your hands. Making his way towards the fridge, opening the door, and looking back at you. “Want one?”

“I prefer a cold one.”

He nodded, grabbing two bottles from a shelf while sliding your six-pack into one of the empty spots. He cracked open both bottles, handing you one.

A polite conversation followed as you settled yourselves in the living room. With the amount of pizza ordered, you suggested doing a taste test. Andy admitted that he didn’t know what you would like and had ordered multiple choices while he handed you a notepad and pen to scribble down your ratings of each slice.

He had started playing Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and you were so invested in the film. Almost blocking out where you were, losing track of your surroundings as the television sucked you into the story at least so you had hoped.

Your your mind wandered to other things. What would life look like if you and Andy had started dating? What if Laurie never had acted upon her impulses? He kept it neat and groomed, the bristles must be so soft. His beard would surely feel great on your skin. Those hands were large and probably very skilled. The way he gripped his beer bottle with precision and delicacy. The motion made you swallow hard, shaking your head slightly to gain back focus.

The thought of those fingers deeply buried inside you made you clench. How the curl of gesture would send you over the edge with much skill. His perfect lips wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking your core. Pleasing you in any and every way no man had ever done before.

You blamed it on the way he walked around the office. He truly must be very well hung. The way his bulge had once been shown and on full display. Remembering the way he had looked back at you through narrowed eyes. As if to tell you that you had been the reason his pants got awfully tight.

With a choked breath, your chest warmed at the sound of his laughter. Clamping a hand over your mouth when you let out a squeak from the slight shock. His eyes burned holes into your skin as you felt him watch. Though it was hard not to do the same every time he laughed at a funny part, either taking a sip of the beer in his hand or taking a bite from his pizza.

“You know you can sit on the couch, right?” The question sounded more like a demand, but you tried to avoid his gaze at all costs.

“I know, but I like sitting on the floor.” It was a swift reply, gulping your beer. Nervous feelings grew in the pit of your stomach.

“When your ass gets all stiff and tingling, you know where you can get comfortable.”

You almost choked on the gulp of beer you had just taken. Coughing and laughing as you tried to breathe. Andy slid over, softly patting and rubbing your back.

“Don’t say things like that Andy, I could’ve killed myself.”

“As long as I’m here, you’re free from harm’s reach.”

“How noble, my knight in shining armour.”

“Is that how you’ve been seeing me for all those years?”

His gloating face said it all. He knew about your crush on him. How? Did Laurie tell him? Was it all those stolen glances in the office or the ones here on his couch in his own home? Maybe even all the tortuous looks and hurrying out of the room whenever he was near in your college days?

You felt your face heat up, trying to hide your embarrassed expression. Blood pumped through your veins like it was about to blow your eardrums.

“I’ve known for years.” Andy confessed, “I must say I’m amazed and angered at the same time. You have denied yourself to try and win me for you. Were you too shy to ask me out for that sorority party?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no turning back. Lying to him or yourself wasn’t going to help either of you.

“Yes.”

“I need a little more words than that, sweetheart.” He inched his way closer to you.

“Yes, I was shy.” The lump in your throat felt uncomfortable.

“Why did you let Laurie treat you the way she did? Why did you let her win?”

“I don’t know. I should go home.” You rushed, trying to get up and run away from this mess that was unfolding. Instead, you were slammed back down, air left your lungs as you collided with Andy’s thighs. One hand kept you pinned down on his lap. The other massaging and squeezing your ass.

“It’s always been you that I truly wanted,” a warmth flooded your chest again. “Imagine my disappointment when you didn’t object during our wedding. Making me feel miserable and stuck in this marriage for years.”

Andy’s hand rubbed the globe of your ass, you gasped when his hand smacked your ass. Your muscles contracted under the impact but melted into the obtained position over his lap. The realization of him punishing you for all your past mistakes went straight to your core. Biting down on your lip to stifle the moan from breaking free.

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

“Are you really, sweetheart?” Andy asked, leaving another imprint on your ass.

“Yes.” A desperate cry for him

“How about you being exceptionally quiet and showing me how well you can take your punishment.” The question was laced with a promise. A firm one at that. “I’d like to hear how sorry you really are.”

You simply nodded bracing for impact, but it faded to surprise when he lifted your skirt. Andy hummed with satisfaction as your lace panties and garter set became exposed.

With each collision of Andy’s hand, your ass became more and more sore. Every harsh slap felt more raw than the previous one. Making you bite your lower lip, trying to keep the sounds muffled and still.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes.” You replied,

“I think you can do much better than that.”

Another smack burned on your skin. You nodded your head, crying out an “I’m sorry, Andy.”

You were surprised when Andy helped you sit back on the couch. Hissing at the burn of your ass on the fabric. Your mascara had stained your cheeks from the few tears that had slipped from the arousing pain.

His fingers softly brushed your cheek. Gathering the melted makeup or maybe even smearing it further. There was no telling in his movement.

“You look beautiful.” The whisper was barely audible and spoken with true admiration. Without thought, you pressed your lips against his. Feeling him smile into this moment. Probably because it had been the first time since you took charge of what felt right.

“Tell me you want this.” Andy breathed against your lips, as the kiss broke. Your eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze. Worry and hope both dancing in the blue hue of his eyes.

“More than anything.” It wasn’t a lie, but it would be wrong to act upon these feelings. “We can’t.”

“Laurie won’t mind. She doesn’t love me the way you love me.”

“But-”

His lips interrupted the speech you were about to recite. Guilt clearly wasn’t on Andy’s mind. The way his tongue explored every part of your mouth like he was on a scavenger hunt. Stroking, teasing, pleasing and obscenely filthy. He made you hungry for more.

Not even your wildest dreams could’ve prepared you for the searing passion. His large hands cupped your face guiding you to lie down. The moment he had you underneath him, his hands ripped your silk shirt with haste. Neither of you cared enough for the pearl buttons that flew across the room.

With a darkened hunger he glanced back at you. Toying your nipples through the laced fabric of your bra between his fingers. You arched off the couch as he pebbled and tugged on your breasts. Swiftly pulling the delicate lace down, taking one of your boobs into his mouth. You whined at the erotic swirl of his tongue, nothing but lustful precision.

His hands found the zipper on your skirt. Tugging the item off, discarding it on the floor. Running his hands over your garter belt. The look on Andy’s face said it all, he hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time. Making you his shiny new toy, ready to be devoured and owned.

You leaned up, cupping his face and pulling him into a desperate kiss. Feeling his hand smoothly moving over your panties. Your body had now become his playground, making you desperate for him. With a pout he broke of your kiss, searching for your approval as he pulled aside the material of your panties. A softened smile was enough for him to slide his fingers through your heat, coating them in your juices.

Andy brought his finger to his mouth, groaning loudly as he licked them off. You tried to look for that one moment where you would both find a reason to break this off. Yet all you found was a deepened craving to need one another.

You watched Andy lean down. Kissing his way around your thighs. The soft hair of his beard tickling and teasing your skin. Gasping at the tender lick from the tip of his tongue against your clit followed by a gentle kiss. Another lick gathered more of your soaked core. Sucking on the pulsating nub. His tongue explored every crease and crevice of your cunt.

The throbbing ache builded between your legs while Andy gently licked through your folds. Circling the tip of his tongue over your clit, making sure to tease you enough until you let out a soft whine. With every sound you made from his touch, he sucked down and placed a kiss.

He spread your legs wide, needing more space than you currently allowed him. For a moment shame coursed your body, closing your legs as far as he allowed you to. You covered your face with your arms as if to shield your emotions from him. Andy’s hands squeeze your thighs harshly, making you inhale sharply.

“Don’t you ever dare hide from me.” He warned, peeling your arms off your face. A fiery kiss pressed against your lips. Your moan seemed enough for Andy to start more exploration. Leaving your lips, pecking your jaw. Nibbling your ear, tracing your neck. Sucking, licking and teasing in order to make you focus on the sinful pleasure.

The suck of his mouth on your breasts made you arch further into him. The way he played your body like a fiddle. Making you sing a different tune. Allowing you to float on cloud nine when he had barely done anything yet.

The softness of his hands stroked your legs. Comforting you in this odd situation. Making sure to let you know it was okay to give in to him and enjoy this just as much as he did. Your panties were hooked around his fingers. Letting them be pulled down and thrown into the room.

The grip of his hands was a little rougher when he pulled your legs apart again. Coming face to face with your soaked cunt. You tried to read his face, a certain glow of admiration spreading across his features.

“Beautiful.” He praised. The whisper of his voice penetrated your mind. He clearly longed for you just as much as you longed for him.

His large palms held your ass, while the tips of his thumbs explored the outer edges of your pussy. For a moment you stopped breathing at his gentle touch. Juvenile play as if he was exploring what stroke would give him a reaction.

You watched Andy lean forward, feeling his tongue toy with your clit. Flat swipes, gentle circles and a rhythmic change between a slow and faster pace was enough to make you cry out for him. Your hands found the strands of his fluffed-up hair. Making sure he knew you appreciated his delicate touch.

His tongue swiped back and forth through your lips. Sucking his lips around your clit as he reached the top. Lewd noises filled the air as he drank up your juices.

His possession became clear when you tried to shift into another position. His large hands held you in place. Making sure you felt every bristle of his beard and movement of his mouth. His tongue sank deeper and with more pressure like a deprived man who had been kept from his dirty little secret.

You tugged his hair at the eliciting feeling building in the pit of your stomach. His beard rubbed your sensitive cunt as his tongue worked its magic. The feeling too overwhelming making your hands try to stop him. Andy hadn’t waited long to stop his actions. He furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“When I’m down here, you don’t get to interrupt me. Understood?”

“Yes-yes.” You stammered out under his gaze.

With a single nod, you felt his tongue deep between the lips of your pussy again. Delicate kitten licks toying with you and with each moan it spurred him on to fasten his actions. Burying his face for a deeper taste of you.

With a harsh suck, he popped your clit from his mouth. You felt him smiling against your pussy. Happy to be between your legs. Allowing you to play and tug his hair as long as you didn’t interrupt his meal.

His tongue flicked your pulsing clit while his thumb rubs up and down your hole. Gathering all of the dripping nectar with his mouth. Feeling the pressure of his other finger digging into your ass. Your hips bucked for a second and he pushed his thumb in.

Sobbing at the assault on your cunt only allowed for his tongue to rapidly flick and swirl your clit. The thrust of his thumb didn’t feel big enough. Only making you whine and whimper for more of his touch.

Another finger joins as you feel two fingers sliding up and down your pussy. “Yes!” You exclaimed at the relief of the soft stretch. Whining when he slid them back out.

Andy’s explored every inch of your soaked core. One of his fingers teased your entrance, making your body writhe under his touch desperately. Feeling two of his fingers slide inside felt like a gift. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he scissors them inside. Pulling them in and out to draw more of your juice out.

No man had ever given your cunt this type of attention. Not with this much precision. He hummed at the taste of everything you were giving him. Your moans increased as he made you feel so good.

“Oh fuck.” Your head craned backwards as you pulled his face closer to your cunt. Not wanting him to leave.

With a twist of his wrist, he curled his fingers against your sweet spot. Everything was happening so fast, you couldn’y even think about wrong or right anymore. His hand was covered in your sweet nectar, lapping it up with his hungered mouth. Drawing everything out that you’re giving him.

Your orgasm builded quickly, nothing but gasps, moans and whimpers leaving your body. Bucking your hips against his face was punished with his strong arm holding you down. Clearly sending you a sign that he would do all the work.

The burn of his beard had subdued due to the ecstatic feeling that rose. The squelched noises filled the air as your cunt drenched his fingers.

“Andy, please.” You screamed at the erratic pumps. Your legs clamped around his head. The spasms of your body erupted from his assault. “Please, stop, Andy.”

Shuddering around his fingers made him still his fingers and pull back from your pussy. His bewildered gaze met yours. He was a man on a mission. The grip on the couch eased up, as he let you have a moment to catch your breath.

Drawing his fingers from your core, he plunged them back in. Clearly sending you a sign that he would be the one making all the decisions tonight. Your trembling body assaulted another time as his mouth worked your core. Soft kisses and strokes helped you through your high. Working with you to come back down from the heavenly state he had put you in.

Andy got up without a warning. Holding out his hand for you to grab. Your cunt still pulsating from the mindblowing orgasm, making it hard to stand up. Rolling your eyes at this uncharming moment as he guided you up the stairs.

As he opened the bedroom door he turned back at you. Suddenly everything was starting to become too real as you stood in front of him vulnerable and naked. Guilt clouding your mind once again. Andy grabbed your waist, pulling you closer and swiftly turning your bodies, making you walk backwards. His lips teasing yours with soft pecks.

“You’re overdressed, Barber.”

He threw his head back laughing at your words. Releasing you from his grasp, undressing quickly. You glanced down your body, noting you still were in your own lingerie. Unclipping your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

Your fingers hooked under the garter belt around your waist. Andy stopped your hands from acting any further as you tried to slide it off. He raised an eyebrow, giving you a warning, watching him slide down his boxers. Gulping when his cock springs free as he pulls his boxers down.

Andy was bigger than any other man you had in the past. One thing was clear, Andy Barber wanted you more than anything. He was going to be yours for a night. Fuck Laurie and her stupid comments that still had haunted you.

You would devour him one time and then cut all ties. A way of getting him out of your system. Your hands wandered over your ass up your hips and waist. Gliding over your breasts, tweaking the nipples between your fingers.

“You’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.” Andy praised, stepping towards you. His hand settled at the base of your neck while the other cupped your cheek. His lips were hungry, searching for an entry. A filthy swipe of his tongue against your lips. Caressing your palate and dancing with your tongue. He guided you back towards the bed until you could take no more steps.

His cock pushed against your stomach, making the excitement shoot through your veins. Andy ground into you, making you clench around nothing. Humming at the strokes of his tongue, yelping when he suddenly pushed you down on the bed.

Taking advantage of your surprise he flipped you over. Climbing behind you with his knees settling on either side of your body. His hands resting beside your head, pressing loving kisses on your cheek, down your shoulder while tracing wet and sloppy marks down your spine. With every move, he slowly sat back up.

His hands caressed your ass, admiring the view underneath him. Slightly tilting your hips so your ass would spread a little, granting him more access to your pussy.

Andy ran his cock through your soaked core. Coating himself while working your excitement up again. He tapped your pussy with his length before sinking in his tip in to tease you. You gripped the sheets letting out a muffled moan.

“Please, Andy, I need more.”

“So desperate for my cock.”

“Please, fuck me.” You begged, feeling him pull out of you.

Andy repositioned himself, spreading his knees wide, making sure he all leverage over your body. A darkened smile held his face. With a single deep thrust, he nearly splitted you in half. The allowance to get used to his size was short lived when he bottomed out.

“So tight for me, sweetheart.” Andy husked, taking in every expression you displayed as you tilted your head to look back at him. He was looking for discomfort, but all you returned was a smile when he pushed back inside your walls.

His hips rocked in and out, stretching your cunt and easing off the burn. He pulled out, slowly dipping in and out of your dripping cunt. Your hands reached back to spread your cheeks for him while he slowly kept sinking in further and further.

Your hips kept lifting as he kept plunging in and out of your hole. He grabbed your hands, stopping the spread of your ass, guiding them upward above your head. With a rough grasp on your hips he impaled you deeply. Driving his cock inside your wet walls eagerly.

Soft whines escaped when he pounded you from behind. Working up your orgasm as he slided into you over and over again. Clenching around him when he angled his cock just right against your sweet spot.

He drew your body close to his when he rolled you both sideways. The pumps of his cock added more and more pleasure in this newfound position. Your foot rested on his thigh. Feeling his lips marking your neck. His large hand kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you sob at the pleasure swirling in your veins.

You squeezed around him, suddenly releasing more frantic ruts from him. The muscles of your body tensed at the spearing motion. Andy’s hand circled your waistline finding your swollen clit. His flat fingers rotated your overworked cunt. Making you squeeze him even harder as you couldn’t withhold from cumming. You trembled in his hold as he kept you close.

He slid out and laid back, his cock still throbbing as you turn your body towards him. You licked your lips at the glistened length.

“I want to admire your view. Ride me, sweetheart.” Andy ordered

It was a different request than what you initially had in mind, but it wasn’t one you were going to deny him if it meant more pleasure for you both. Soaking up every inch of love Andy was willing to give you before you had to part ways.

Throwing your leg over, he holds his cock for you to sink down on. Your mouth fell open at the renewed positioned feel of his width. Halfway there he let you take control. Sliding his own hands up your body playing with your nipples and kneading the squishy flesh of your breasts.

“So good.” You gasped, bouncing gently up and down his cock. Watching Andy’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. Upon impulse you respond by leaning forward as you keep riding him. Your lips meeting, kissing him fiercely.

With your hips circling his cock his hands were free to roam and caress your body. His hands stroked the small of your back down to your ass, helping you push down further on his cock. Pulling you back into him when you lift a little too high. Meeting the slow rocks of your hips while your mouths desperately fuck one another on their own rhythm.

His arms circled your waist, holding you down, fucking up into your drenched cunt. Breathlessly you break off the searing kiss as he fucks you deeply. His eyes watch you closely, admiring your beauty as you work up to another orgasm.

Andy flipped your bodies, making your legs fell open. He sank back in deeply, resting his arms beside you. Your needy body right where he wanted it. You’re vulnerable while he was in total control. He slowly rolled his hips into you. The friction was deep and loving. Your legs circled his waist, holding him within close proximity.

His ruts deepen with every pound, making it harder for you to breathe. Every inhale was met with a cry of pleasure. Your sobs only made him pump you harder. Fucking you harder into the mattress. You were about to reach another high when he swiftly pulls out and pumps himself on your stomach. His white ropes painted your flesh.

“I want to pump you full of me.”

“Then fuck me, Andy.”

A consensual agreement, not one of you had thought of a condom. Too busy drinking up one another. Without another word, he slid back inside your walls. Opening one leg while resting the sole of your foot against his shoulder. Slowly you fell apart as your muscles tensed up again.

A rough pounding as he fucks you deeply. Taking him to the hilt, creaming his cock with your arousal. His hand took a hold of your ankle and he pressed his lips against the inside. You watch him lean his head back, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

Andy chased his own high with a guttural growl. The orgasm rippled through you, trembling underneath him. Your body screamed for him, feeling his hot cum filling you, squeezing him dry, needing every last drop as if he was your antidote to the venemous bite.

Freshly fucked dumb and pleasured. You were taken by surprise when Andy dove back down between your legs.

“You’re going to give me one more, sweetheart,” Andy stated, clearly not having gotten enough of your sweet taste.

The swipe of his tongue feels glorious, making you sob at the feeling. He hovered back over your body, kissing your lips and letting your taste your mixed pleasure.

His beard scraped your folds, while his greedy fingers pump your filled cunt. Andy drank from your pussy like it was his last drink. The swirl of his tongue circled your clit. The perfect suction on the pulsating nub. Dragging his flat tongue over your soaked hole. The sweet nectar with his cum dripping generously.

Your hands entwine themselves in his crazed hair as he vigorously pumps you with his digits. The sweet moans filled the room, as you felt the perspiration covering your body from being overstimulated.

Andy worked your pussy like a professional. His mouth not leaving your clit while his fingers did all the pounding. Curling and twisting them inside you. Your body started to spasm against his tongue when he penetrated your hole.

Drenched for just Andy as he licked you clean. Exhausting your body to the limit. Squeezing every ounce of liquid from it, like it was his mission.

Your throbbing core had pushed out all of his cum by now. The thought of him cleaning you out from his own cum made you even more aroused. Your muscles tensed up, making the ache of another orgasm even more pleasurable.

“Please andy, don’t stop.” You whined, feeling his thick tongue licking your clit.

Andy continued until your body stopped writhing. Fully saturated when your final orgasm had taken over. He pecked your cunt with his lips. Admiring it in its whole, while watching it pulsate around nothing. The ache was still there, but it was worth it.

“You did so well for me, sweetheart.” Andy smiled, leaning upwards. His body was on top of yours, pressing his lips against yours, stroking your hair as you willingly circled your legs around his waist. Locking him into your grasp with your ankles linked.

An intimate and vulnerable moment of just you and Andy. A moment that should’ve happened years ago. But now, it was too late. The damage was already done. Guilt overtaking your body.

“She’s seeing someone else.” Andy whispered softly as if he could sense your thoughts. Your eyes grew at the spoken words. How did he know that? “I’ve known for a while. She wasn’t ready to tell the family yet.”

The heavy weight on your shoulders immediately lifted your mood. His arms circling around your waist, holding your body tightly against his.

“Why didn’t you start with that news earlier?” With a balled fist you hit his arm.