Get off my lawn

You giggle, “Hi, Bucky.” You know he’s probably just messing with you, playing with your heart and pussy before he moves on to the next girl, but you can’t help it when his attention straight goes to your head and your cunt.

So what if the campus fuckboy might be using you? Who are you to say no? He makes you feel pretty and special and lets you stay the night in his bed. You’ve never had to make your walk of shame in the middle of the night, only in the morning or in his pickup truck after lunch.

Maybe he’s not using you, maybe he really does like you and just doesn’t know how to tell you. Thats a fat load of shit, you think to yourself.

“How’d you get my number?” you ask, because in all the times you’ve seen Bucky, you’ve never once gotten his number or given him yours.

“I just asked around. Don’t worry about it. What are you doing tonight?” he asks, you can tell he doesn’t have a care in the world, probably sitting in his dorm with his feet propped up on the desk, twirling his pen with more focus than talking to you on the phone.

“Uhm. I think just studying. I have a chem test next week.”

“Boooo!” Bucky jeers. “You’re coming to my party tonight. Wear something nice, kay? One of your cute little skirts.”

You pause, really? James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, the star quarter back on thousands of dollars of athletic scholarships wants you at his party? 

Well, who are you to say no?

“Yeah, okay!” You smile happily, giggling into your phone. Bucky wanted to hang out with you? And he noticed your outfits? It was a good day to be you.

“Good, I’ll see you there, babe.”

You head back to your dorm, finally grabbing your keys out of your bag before you make it to the door.

You can hear your roommate and suitemates making noise before your key even enters the door. One of them hears you fumbling and opens it for you.

Wanda opens the door for you, smiling and greeting you before you hear Natasha shouting from the bathroom.

“Hey girl! How was class?” You can smell the burnt hair and Natasha’s perfume wafting through the air.

“It was good!” You start to giggle. “You’ll never guess who called me!”

“Who?” Nat calls back, setting her curling iron down to peer past the door frame and talk to you.

“Bucky! He got my number somehow. He wants me to come to his party tonight!”

Nat smiles at you, you’re practically shaking with excitement, zero clue what Bucky wanted from you. Maybe a little clue. You knew what guys like Bucky were after, your dad had warned you almost every single day of the summer leading up to your freshman year of college. Guys like him only want one thing. But maybe what he wanted was a chance to spend some time with you and your awesome personality?

“Are you even gonna go? You didn’t seem too happy the last time we dragged you out. Nat practically had to pull you out of bed and dress you.” Your suite mate scowls, jealous that the campus heartthrob is asking you to the party. You don’t even notice her disdain. Wanda just laughs at the other girl, ignoring the aura of jealousy that radiates from her.

“Yeah! He told me he wanted me to wear a skirt. Plus it seems like fun!” you turn to Natasha who’s back to curling her long red hair. “Nat, can you help me with my makeup? Maybe my hair?”

“Of course babe.” She smiles, while your suitemate sulks.

BORDER don’t forget to insert it this time idiot

The party’s already started, but you and Nat are still in your shared room getting ready. She told you that you couldn’t show up on time to the party because that meant you were early. You just listened to her, she knew a lot more about partying than you.

Originally, you’d tried to show Nat the outfit you’d picked out, but she just laughed and smiled at you. In that loving non-teasing way she does. Your choice of a cute cardigan and a pleated skirt was vetoed by Nat and Wanda. Wanda told you to just put on whatever Nat threw at you because you were not going to a study session at the library with the ‘nerd club,’ you were going to Bucky Barnes’s party with a personal invitation.

You ended up borrowing one of her going out tops, pairing it with a short black mini skirt from the bottom of your drawer. Nat had given it to you the first week of the semester, thinking you’d be partying with her and seeing it was your size.

It’d never seen the light of day, or the gleam of the night, but today was its chance.

Your top was way more revealing than anything you’d ever worn, the deep red flooding your body, hugging your curves and breasts, and leaving not much to the imagination. The black miniskirt almost had your ass hanging out, but you kept fiddling with it until it felt right.

You’d tried to put on a pair of spandex to cover yourself a bit more, but Nat said it ruined the outfit because the shorts were sticking out, so you listened. You listened when she threw a pair of shoes at you, and you listened when she did your makeup and said you were gonna be the prettiest girl there. You listened when she teased you for all the dick you were going to get tonight, even when the dark red of your shirt blended into your hot blushing skin.

Nat had finally decided it was time for you two to leave, so you grabbed your phone and headed out the door with her.

You started to text Bucky that you were on your way before Nat told you to stop.

“He doesn’t need to know, keep him waiting, guessing. Let him think you’re not coming.”

“But why? That’s mean! I told him I’d be there.”

“Just listen to me babe. Okay?” You nodded, not understanding but trusting her.

You arrived at the frat house, the party already in full swing. The lights were flashing, music pumping, and you thought you could already smell something nasty coming from the house, but you ignored it.

Nat quickly dashed off to find one of her girlfriends, blowing you a kiss and leaving you alone in the middle of the crowded room.

You debated texting Bucky to come find you, but Nat’s voice in your head told you not to. Told you that you didn’t want to look desperate, but was it desperate to seek out the guy who invited you? You didn’t know, so instead you found your way towards the snacks.

There was a brother standing at a table, chatting up some pretty blonde and offering her a drink. You stepped up to ask for one.

“Oh heyyy, I know you! I’ve seen that video Buck’s got.” He looked at you, passing you a tall can. “I heard that Bucky invited you. We all didn’t think you’d show up!”

You laugh sheepishly, ready to go into your spiel about how he’d asked you but you cut yourself off. They didn’t need to know everything. But then you wonder, what video could he be talking about?

“Here’s a drink, hon. Buck’s around here somewhere.”

The thought of whatever video fades away, you smiled and thanked him, cracking open the can and taking a sip, before literally spitting it out. It tasted like TV static, the fruits on the front of the can lying to you about their involvement. You awkwardly set the drink on a random table, choosing instead to follow the music.

Someone bumped into you, spilling one of their drinks all over you.

“Fuck! I’m sorry girl. Here, have some of this, I’m so sorry.” The girl offered a bottle to you. Her empty solo cup now all over your outfit. It smelled strong, but she seemed nice, so you took a swig from the bottle she offered you. The taste of rubbing alcohol filled your nose, burning your nostrils and throat on the way down. You coughed as your eyes watered. You tried to fan yourself to stop the tears that would definitely ruin all of Nat’s hard work.

The girl laughed at you, asking “Never had vodka?” You shake your head. “Here. Go over to that table over there. There’s one guy giving out seltzers that suck but there’s another table with a mixed punch thingie. Jungle juice I guess, probably more up to your speed.” She’s close to your ear, but still yelling over all the voices and music.

You follow her advice. There was a table opposite the first one you went to. There were a few brothers at the table, a large punch bowl, and a large stack of red solo cups. One of the guys notices you and pours a cup for you, handing it to you while he whispers to the other guys at the table. You ignore the whispers of “Bucky” “What’s her name?” and “that video.”

You take a sip of the drink, fruity punch flavor coating your mouth and a slight burn traveling down your throat. It’s fruity, sweet, and there’s something else you can’t figure out.

You soon found yourself in the middle of the crowd, body swaying to the music, letting yourself have fun. You didn’t care where Bucky or Nat were, you were doing your own thing, whatever your own thing was, and trying to make it seem like you knew what you were doing. (Does anyone here really know what they’re doing?) There was foggy smoke all around you, smelling somewhat herbal but also kind of gross, but you just ignored it. You had your fruity little drink in hand, music in your ears, and not a care in the world. Nat would be proud of you, letting lose and getting down.

Two hands found your waist, your ass, and slid up your sides. You turned around quickly before seeing who it was. You smiled.

“Hey Buck!” A smile crossing your face, whatever was in your drink had you feeling a little looser, louder, more talkative. Your hands trailed up Bucky’s arms as you both swayed to the music. His thick muscular biceps felt electric under your soft dainty fingers. His eyes raked over your body, staring at you like a predator who’s locked eyes on it’s newest prey. Animalistic and heavy. His eyes trailed from your pretty little tipsy smile to the shiny necklace placed perfectly between your tits, to the sticky sweet borrowed red shirt, to your itsy bitsy little black mini skirt that definitely had your ass on display for the entire party.

“I started to think you weren’t coming, sweet cheeks.” Bucky smiled, hands roaming your body wherever they pleased. His hands settled on your waist with a possessive manner. He smelled like the clouds of smoke in the room, and his breath smelled like beer.

“Oh no! I’m sorry! I could’ve texted you!” You replied anxiously, going to open your phone and show him the text you’d planned to send to him. Bucky just laughed.

“It’s all good doll. No need to fret.” He laughs as he spins you, your ass straight on his bulging crotch. Your body feels so loose you can’t help but grind on him to the beat of the music, feeling yourself, feeling him, feeling the vibrations of the bass has your body all hot and sweaty in more ways than one. 

You guys dance for awhile, letting Bucky’s hands roam aimlessly while he mindlessly flicks through his phone, seemingly waiting on something.

Bucky pulls you into his arms and leans into your ear, whispering soft and sensual,

“You ready babe? I wanted to have some fun with you tonight.” He grins at you devilishly, eyes flickering with something more than just fun.

You smile and nod as his hand slips into yours, dragging you through the sweaty bodies and off the dance floor. He cornered you in a somewhat quiet hallway, pushing you gently against the wall before his hand cupped your face.

“I’m glad you listened to me,” he starts, words in between soft gentle kisses on the side of your neck. You drop your mostly empty cup on the floor while your hands fly to Bucky’s bicep and pitch black hair. You hum quietly as he decorates your neck with his spit. Lips, tongue, teeth, your neck is bared to all.

“Well you asked me to come and wear a skirt. Nat told me I wasn’t allowed to wear one of my normal skirts. I had a cute little black one picked out with my purple cardigan but Wanda told me I couldn’t wear it. I hope this is okay…” Bucky cuts you off with a kiss to your lips. He grabs your ass with primal need as you yelp helplessly.

“It’s perfect baby. Seeing you on that dance floor with your ass out for the entire party gave me a boner.” He whispers into your ear, you giggle helplessly. “Made me want to take you right there on the DJ table and show the whole party who you belong to.”

“Bucky!” You cry out, hiding your face in your hands. 

“What? I’m just telling the truth!” he laughs, biting your earlobe playfully.

“But thats dirty!” You squeal as your face heats up, still covered by the safety net of your hands.

“Not as dirty as all the things we’re about to do, doll.” Bucky flashes that playboy smile at you, melting your knees and your pussy sooner than you can ask what things you’re doing.

He takes you by the hand again, furiously texting on his phone with the other.

You quickly made it to a room you recognized as Bucky’s, remembering the last time you were here made your face and your core heat up.

“So uhm, what did you have in mind?” You ask awkwardly, you’re fiddling with the hem of your skirt, really noticing how tiny it is now.

“Well sweets, I got this friend, one of our new pledges, he needs some help. Thought you and I could help him.”

You smiled sheepishly, you were always willing to help people!

But then, you weren’t exactly sure how this was helping.

You were laid on Bucky’s bed, knees up in the air as Bukcy was rubbing your clit through your underwear. You were already soaking wet while he talked to his friend.

You’d seen him before, a skinny little blonde boy who always sat in the front of the class, always ready to help the teacher or any student with anything. Never thought you’d see him in this setting, with him looking at your cute underwear up your skirt. Your pretty pink panties on display for both boys, and practically anyone who could walk into the room.

“Look Steve, I’m barely even touching her and you can see how already wet she is through her panties.” Steve nodded, almost ready to pull out a pencil and paper to take notes. “Gotta find a girl like this, but they’re not very easy to come by. I got lucky with this one.” Bucky continues to play with your clit, pointing out the growing wet spot on your pretty pink panties.

Bucky’s pace is tortuously slow, letting Steve watch the way your legs shook and the soft moans you let out. You were biting your lip to hold back your noises, nervous with the new person in the room, or maybe it was the fact that anyone could walk in at any moment. But that also kind of turned you on. You weren’t really sure how to feel right now, all your blood and hormones traveling straight to your pussy.

Bucky notices the strain on your face, his hands stop and he caresses your leg tenderly, comforting, not at all evil. “Come on pretty girl, let him know how good it feels when I touch you like this. Poor Steve’s probably never gonna get some pussy. This is as close as he’ll ever get to one. You’re helping him a lot, sweets.” Bucky coos, patting your thigh as you twitch helplessly.

Bucky presses down harder, making his circles tighter, giving delicious pressure to your clit through your panties. You let out a loud moan, and a pathetic Buckyy pleaseee.

“Look Steve.” Bucky had pulled your underwear to the side, showing your glistening pussy. You were practically dripping already, your panties and Bucky’s fingers soaked.

“Wow Buck, she’s so wet!” Steve exclaimed.

Bucky stopped touching you momentarily, leaving you whining. You felt cold air on your pussy before you even registered that he’d taken your panties off. He pressed your knees to your chest, putting your entire pussy on display.

You could see the toes of your shoes just beyond your knees, you wrapped your arms tightly around them. Pressing your thighs together just a little bit of friction.

“Look Steve, could practically shove two fingers into this pussy. Barely even needs to be stretched, go on Steve, give it a try. You good with that, princess? I know I’m the only one who’s ever touched you there but I’m sure Steve will be gentle.” You let out a soft yes, back arching when Steve stuck one finger into your pussy.

“Woah.”

Bucky laughs, “You’re finally touching some pussy, man. Maybe little Stevie won’t die a virgin.”

“So, like what do I do? How do I make her feel… good?” Steve’s eyes can’t pick a spot to look at, your puffy pulsing pussy, your aching quivering legs, or a Bucky’s icy commanding gaze.

“However you want, this girl loves fucking anything. It’s why it’s good to pick out a virgin, they’re new and everything feels good.Try something.”

The air goes still, and you peek between your legs to see that Bucky’s grabbed Steve’s fingers, placed them in his own mouth, and is decorating his fingers with his saliva.

It’s incredibly hot.

Even more so when Steve’s spit covered fingers enter your sloppy pussy, you can’t help but quiver and shake as your pussy pulses around his fingers.

Steve slowly moves his finger in and out of your pussy, relishing the moans and slickness your body lets out. The way your pussy is glistening in the lowlight has Steve mesmerized. The sight alone has him pulled in, and the way your pussy sucks his finger back in has him close to cumming in his pants.

You hear Bucky and Steve conversing, lost in your own pleasure and you can’t find a map to bring you to be able to understand.

You whine when Steve’s finger leaves your gaping hole, even one finger has you feeling full, and so empty when it’s gone. No wonder you’re so obsessed with Bucky’s cock.

Bucky lets your legs rest, opening them up to show the top of your pussy. He pulls at the top, pulling the hood of your vulva up and exposing your clit to the cold air. You shiver at the feeling, squealing when Bucky playfully blows on it.

“See that? That’s her clit. She fucking loves getting that played with. That’s where I was touching her through those cute panties. Give her some love, spit on it.”

“But, why? She’s so wet, does she need it?” Steve questions, curious but willing.

“No, but she wants it. I bet her poor pussy is squeezing at the thought of it. Right, pretty girl?”

You’re too out of it to answer, letting all the pleasure go to your head, it flows through your veins like a deadly poison, infecting ever inch of your body until you can’t breathe.

It upsets Bucky when you don’t answer, enough for him to give you a quick back handed slap to your clit. His knuckles catch on your clit, making it feel that much better. You let out a little yelp whine, before trying to pay more attention to Bucky’s words.

“I’m trying to teach here, baby girl.” He chides. “You like when I spit on this tight little pussy, right babe?” He asks again.

You whine out, “Y-yes Bucky! It feels so good!” You manage to get out, the words heavy and cotton on your honeyed tongue.

“Good girl,” and that has you pussy clenching on air (the boys noticed) “See Steve. This is how lucky I got with this one. She likes everything and knows how to listen.”

Steve nods intently, still itching to dive back deep into your pussy. To study it like he does his textbooks, to trace every curve and bend with his fingers, or his tongue. To study the noises and the twitching of your pleasure.

“Sometimes you might have a girl who needs a little extra lube, or you get the ones like this who could cum at the thought of you spitting on her. Go on, Steve.”

You hear the sound of Steve spitting, the wetness landing almost directly on your asshole.

“Well damn Steve. Work on your aim!” Bucky teases him, before spitting directly on your clit. It gives you a jolt, your pussy clenching around nothing, again.

“Touch her right there Steve, that little nub. She’ll be screaming in seconds once you give her some attention.” Bucky instructs. “I mean, you remember what a mess she was when she had her panties on!”

Steve listens to him, touching your neglected clit. He barely taps it, just a gentle nudge, but your entire body shakes with a loud moan.

“Mmph! Fuck!” You cry out, as Steve plays with your clit. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just rubbing aimlessly. It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s novice, but it feels so good.

“Legs up slut. Steve needs a better angle.” Bucky pushes your legs back up, making you hold your knees to your chest.

Your legs are spread open wide, like Steve and Bucky are about to study for an anatomy test, of your pussy.

“You gotta put some effort into it if you want her to cum. Like this.” Bucky pushed Steve’s hand away, replacing his softer, nerdy, fingers with Bucky’s more callous, athletic, ones.

While Steve’s fingers were studying you, taking their time to bring you to the top, Bucky’s fingers are dominating, pushing you up that hill of ecstasy.

You feel two fingers glide across your clit, rubbing in a circle motion. It has you moaning and bucking your hips, begging for Bucky to give you more.

Bucky goes faster, and you feel a familiar finger enter your tight hole. Now that Bucky and Steve have been playing with your clit and fanning the flames of your arousal, it’s not enough stimulation, you’re so used to Bucky’s huge cock.

“Please! Buck! Steve! I need more!” You cry out, hips bucking like a mechanical bull. Bucky laughs at your begging.

“Give her another finger Steve, since she’s been such a good girl.”

Suddenly two fingers are messily thrusting into your pussy, Bucky speeds up his fingers, instructing Steve how to do exactly what he’s doing.

“Flip your hand over so your palms up, yeah good boy Stevie.” Bucky teases, but you can feel the flutter of his fingers and hear the tiny whimper he lets out, and it just turns you on even more.

“Okay now, move your fingers like you’re trying to pull her closer.” Steve manages to hit your g spot just right in a way that has you screaming and begging to cum.

Your saccharine whines and begs are like a symphony to their ears, both boys are desperate for anything and everything.

“God Buck, she’s so- Fuck man I’m hard.” Steve lets out, panting heavily, embarrassment seeping into his voice, it drips through his words like honey and milk, sweet and ambrosial. His tone makes him sound like an ashamed little puppy dog, sad, submissive, ready to learn. Makes your wet pussy even wetter. The thought of sweet Steve Rogers embarrassed by pitching a tent while just playing with your pussy has your core burning. Your pussy is practically drooling at the thought of Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s domination ready to rip you to shreds.

“Go ahead, Steve, pull your dick out. I’m sure she’ll give it some love later. She’s a good girl.”

Your pussy loses Steve’s fingers as he quickly unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, you hear a hiss as fingers enter your cunt again. Steve is panting as he slowly jerks his cock to fingering your cunt. Your pussy tightens even more, so incredibly turned on by the thought of it and you can’t even see it.

You can’t see the way soft, long, slender fingers slowly stroke Steve’s dick, which is practically making a puddle of precum on the floor. You don’t see the way his mouth is agape at the sight of your pussy being abused by two different men.

You don’t see the way Bucky’s thicker calloused fingers wrap around Steve’s soft thin fingers, and how he helps his underclassment stroke his own cock. You don’t see the way Steve almost draws blood biting his lower lip to hold back his sweet soft salacious moans. You don’t see Steve’s soft blue eyes lock into Bucky’s icy hard ones, or the way both boys are torn between staring at each other or your velvety folds.

The unmistakable coil in your gut is tightening, your body is practically vibrating with pleasure. Your fingers find purchase in the sheets, pretty manicured nails almost ripping holes in the cheap university provided fabric.

You can barely form the words as they fly off your tongue. “Buck- shit. I’m so close! I’m gonna cum. I’mgonnacum!” Bucky and Steve’s fingers are working together to bring you to orgasm, the perfect combination to have you unraveling.

It hits you hard, like bright paint splattering a canvas. Splatters of red passion, pink lust, and white ecstasy mixing in your mind, body and blood, all over the walls. Your body tenses as the release of pleasure has your pussy clenching so hard it forces Steve’s fingers out, Bucky’s entire hand is rubbing your clit now like a mad man.

After being hit by a train, Bucky still doesn’t stop. His fingers practically vibrate over your clit, nonstop movement despite you screaming “oh god!” “too much!” and “Bucky please!” Your body is tight and you can feel the pleasure building up. You don’t see as Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, but you feel the way Steve’s fingers enter your pussy again as Bucky tortures your clit.

You’re screaming, panting, sobbing, loud enough that the entire party can hear you, but the boys don’t relent.

The pressure and pleasure don’t stop until your orgasm overtakes you, your legs tense and your body tightens and you squirt all over the boys.

Steve hears and feels it before he sees it. He hears the wet hot squelching of his fingers crooked into your g-spot, deep, spongy, and pleasure filled. Steve almost gasps, watching you gush around his fingers. Bucky’s moan is deep, long, and low as his figure-eighting fingers collide with your long steady stream of ecstasy.

The way you scream is sexually depraved, your back is arched so high it could snap into two, your legs are so tense you could pull a muscle. It’s the best most intense feeling you’d ever had.

The boys watch in unison as one last spurt trickles out and around Steve’s finger. He’s so overwhelmed by his studious stupor that he can’t help but dive in and get a taste, tongue savoring and studying your juices. He’s got one hand holding your leg, his other hand tormenting your poor pussy. His mouth replaces Bucky's fingers as he practically licks you clean.

You’re still trying to calm yourself from your high, but the boys don’t care. You feel Steves mouth move away, his tongue relenting from its afflictions, just to be replaces by Bucky’s a moment later. Unlike Steve’s tongue, which was desperate and heady, Bucky is soft and tender, savoring you with all the time in the world. The boys are fighting over who gets to taste you, both heads between your legs as they slowly lick your nether regions.

Your screams subside to pants, as your knuckles give way to the sheets. Your body is dizzy while your mind is fuzzy, and your mind is shaking and your body is spinning. Your body feels limp and stiff, and your brain feels dumb and enlightened, all at once.

Steve pulls back, and sits there in awe, covered in and tasting your juices. Bucky’s tongue slows it’s pace and gives you reprieve. Everyone in the room is panting.

“You see that Steve? She just fuckin squirted all over you. That’s my good girl.” He gives your clit a few loving pats, jolting your entire body as you come down.

“Fuck man! She’s like- like straight out of some porno!” Steve gasps out.

Bucky just laughs at him, shoving two fingers back into your cunt, and then a third, just for good measure. The torture is relentless, but your pussy tightens around him, begging for more.

“Buckyyy-“ You whine.

“Do you need something, doll? You know you gotta ask for it.” He mocks you as he licks his fingers clean of your slick.

You whine, you bring yourself up to your elbows, barely able to look Bucky in the eye as the dirty words form on your lips in a way that would make the church ladies faint.

“I want your dick.” You mumble softly, words floating on clouds towards his ears, which practically perk up like a dog hearing it’s favorite words.

“You begging for this cock, huh baby?” You nod fervently.

“Alright baby. Give Stevie and I a show first.” You nod as you sit up on the bed, legs still shaking from your orgasm. But you obey Bucky, like always.

You gingerly take off your shirt, it’s mostly dry now, still a little bit sticky with whatever drink got spilled on you. You cups your covered breasts in your hands, giving them a little movement when you reach to take it off.

Steve’s in a pure state of disbelief and awe. He can’t believe this is happening. The way you carefully remove your bra straps, teasing them with your slow pace.

Steve’s jaw drops when you finally reveal yourself, it’s like he’d never see a pair before. Steve’s eyes are so laser focused you’re sure he’s about to bring out his notebook and take notes, or write poems about your tits.

Bucky just laughs at Steve, slapping him on the back. All your left in is your pretty little skirt, no shirt, no bra, no panties, no dignity.

“Alright alright. Ass up baby girl.” Bucky declares.

You quickly get into position, listening to Bucky’s pants fall to the ground and his quiet words instructing Steve. You hear Steve shuffling too, before he sits down right in front of you. His cock is still out, didn’t even bother to take his pants or underwear off, just pulled down enough to let his cock through.

Bucky finally gets into position, slapping your ass once he’s behind you. The pretty skirt you put on earlier is flipped up for a clear view of your ass.

“Come on pretty girl, give Steve’s cock some love. Thank him for giving you such a good orgasm.” You nod intently, coming up on your elbows to come eye to tip with Steve’s dick. It’s far different from Bucky’s shorter, skinnier, not as veiny, but still, pretty. The tip is bright pink and shiny with precum. Poor thing looks like it’s been neglected all night.

You give a small lick to his tip, tasting salt and Steve as you wait for his reaction. It comes out as a soft breathy moan, giving you pride, you continue. The noise he makes is inexperienced, embarrassed, heavenly.

You slowly lick from the bottom to the top, relishing in the high pitchy moans that escape Steve’s throat. The noises are foreign to his tongue. He sounds like a student learning a completely new language. You spit in your hand, using it as lube to spread all over his cock, letting him enjoy it before finally taking it in your mouth.

The second your mouth is fully on him, Bucky shoves his cock deep into you.

Even though Steve’s dick isn’t very long, Bucky’s thrust has you so deep you’re gagging on him, nose always to his mons pubis. Steve chokes back a moan as you choke on his dick.

Bucky doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, his pace almost unbearable. The way he pounds your pussy is familiar and comfortable. He knows what he’s doing, he knows he won’t break you.

But Steve on the other hand, his hands are fluttering everywhere, unable to decide where he wants them. He can’t keep them still but he doesn’t want to disrespect you or Bucky by touching you.

Bucky sighs, stopping his movements while you whine. He leans over you, grabbing Steve’s hands in his own and placing them on your head.

“She’s not made of glass Steve.” Steve nods. “I promise you won’t break her.”

Steve’s eyes widen, he doesn’t believe Bucky.

Bucky sighs again, tapping your hips. You slowly and hazily turn around, wincing as Bucky slaps your ass as it moves away from him. Now your ass is in front of Steve as he clumsily takes his pants off. And your mouth is in front of Bucky's long cock, just like that first time you guys had met.

Steve’s eyes glisten the way your pussy gleams, as he slowly strokes his cock.

“Just shove it in there Stevie. We don’t got all day.”

Gently, Steve grasps your hips, one hand wrapped around his shaft, and uses it to slap your clit. You moan, groaning louder and deeper the farther he went into your sopping wet hole.

He continued his slow gentle pace, still treating you like fragile glass, while Bucky fucked your mouth rough and hard.

Bucky, irritated with Steve’s carefulness, slams into your mouth, choking you with his cock, all the way back onto Steve’s cock. Steve is buried completely to the hilt, both of you screaming in ecstasy. Your vibrations carry up Bucky’s shaft, pulling at hisnerves and making him twitch.

“Come on Steve. She’s a slut, show her who you are.”

It finally settles in Steve, when he grabs your arms and uses them as leverage to fuck you. Your chest falls to the bed, making your mouth open wider for Bucky’s cock.

As if on cue, the door slams open to a group of a dozen boys with bright flashy cameras. It seems like with Bucky you can never avoid them.

The boys gather around, whooping loudly as Bucky and Steve are handed beers.

You can barely see anything, the way your ass is in the air being pounded by Steve, your tits pressed into the bed, your arms pinned tightly to your back, and your nose being buried in Bucky’s hairs.

Steve let’s put an embarrassed yelp, taking the beer like a prized possession.

“Come on Steve, you gotta drink the beer for the initiation to work!” Someone teases.

It dawns on you, you realize that you're being used for humiliation and someone’s pleasure. You’re an object used for someone’s trick.

Why is that so hot?

Why does that make you cry and pulse around Bucky’s and Steve’s cocks?

Why does Steve pounding your poor sweet pussy while beer dribbles from his chin to your ass crack make you start to squirt for the second time?

Why do the other boys' cheers and chants while squirt pulses out from you like a water gun, make you want to be used for the entire rushing class?

“There we go. That’s my good girl.” Bucky mocks you as Steve abuses your velvety dripping hole. “You want a beer baby?” he asks calmly, cupping your chin. You can barely form words, somewhat embarrassed but incredibly horny over the fact that theres so many people watching you. You shrug, a hint of uneasiness because you’ve never really had beer.

You’ve also never been fucked stupid with a cock in your mouth in front of a dozen people, but theres always a chance to try new things, right?

Bucky brings you up, telling Steve to slow down a little bit.

Steve grunts a few times, barely holding back his own orgasm.

“Come on Steve, let her have a drink first.” Steve obliges, slowing to a torturous pace, feeling every ridge and vein and the perfect little tip scrapping your entire pussy.

Bucky lets you grab onto his body like an anchor, slowly feeding you the rest of his beer can. You swallow a little bit, before choking and spitting everywhere.

“Not a fan?” he chides. You shake your head, eyes falling back to his full mast cock. He laughs but he nods, letting you go back to choking on him while he finishes his beer.

Steve returns his pace, whining and grunting, holding your hips like they owe him money. “Oh Buck- I’m- I’m gonna cum.” Steve whines, pitful and needy.

Bucky laughs loudly. “Well, ask the lady!” He pulls his cock from your mouth. “Where do you want Stevie to cum honey?”

Your brain is jumbled around and scrambled into a mess, but you can just barely make out the words “on me” before Bucky and his friends start howling.

“You heard her, Steve. Give the lady what she wants!”

Steve obliges, leaving your soaking pussy empty as he strokes his cock with quick fervent strokes. It’s messy the way he comes all over your back, white, hot and passionate.

The howling whooping boys finally leave the room once Steve is finished.

But Bucky’s not.

You laughed a little. “This is a Ouija board. You don’t get premonitions from that.”

You weren’t sure how your friend, Beth, convinced you to do this in your new home. It was a little older and needed some work, but it was still nice. A perfect place to make a home. 

Though for the few days you had been there, the rooms felt inexplicably cold at times. It felt like someone was watching you, especially when you were in the bathroom or bedroom. And you swore someone was whispering your name before you went to sleep. 

But it had to be jitters since you lived alone. 

No one was there except for you. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun,” she joked, closing her eyes. “Is there someone here with us?”

“I don’t think-”

The planchette began to move, Beth’s eyes going wide when it landed on “YES.”

“That…” She swallowed hard. “That wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t me either,” you said, your heart racing faster. “What’s your name?”

The planchette moved again, slowly stopping at five letters. 

“Bucky,” you whispered. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Beth asked. 

You shrugged because you had no idea. “Are you the one watching me?”

“Watching you?” she questioned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The planchette went back to the word “YES.”

You both froze. Beth had a terrible poker face, so you knew she wasn’t doing this. But spirits didn’t exist. 

Right?

“What do you want?” you asked. 

Y. O. U.

Your heart stopped. 

“I think we’re done.” Beth practically shoved the board away, laughing nervously. “Old houses, huh?”

You tried to laugh. Play it off like a joke. But you couldn’t. 

Because someone named Bucky was watching you. 

And what would he do to have you?

Ooh. What will he do? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

"Hey! James! Over here!" Rebecca’s voice can be heard from somewhere in the distance, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. The airport was bustling with activity, people rushing to catch their flights or make it home. Bucky maneuvers through the crowd, his suitcase in tow, scanning faces at the arrivals bay until he finally spots his sister. Only half a year has gone by since he's last seen her, and yet she looks different, more grown up if that's even possible. It makes his chest squeeze slightly with the uncomfortable reality of this being one of many things he misses while he's gone.

"Hey Becs," his greeting comes in the form of a smothering hug, the kind only big brother's know how to give. She whines dramatically about him ruining the sign she made for him, pushing at his chest. He looks down at the piece of poster paper squished between them and chuckles. It's a small cheesy welcome home sign, clearly written in haste as most of the letters are wonky and the glitter thrown at it looks half-assed. He pulls away, grabbing it from her hands and smoothening it out before giving it back, "See, all better." She rolls her eyes, slapping at his arm and grumbling under her breath, "You big buffoon, learn to be more careful." Bucky barks out a laugh in response that only serves to annoy his sister more. Oh, how he's missed this.

He ignores her protests as he slings an arm around her shoulders, pushing them past the crowd of people in the direction of the elevators. "Folks didn't come?" He asks her as they get in and she shakes her head, pressing the button labeled L2, "Ma wanted to stay home and cook you up something nice for tonight. She's driving us all crazy making sure everything's perfect for you." Bucky frowns, and Becca looks at him like she's said too much, "Everything?"

The elevator doors open and they step out. "Yeah, you know how Ma gets about her cooking," Rebecca replies, waving her hand in the air like it's no big deal. He decides it's best not to press the issue, it's just dinner after all.

The conversation changes as they make their way to her car. Rebecca catches his up on her life post graduation. She talks about her new job in the city over, the apartment she's renting with a couple roommates, the coworker she doesn't get along with, how she still visits their parents on the weekends and oh, how can she forget to mention how ridiculously in love her roommates are with his teammate and friend, Steve Rogers.

"You have to get me tickets when you go back. I don't think they'll forgive me if I don't give them a chance to meet him," she mentions, and he hums in response, not fully paying attention as he places his suitcase in the backseat. But it's not like she has anything to worry about, her little sister privileges always win over Bucky in the end.

"Let me drive," he offers, closing the backseat door. Rebecca looks at him like he just asked her something atrocious. "Absolutely not. My car, I drive. Now get in," she orders, not hearing him out at all and getting into the driver's seat. Bucky is too tired to argue, so he heads over to the passenger seat and reluctantly buckles in. But as she's pulling out of the parking lot he realizes, there's something, no, someone she hasn't mentioned at all.

Bucky says your name out loud, pretty as always, but foreign on his tongue as he hasn't heard it anywhere, but in his head for years. Rebecca's body goes rigid, and he doesn't notice at first as he asks, "How's she doing?" He knows he has no right to ask. He knows he has no right to pry into your life or know anything about you now, but he can't help it. He needs to know. Maybe if he knows that insistent thrum beneath his ribcage will finally go away.

Rebecca stares straight ahead at the traffic on the road like it's the most interesting thing she's seen in a long time, exhaling apprehensively, "I don't know."

Well that's shocking.

"You don't know?" Bucky echoes, face pulling in a frown of disbelief. Rebecca's hold on the steering tightens ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation being you. "Yeah, I don't know. We haven't been friends for years. Why would I keep up with her?" At that revelation, Bucky can practically feel the way his eyes bulge out of their sockets, a dreadful feeling creeping in to his system.

"Wait—hold on. You haven't been friends with her for years? When did that happen?" He's trying his best to wrap his head around it all. His brain picking out every memory from the last few years, holidays and birthdays he attended and not once did anyone mention you and his sister no longer being friends. Well, no one mentioned you at all, and your absence was felt, but he thought your absence had to do with what happened between you and him, not what apparently happened between you and Becca.

"Years ago," she replies simply.

"Becca."

"What? You asked, I answered."

Bucky stays silent, staring at his sister expectantly. She glances at him briefly, biting the inside of her lip knowing her brother is too stubborn to not keep pushing for more answers. "We stopped being friends after our first year of college. Things were already rocky when we started, but… I don't know we drifted apart—things happened." Her response was vague, like it took effort to reach into the past and look for a proper explanation.

"Things?" He couldn't help, but keep pushing.

Rebecca sighs, "Yeah, things. New friends, boyfriends, different schedules—look, it was a lot of things, but mainly she changed. A lot."

"What do you mean she changed?"

She rolls her eyes, Bucky evidently having pushed her too much, "God, what's with all the questions? Why do you even care?"

The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but he's too much of a coward to let it out. "I don't know, maybe because the three of us were best friends from the moment you two were put in the same kindergarten class. Because we were basically like family to each other."

"Yeah, well, that's in the past now."

The sadness in her voice tugs at Bucky's heart, watching her slump in her seat. It's obvious she wants the conversation to end, retreating into herself the way that she is. Whatever happened between you still weighs heavy on her heart. Whatever Bucky hoped to learn about you upon his return will have to wait. He thought his sister would be the one to give him answers, but all she managed to do was raise more questions.

Bucky turns to face the window, deciding it's best to not bring you up anymore. Rebecca's shoulders relax at that, reaching over to turn on the radio so the music can fill the tense silence. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the music, but nothing can stop his thoughts from drifting to things he's been avoiding.

When he first decided to take a longer break than he usually gives himself, it was to give himself a chance to figure out what comes next. Racing professionally had always been his dream, but once he achieved it, he felt lost on the after. His racing career took off when he was young, too young to understand when something takes off so fast and bigger than himself, some people get left behind in the dust.

For years, his racing career was overwhelming in the best way. Making a name for himself, proving he was good enough, was all he strived for. His parents and sister had always been supportive, even when certain family members gave their unwanted opinions on how he'd never make it, certain he'd fail. And even though they only got to see him during the holidays or when he flew them out to one of his competitions, his parents and Rebecca cheered him on every step of the way. Promotions, sponsorships, media events, touring—it took up all his time for over half a decade.

But when he finally has made a name for himself, when he finally has the fame, the recognition, when he always wins… what's the next big thing he has to look forward to?

That question brought him back here, back home. Feeling lost on his purpose and fulfillment in life made him come back to where it all started. But being back here brings him back to you. And back to the biggest regret of his entire life.

Beyond the window of the car, the streets stretch out into something more familiar. They pass his old high school, the local bakery his mother used to send him to get fresh bread every week, the street that leads to his father's office, the corner store where your first boyfriend used to work, a sleazy guy he remembers punching the hell out of in that very corner for breaking your heart. They pass a park that's been here for ages, the rusty almost rundown playground evidence of its lack of maintenance, but all the years of usage. He remembers taking you and Becca there all the time when you were kids. Chasing you two with his friends around the playground, or pushing you on the wings just a little harder every time to hear you laugh harder. Every inch of this town were where his roots were founded on and surely it must have the answers to what he's looking for.

It takes another fifteen minutes before Becca pulls into the driveway of their childhood home, a cozy light blue two story building with his mother's meticulously cared for flower beds with blue and pink hydrangeas proudly displayed in the front. There's more cars on the street than he last remembered, but he guesses the number neighbors must have grown since the last time he's been here. It wouldn't be the only thing that's changed since then.

Bucky steps out of the car, wondering if maybe he has a chance to take a nap before dinner. He vaguely listens to his sister ramble on about their mother's plans for tonight as he opens the backseat door to get his suitcase. Becca is whining about how they'll probably have to play Yahtzee for the millionth time, when he gathers his things and follows behind her.

His sister walks to the side of the house, confusing Bucky until she explains. "Gotta use the side door, the front's stuck again." Right. At least that's another thing that stayed consistent. No matter how many times his father or Bucky put in the effort to fix the door, it somehow always managed to get stuck. And his father was always too stubborn to replace it no matter how many time his mother asked him to. Stubbornness seems to run in the family.

They step into the backyard, and Bucky was halfway through making an amused comment about his father not fixing that damn door when a loud cacophony of the word surprise startles him. When Becca had mentioned the word everything earlier, when it came to what their parents had prepared for him, what she meant was a welcome party. Various family members and friends of the family were all gathered to welcome him home at least forty people. Tables were set up in neat rows decorated with blue race car table covers to match the balloons tied to each ends. Blue pennant banners were strewn from tree to tree, and whatever his parents were cooking at the grill had his stomach growling like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

So much for hoping to take a nap.

Bucky is touched by the effort his family put in to welcome him home. Although, from the moment he stepped into the backyard he isn't left alone. His mother comes over to engulf him in a hug that is larger than life itself. His father gives him a welcoming hug too before insisting he needs to sit down and eat. Bucky lost count on how many cousins, uncles, aunts, family friends, and others came up to him to welcome him home, hugging him, patting him on the back, and passing him around from greeting to greeting. Once he finally gets a moment to sit down his parents pile up enough cheeseburgers on his plate to stuff him full for a whole week.

The celebrations are enough to keep his mind off of other things for awhile. Between savoring some home cooked food, sharing stories and catching up his cousins on his adventures, and being pulled into a game of dodgeball, he barely has time to think of anything else. And yet, every so often, his eyes drift to different sections of the party as if they were searching for something. He could lie to himself about not what, but who he was searching for. Someone he foolishly hoped would be hear despite what he was told.

By the time the sun starts to set in the sky, Bucky can feel his energy deplete to a point where he can no longer hide it. It's an exhaustion that goes beyond having to evade dodgeballs to the face. Things have started to settle and everyone's migrated to their own corner of the yard depending on whether they wanted to keep playing games, relax by the bonfire, or eat leftovers. He spots his mother at the grill heating up leftovers and he makes his way over to her.

"Need some help, Ma?" He asks, grabbing one of the tongs not waiting for her answer. His mother shakes her head, "I got it, hun. You go back to having fun." She tries to get him back to the party, but at that Bucky shakes his head, scrunching his face up with a clear I don't want to look. His mother laughs at his expression and then instructs him to help out with the burger patties. She starts asking him about his travel here and how he's been liking his party, little things and start conversation. Bucky's giving her simple answers when he looks out at the guests one more time, biting on his bottom lip absentmindedly. His mother can tell he's distracted, and more than that. It seems like she knows exactly what's going on in his head.

"She wasn't invited," she starts, causing Bucky to whip his head in her direction, eyes wide like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing as she continues, "It's not like your dad and I didn't want to, but your sister was against it."

"What?" Bucky sounds and looks dumbfounded, and his mother can only respond with a short exhale. She says your name, and Bucky's heart races and breaks all in one. "How did you—?"

"You can't hide things from your mother, James," his mother interjects as if it were obvious. He gaze locks with his mother's for a moment, and there's something close to pity in them. She's right. He was never one to lie to his mother, much less be able to.

A defeated sigh slips past his lips, "Is it stupid I thought she'd be here?" His mother prepares another leftover plate as she responds, "No, not at all," she hands the plate to one of his younger cousins who scurries off with it. "She wouldn't have come if she had been invited anyway."

Bucky clears his throat, suddenly feeling like there's something stuck in it. "Why not?" His mother gives him a look, like she has something to say, but no explanation for it. "I talk to her mom every so often, maybe once a month. She's told me they barely have any contact with her. No one really knows where she is."

"What? And no one's gone looking for her?" Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. His question has no short of worry in it, and he doesn't bother to hide it. The thought of you being out there somewhere and no one knowing—no one even bothering to look—it didn't sit right with him. It settles within him as well as poison would.

His mother's lips draw into a thin line, a somber look in her eyes. "I'm sure they've tried. I know her parents have, but it's not easy when your kids shut you out. Especially when they're in trouble." Bucky's heart sinks, "Trouble? What trouble?" His mother starts preparing another plate, like she needs something to do, "I'm not sure, hun. Her parents don't know and even your sister hasn't been forthcoming with the way things ended between them. All I know is she got mixed in with the wrong crowd and ended up dropping out of college. The last time I saw her was when Becca found out and they had a screaming match over it. I don't think I've ever seen your sister so angry…"

Out of all the thing Bucky could have been preparing himself to hear about you from his mother, none of this would have ever come close. There's something sickly brewing in his stomach and he thinks if he hears another word of your apparent disappearance, he'll spill his dinner all over the grill.

His mother can tell something is off, so she promptly sends him to bed. He wants to protest until he realizes he burned the burger patty he had been reheating and agrees some rest would be for the best. His mother gives him a goodnight hug and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Everyone at the gathering is still preoccupied with their own things, so Bucky forgoes any farewells and instead slips inside the house without anyone noticing. Every step up the stairs and toward his childhood bedroom feels heavier than the last.

When he enters his room, there's an appreciative smile that appears on his face when he realizes not much has changed in here either. He can tell his mother has changed the sheets and installed one of those little air freshener devices in preparation for his coming home. And besides his suitcase in the corner, which he still has to thank his father for bringing it up for him, everything else is exactly the same. Which isn't saying much since he's always kept his room simple the older he got. A few racing posters on his walls, shelves decorated with knickknacks, a bookcase filled with books he has yet to revisit, there's not much besides that.

He strips out of his clothes lazily just wanting to get into bed already, when his eyes stray to his desk. He knows why they did. He knows what he'll find when he looks. And yet, he walks over to it anyway, feeling the lump in his throat grow when he sees it's been left untouched. Above his desk on the wall there's a bulletin board frozen in time to the last time he ever used it. He has pictures pinned all across it, happy memories from his childhood with you with him in almost all of them. Every birthday card and letter you ever wrote him is pinned on the board too. Anything you ever gave him he saved and treasured down to the smallest thing. Even to the four leaf clover you once found, gently tucking it between tape for safe keeping. Giving it to him as a good luck charm, promising him it would help him win every race he ever dreamed up as long as he kept it close.

He keeps it in his wallet to this day.

Bucky blinks away the tears he can feel forming in the corner of his eyes. He finds himself more than upset now, maybe even bordering on an anxious frustration as he wills himself to look away. He hastily strips out of his clothes and climbs into his bed, hoping that his mind can quiet once he's bundled up in it. But of course that's not the case. All he can think about now is you. Why would you disappear? Why would you leave and tell no one? Why does no one know where you are? Why did you and Becca get into a big fight and stop being friends?

And why does he feel like it's all his fault?

As he drifts off into a restless slumber, there's a final image that haunts him. It's you. Holding back tears as you look at him with the kind of ire he deserved, but never excepted he would ever have caused you.

That image takes him back to where it all ended.

It happened at his parent's lake house, the summer after his sophomore year of college concluded. The summer you and Becca graduated high school, and had to adjust transitioning into adulthood and newfound independence. Your families had thrown a big graduation party for the two of you, but it was a little too family friendly for Bucky's liking. So without telling his parents, a couple weeks later, he threw a massive party at his parent's lake house in celebration of you two.

You had always held a special place in Bucky's heart, there was no denying that. Whether you or Bucky acknowledged it was another thing entirely. Your friendship with Bucky was just as deeply bonded as yours and Rebecca's, but it was different in its own way. Somehow you found yourself being more vulnerable with Bucky about your fears of the future, about school and life. There were times you wanted to appear strong or dependable to Becca when she was going through a rough patch, and yet Bucky was always able to crumble down your walls almost as if those walls didn't exist when it came to him. From patching up a cut on your knee you'd gotten when you were six while playing hopscotch, to holding you close and soothing you when you cried over your first boyfriend breaking your heart—Bucky had always been there for you. The trust between you ran deep, deep in a way that felt rooted in something tied to your souls.

Perhaps that's what always frightened him about acting on his feelings. If he ever told you how he truly felt, that he loved you in ways that went far beyond just friends, and you didn't feel the same or it didn't work out—he'd lose you for good. And the thought of that, he couldn't even imagine it. Not having you in his life. He honestly thought he'd never survive that.

Nothing was supposed to happen that night. He kept his drinks to a minimum, not wanting to get drunk so he could watch over the party guests. He threw it without his parents knowledge or permission, the last thing he needed was to have an accident happen that he couldn't explain away. You hadn't been drinking much, if at all, either. Mingling throughout the party a little lost since Becca had been hanging out with her boyfriend at the time. Bucky shouldn't have gone over to you when you were standing in the corner by yourself, but he did. He shouldn't have invited you to dance, but he wanted to so badly, so he did.

But he should've known things would end in more than a dance. Having you so close, your body pressed against his, touching him, all over him—it drove him crazy. Careful touches at your hips and waist turned into greedy handfuls that couldn't be satisfied despite the lack of distance. It lead to you two kissing for the first time, desperate and inevitable. And that one kiss led to two then three, until the two of you stumbled up the stairs, not being able to keep your hands or lips off of each other as you made your way to Bucky's bedroom. It led to Bucky caging you underneath him on his bed, kissing you senselessly until the heat between you became too much and you slept together for the first time.

The next morning, you were tucked into his side with his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his chest like it would hurt him to let you go. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, beautiful as the morning sunlight blanketed your form. Bucky didn't want to get up, but he knew he had to survey whatever potential damage was leftover from the party and possibly kick out anyone who overstayed their welcome. He kissed your forehead, whispering a promise of not taking too long before slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He groaned inwardly as he made his way downstairs, hoping the damage wasn't too bad. But a quick survey of the house settled his worry. Every room was trashed, but at least nothing seemed broken or irreparably stained. When Bucky made his way back to the living room he noticed Sam, his closest friend, stirring awake on the crouch.

"You crashed on the couch?" Bucky eyed his friend weirdly, he hated sleeping on couches. Sam yawned, stretching dramatically, "Yeah, figured you'd need help cleaning up."

"Aw, aren't you sweet."

"Shut up."

Sam threw a pillow at Bucky's head, which he dodged at the last second. Sam sat up on the couch, scratching the back of his head like he was still trying to come to, "Saw you two go up to your room last night. Congrats on finally getting the guts to make a move—thought you'd never do it. I can hear the bells already," Sam teased, humming out the tune for 'here comes the bride' while wiggling his brows at Bucky suggestively. Bucky can't remember why, can't understand why, but he panicked in that moment. The image of you in a wedding dress and saying I do freaked him out so badly because for the first time it dawned on him that's something that he wanted. But you were both still so young, with so much life and experiences to love ahead of you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know if you liked him like he loved you.

Fuck, he's in love with you.

Bucky tried to play it cool. Tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed uncomfortably with the truth. He shook his head, playing it down, "Nah, it… it was just an itch I had to scratch. Nothing more. Just something I needed to get out of my system…" Sam was not amused by his lies, painfully seeing through them, "Bullshit. You and I both know you're hopelessly in love with that girl." Bucky's mouth opened to deny it, but another hard look from Sam had him crumbling.

"I know I know. And I think I messed everything up." Bucky slumped on the couch next to Sam, a devastated look on his face. Sam definitely was judging him. "You did not mess anything up, Buck."

"No I did. I wanted to do this the right way, ask her out on a date. Treat her right, like she deserves to be. Show her what she means to me—" A couch pillow hit Bucky square in the face, stopping him mid sentence. "Buck, you're spiraling, stop it. You didn't mess anything up. Trust me, just go up there and tell her how you feel."

Bucky rubbed at his face, soothing it from the hit, "But what if she doesn't feel the same?" Sam looked like he was two seconds from throwing another pillow, "I'm starting to think those engine fumes have caused you to go stupid or blind. Buck, that girl is so in love with you."

For a brief moment, Bucky dared to hope that Sam was right. That you do feel the same. That you'd want it to work out between you as much as he does. But then the image of you in a wedding dress flashed across his mind again, and that unrelenting voice in his head made him doubt everything once more. A voice that strangely sounded like his uncles. His father's brothers who constantly let him know how his racing career would never work out. How he'll never make good enough money and he'll just disappoint his parents. How he should just play it safe, smart. Become an accountant like his father and get rid of those silly childhood dreams because his parents didn't give up everything for him just to go "play racer." Scolding him like a child to stop being so ungrateful with his parents and get a proper job so he can take care of them like they took care of him. Voices of people who were supposed to love and encourage him and instead reminded him everyday that he wasn't good enough to ever achieve his dreams.

And if he wasn't good enough for his dreams, then he certainly wasn't good enough for you.

"Even if she is," Bucky swallowed hard, the words feeling bitter on his tongue, "even if we are, she deserves so much more than what I can give her right now."

"Buck."

"No, I mean it. Her life's just starting Sam. She's going to her dream college, finally getting away from this town like she's always wanted to," Bucky shook his head, like admitting his fears cost him something, "I'm pursuing something I don't even know will work out. And if it doesn't… I don't want to drag her into that. I don't want to drag her into my failures."

Sam sighed, feeling for his friend, "You're not going to fail, Buck. And even if you do—loves so much more than the good times. It's being there despite what happens, despite the obstacles." Bucky mulls over his friend's words knowing there's some truth to them. But, unfortunately, the voice in the back of his mind refused to let him go.

"Yeah, but loves also about walking away when the timing isn't right."

"Not when, if. You don't know which one it is yet."

With those last words, Bucky managed to find the courage to go back up those steps and back to you. With his heart on his sleeve, his hopes in the palm of your hands, and his blood pumping a mile a minute. But when he opened the door to his room, you were already making your way out of it. Eyes wide and teary when they narrowed on him.

"Hey, baby, hey," he reached out to cup your face, "What's wrong?" You flinched back from his hold like his hands were made of ice, his heart stopped. "Nothing. I'm fine," you bite out, clearly holding back. He stood his ground, "You know you've never been able to lie to me, come on tell me what's wrong." He pleaded, feeling distressed at your change in attitude.

"Nothing is wrong, just let me through already," you tried pushing past him, but his arm shot out between you and the doorway. "No. Not until we talk. Not until you tells me what's going on." He tried to get you to look at him, but your eyes were on everything but him.

"Bucky—" He cut you off by saying your name in a way that sounded somewhere between utter devotion and utter devastation. You sighed, broken and like you had something caught in your throat. "There's nothing we have to talk about, nothing important anyway."

Now that stung. Bucky would have preferred you slapping him across the face instead.

"What? So did last night mean nothing to you?" Bucky didn't stop the anger that was seeping through his hurt. You looked like you didn't know what to say or did and just didn't want to, "That's not what I said. And it doesn't matter what I think of it anyway. You got what you wanted." Bucky stared at you, scoffing in offense, "I got what I wanted? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean," you said with a finality that caused him to panic. You tried evading his arm by ducking below it. But he was faster than you and stopped you from getting past him. He was frustrated by your vagueness and confused on what you tried telling him without really telling him anything. This was a complete switch up from last night and he didn't know how to handle it.

"Look, I don't know where this is coming from, but just listen to me, sweetheart. I know I can't… I know I'm not," He ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated that he couldn't put his vulnerabilities into words, "My career's just starting. There's big opportunities ahead of me and I know I'm not guaranteed success. I'm not thinking of…I don't want to make any mistakes—" That last word, he should've never used that word. Because you didn't even let him finish when something between a cynical laugh and broken sob came out of you. "I get it. I was a mistake."

Bucky was quick in his attempt to shut that accusation down, "No! No! Absolutely not, that is not what I said," you tried to squeeze past him again, but this time he held onto your arm, "Would you please just listen to me?" You pushed at his chest, hard enough to hurt, the ire in your eyes and tone made his blood run cold. "Don't touch me." There was something close to hatred in your voice and that had him stunned, frozen in place. He was so stunned he could only watch you walk away to the guest bedroom. By the time he came to on what happened, he ran to chase after you only to have you slam the door right in his face. And no matter how hard he knocked, how long he waited, how much he pleaded into the wooden oak for you to talk to him, you never responded.

He was heartbroken beyond what you could every imagine. He couldn't understand where everything went wrong and why you were so upset. He wanted to talk to you, but he also knew he needed to give you space to cool down. He figured at some point in the day he'd be able to get you aside for a private conversation and clear things up.

He was wrong.

That small glimpse of you before the door slammed in his face was the last time he saw you for the next six whole years.

Reliving that moment in his dream was so vivid it startles him awake. Chest heaving, and face covered in sweat as the memory of that regretful morning resurfaces. Thinking back to the way you looked at him, to the way you spoke to him—it's enough to rip his heart to pieces all over again.

Even after all these years he still doesn't understand what happened back then, what had you so upset. At first he thought it was over his slip up and using that damn word, mistake. But thinking back on that moment throughout the years, he realized you had been upset before that. Something happened between falling asleep that night and him going up those stairs the next morning to confess to you that had set you off. And to this day he hasn't figured out what it was. The absence of you in his life, the hollow cavity losing you left in his chest—that's all he's really come to understand.

Bucky is surrounded by the darkness of his room, the crescent moon in the sky not providing much light to filter in through the window. His room suddenly feels stuffy, and the ache in his chest seems like it's going nowhere any time soon, so he gets up and decides to take a hot shower. Hoping maybe that can help him relax. He's in and out before he knows it, careful to not make too much noise in the hallway as to not wake his parents or his sister in case she stayed for the night. Thankfully, the bathroom's right across the hall from him, so there's not much noise he can make anyway.

By the time Bucky's back in his room he catches the screen on his phone light up. He reaches for it where it lies on his nightstand, seeing he's gotten a couple recent messages. He frowns when he looks at the time, it's just past midnight. Who could be texting him at this hour?

Mini Falcon: Heard you're back in town! You do not want to miss this.

Mini Falcon: [Attachment: 1 movie]

Bucky has an idea of what he's going to find when he opens the video from his old street racing friend. When he clicks on the video, sure enough it's Joaquin showing off a car meet he's at. There's a crowd of people already forming, showing off their cars and probably figuring out who's going to race tonight. He plays the video a few times, reminiscing on his street racing days, and a little envious at how nice some of the cars have gotten. God, there's no amount of money he wouldn't have bet to get a chance to race against some of those machines.

On one of his rewinds, he spots someone in the background that catches his eye. No, not someone, not just anyone.

It's you.

Bucky's jaw drop comically, pausing the video and hating how pixelated it looks when he zooms in, but even through the blurriness he swears that's you. An older you for sure, but it's still you nonetheless. He's recognize you anywhere. You're laughing with a brunette and a blonde, he thinks maybe they're you're friends.

But what the hell are you doing there? Since when are you involved in the street racing scene?

Bucky's mind is working a mile a minute, but if that is you—which he sure it is—he can't miss this opportunity to see you. Especially not after finding out no one knows where you are. If he's found you, then he's taking the chance to bring you home.

Bucky texts Joaquin back asking for the location of the car meet. He's scrambling to look decent, throwing open his suitcase and putting on the first outfit he finds, a matching pair of black sweatpants and hoodie, topping it off with a jean jacket and cap for good measure.

When he looks at his phone again Joaquin's sent him the location of the car meet, and when he puts it in his phone's maps it shows it's being held at an abandoned industrial complex in the next town, over thirty minutes away. With his skills he knows he can get there in half the time, so he wastes no more in getting ready and heading out the door. Extremely grateful that his father kept up with the maintence of his first car, a modified Honda Civic, and he has something of his own to get him there.

Just as he thought, he's able to get to the meet in half the expected time. He vaguely remembers racing here once or twice, which means he also remembers how it's one of the easier spots to get caught at because of the parameters of the race. He decides to park his car a few blocks away, hidden and tucked into a parking lot, a large patch of overgrown foliage and trees obstructing the view of it to anyone passing by. He makes his way over to the car meet on foot, locating it by the booming music echoing throughout the abandoned walls of the complex.

And yet, despite the music and all the engine revving getting louder as he approaches, he can still hear Joaquin's laugh above all that.

When Joaquin spots Bucky, he excitedly waves him over to where he's resting on the hood of what Bucky assumes is his car. "Bucky, man you made it!" They greet each other with one of those hand clasping, one armed embraces that guys do. "Yeah, after seeing the video you sent I knew I couldn't miss it." Bucky responds, making Joaquin grin, "Told you," he points to the guy next to him, "This is my friend Bob. Bob this is Bucky thee legendary Bullet." The man standing next to Joaquin turns to Bucky impressed, his doe eyes wide in awe as they greet each other. Bucky shakes his head, side eyeing Joaquin as if saying 'he's exaggerating'.

"He used to win all the races back in the day, he set all the records," Joaquin adds.

Bucky was going to say something when Bob beat him to it, "All the records Blitz beat?"

"Blitz?" Bucky inquires, not remembering that name in the roster of racers he knew back when he was racing here. Joaquin nods to the car positioned in the middle of the lineup race, a gorgeous blue Nissan GT-R Bucky's sure has been tuned up like hell. "That's what they call her. She's part of Rumlow's crew."

That catches Bucky's attention, "Rumlow's got a crew now?"

Joaquin hums in confirmation, "A few years back he got into a nasty car wreck. Car went up in flames and fucked up his body. He can't race now, so he got a crew to do that and his dirty work for him."

"Dirty work?"

Joaquin shrugs, "Don't know much about it. I just know he imports illegal parts from overseas to modify his cars, but I stay out of whatever they got going on."Bucky makes a clicking noise with his tongue, feeling sorry for any unlucky bastard that got stuck working for Rumlow.

"His crew hard to beat?" Bucky can't help but ask, reminiscing on all the times he beat Rumlow in a race. If his crews anything like him, then they're probably not that good. Bob is the one who answers his question, "Nope. Blitz is the best racer he's got. When he wants a certified win he has her race." Bucky takes that information in. If at any point he wanted to relive his street racing days, then it seems Blitz is the one to beat.

The three of them chat for another while. Bucky learns that Bob races too—for a team called the Thunderbolts—although he's still pretty new at it, so there's much he has to learn. Bucky offers to teach Bob a few things while he's in town and Bob seems more than eager to learn from him. Joaquin and Bob try to catch Bucky up on all the new faces in the racing scene, but it's too many names at once for him to really take anything in. Once the race starts, Bucky excuses himself from them, pretending like he saw someone he wanted to go catch up with so he could step away.

In reality, he's going back to concentrate on what he really came for. To find you.

He weaves through the crowds of people gathered, being careful not to bump into any of the showcase vehicles. As much as his eyes want to stray to admire them, he keeps his mind focused on you. He pays close attention to every single face he passes, hope blooming and then dying in his chest when he walks past someone that looks like you. When he circles back to where he started he's distraught at the realization that he might've missed you.

He goes back to Joaquin feeling dejected and like he has to start all over again with something he never really started. Bob is no longer standing with Joaquin, and Bucky barely catches the finish of the race. As expected by what he was told, Blitz comes in first with Yelena, one of Bob's teammates he pointed out to Bucky earlier, coming in a close second. He can't remember the names of the other races and quite frankly he doesn't care. They're not why he came here.

Although, even though Bucky only got a glimpse of how the race finished and a bit of the start, he's seen enough to know that whoever is racing for Rumlow is good—really good. Blitz drives like the car she's in is an extension of her body and she knows how to get it to do exactly what she wants it to. She's got the kind of control he's only seen with a handful of drivers. Him being one of them.

He finds it impressive.

Blitz's car door opens, and there's a small part of him that's anticipating putting a face to the name. And when Blitz steps out of the car, he finds himself receiving the shock of a lifetime for the second time that night.

You are the one to step out of the car.

You are Blitz.

That means, you're the one who's part of Rumlow's crew.

Shit.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Bucky is convinced this has to be a dream, he's rubbing the hell out of his eyes in hopes that it is. But it's not. You're standing by your car with a self-satisfied smile on your face as you're handed the winnings of the race. Yelena steps out of her car and heads toward you with a giant grin, congratulating you on your win. It's clear you two are friends. You look every part of belonging here and he doesn't know what to do with that.

Bucky clears his throat, bumping Joaquin's shoulder, "Hey, is that..?" He can't even finish the sentence, but Joaquin doesn't need him to as he follows the direction Bucky is looking in. "Blitz? Yeah, that's her." Joaquin's confirmation only makes the pit in Bucky's stomach grow. "And you said she's part of Rumlow's crew?"

Joaquin nods, not understanding the weight of what Bucky is asking. "Yeah, I don't know much about what else she does for him, but she's his main racer. Any time he wants a guaranteed win he sends her." Bucky's scared to know, but he has to ask, "And when you mention that Rumlow's got some shady business going on, how shady are we talking?"

"Class B felonies dude," Joaquin says it like it's gossip and not the worst news he could've possibly given Bucky. At his silence, Joaquin gives Bucky a look over. "Are you good? Bro, you look like you're about to spill your guts—literally." Joaquin steps back a bit just in case Bucky does.

"I know her."

"Who?"

"Blitz." He says your real name after. The name he knows you by, the name he knew you by.

"Oh shit." Joaquin doesn't know what to say. Not with Bucky looking like he's seen a ghost. "Look, dude, she's friends with Yelena and Kate, they're good friends of mine and I know they're always looking out for her. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe Rumlow's only got her racing, not in his other shit." Joaquin attempts to comfort Bucky, but it doesn't seem like what he said did at all.

"Yeah, maybe…"

"Are you gonna go talk to her or just stare at her with your mouth open?" Joaquin teases, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky shuts his mouth and glares at Joaquin causing him to laugh. Bucky roles his eyes at him, Joaquin might've grown up, but he's still like that annoying little brother he remembers. He won't tell him, but Bucky is a grateful to have that unchanged connection to his old friend.

Joaquin's words might've not done much to comfort Bucky, but his teasing was enough to give Bucky the push to walk away from him and toward you. Joaquin whistles to cheer Bucky on, throwing some words his way that resemble good luck. Bucky shakes his head, wondering how crazy you're going to think he is for finding you here.

Every step closer Bucky is to you throws his nerves into high gear. You've already gotten your car and yourself away from the concrete race track. Somewhere over by the corner where a cluster of smaller buildings and a smaller group of people were in. He really doesn't know what to expect once he finally reaches you, or what he'll say, but he knows he can't leave without trying.

The moment you spot him approaching time seems to freeze, your eyes widening and your lips parting like you can't believe what your eyes are seeing. But just as fast as the shock hits your face, you mask it with indifference, but the iciness in your gaze is something he feels penetrate down to his bones.

He sees the door slamming in his face again. The look you gave him the last time he saw you, staring at him through the closing door like he had reached into your chest and snatched your heart right out of its cavity. And now? Now, you were glowering at him like you would put a bullet through his head and not bat an eye. Eyes looking at him with such a disdain it makes him feel physically ill.

When he finally reaches you, Bucky can only come up with one word, "Hey." He says lamely, quietly like there's an obstruction in his throat. You blink at him, crossing your arms as your friends at your side give him wary glances.

"You." Is all you say back, the word coming out almost like an accusation. Bucky grimaces, but he knows he deserves that so he tries to stay calm. He doesn't say anything else, but he glances at Yelena and who he guesses is Kate next to you, before his eyes find yours again, feeling a bit awkward at involving anyone else in your conversation.

You sigh, taking the hint, turning to your friends to ask them for a bit of space. The girls don't look happy about it, but they listen to you. Kate doesn't spare him another glance while Yelena makes sure to give him one hard glare, acting like she'd break his arm if you asked her to.

He really hopes you don't.

"Please, don't look at me like that," he finds himself saying, to which you barely react to. There's clearly a wall you've built between you, one he doesn't know how to lower for the first time in his life.

"Like what."

"Like I'm the last person you'd wanna see here."

"Well," you shrug like that's enough of an answer. Bucky takes a tentative step closer to you, making you tense up. Your reaction makes something break inside him. He steps back, feeling too many emotions all at once. A frustration at you running away, fear at you working for Rumlow, disheartened at the way you're acting like he's a stranger—confusion over everything that has and hasn't happened in the last six years. It all accumulates the second he has you this close again.

"What the hell are you even doing here?" He didn't mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did. "Excuse me? What the hell are you doing here?" You throw the question back at him with bit of venom in your tone. He elects to ignore it.

"Looking for you," he replies honestly. And that catches you off guard, he can see it written all over your face. "A friend invited me to come watch the race, sent me a video and everything. I saw you in the background of it and I thought I was seeing things. But I had to come see for myself only to find out that not only are you a racer, but you're racing for fucking Rumlow of all people. What the hell is that about?"

You wave him off, "It's none of your concern." He says your name like you're testing his patience. "It's not," you reiterate, rolling your eyes and leaning on the hood of your car, “It’s not even that big of a deal.” 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky growls out with something deeper than frustration, debating on whether or not he should just drag your ass back home instead of trying to reason with you. You stare at him like you could bite his head off. "I haven't seen you in years and all of a sudden you want to show up here and act like you're looking out for me? Fuck off, Bucky," you raise your voice at him, your own anger increasing by the minute. Bucky's arms shoot out in exasperation, tired of you twisting his actions and words into something negative, "I am looking out for you! I did all my life and that care doesn't just go away because I left for some time."

"Six years," you correct him, the heaviness of all the time apart settling between you like a wound that hasn't healed. He swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath, "Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I thought about you all the damn time during those years. I cared about you then, and I care about you now."

You don't believe him, scoffing, "I'm sure you do." He doesn't know how to get through to you. Feeling as though his efforts are going nowhere. "I'm serious. I've been thinking about you all damn day since I got here—its been driving me crazy. Especially after Becca told me you two stopped being friends. What happened there?"

"It's none of your business," you're quick to say—too quick.

He says your name again, but this time in a plea, but you're done talking. "I'm serious, Bucky, fuck off. None of this is of your concern, none of this is your business. Leave me alone."

"No."

Before you can even start ripping him a new one, the music is cut off. Someone's voice can be heard yelling, warning everyone to get the hell out as the cops are on their way. Bucky doesn't hesitate, having through this same scenario many times before. You don't even see it coming, how fast he swipes the keys from your hand, rushing over to the driver's side of your car.

"Get in the car," he urges, and you're smart enough not to argue with him over this. He can tell you're biting your tongue as you get in the passenger's side of the car, not at all happy with him being the driver. Bucky turns on the ignition and speeds out of the industrial complex while others still scramble to get into their cars and do the same. He doesn't drive in the same direction as everyone else. Making a swift u-turn in the opposite direction everyone else is going. He ignores your protests directing him on which way to go and drives the car in the direction he left his. You don't know what he's doing until he ends up back in the secluded parking lot, parking right next to his car. There's no doubt you recognize it, having been in it more times than he can count. He shuts off the engine, making everything go quiet. There's only one streetlight working, the light flickering every so often making it even harder to see the cars past the foliage. If anyone were to drive by at this time of night, there's absolutely no chance you'd be seen.

The tension in the car is palpable, thick with everything left there is to say between you. Bucky's holding his breath like even his breathing could set you off at any moment.

"You can get out now," you say after a painfully long silence. "Not until we talk," Bucky sees the way the word spark that anger in you again. "I don't want to talk." Bucky shrugs, leaning back in the seat like he's got at all night to go back and forth, "That's too damn bad, 'cause I'm not leaving until we do." He pockets your keys in the chest pocket of his jacket, not giving you a chance to take them back.

"You're fucking unbelievable," you growl out, getting out of the car and slamming the door closed. You practically stomp your way to the other side, yanking the driver door open. "Get out," you grind out through gritted teeth.

"Don't want to."

"James."

You used his first name, clearly he's pushing you past your limits, and truthfully he doesn't want that. He just wants you to talk to him, that's all he wants. He wants to get to the bottom of whats going on with you in hopes he can help you in some way. So he gets out of the car, slower than you'd like him to, stepping to the side to give you enough room to look inside and notice your keys are missing.

"Barnes, give me my keys."

"Not until we talk."

"Are you serious?

"Deadly."

You let the door shut, before holding out your hand expectantly, ignoring his request. "Bucky give me back the keys, the car isn't mine. I have to take it back to Rumlow." Bucky's worry only grows at your words, "Why are you working for him? How did you get involved with him?"

"It's a long story."

"I got time."

"Well I don't."

You're at a stand still, neither of you willing to budge. But in the interest of moving things along, you're the first to break. "My ex got me into this mess alright? Now I gotta get myself out of it. It's that simple," you explain, but Bucky isn't satisfied with just that. "What mess?"

You take a deep breath before confessing, eyes lowering to the ground, "I dated Rumlow's cousin for about a year. I didn't know they were cousins back then, and I didn't know about the family business. He swiped some money from Rumlow and then disappeared. Since I was the girlfriend, Rumlow made me responsible for paying off the money my ex stole." At the revelation of your predicament, of you being taken advantage of, Bucky has to take a deep breath and reign in his anger before he takes his car over to Rumlow's and finishes off what the car wreck didn't.

"How much?" He's apprehensive to ask, but he needs to know. You shrug, "I don't know the exact amount. I just know it's in the six figures." Bucky's heart drops, blood running cold with dread, "Fuck, sweetheart," a beat passes as his head wraps around the amount of debt Rumlow's put you in, "How much do you have left to pay off?" You shrug again, "I don't know, Rumlow adds interest every time I race with one of his cars or some other bullshit reason. I don't think he's gonna let me go any time soon." His jaw clenches so tight, you'd think he's about to break a tooth.

"Let me go with you, let me talk to him," he says it not like he's asking you, but like he's letting you know in advance you're not doing this alone. You shake your head, refusing, "No, absolutely not."

"He knows me. I used to race against him all the time. Stop being so goddamn stubborn and let me help you." They weren't friends by any means, but there had always been a mutual respect between them.

"I don't want your help. I don't need your help." You deny, but Bucky isn't having any of that. "Yes you do. Look at you. You run away from home, you drop out of college, no one knows where you are, and Rumlow's got you racing and doing his dirty work." You bristle at being reminded of your situation. Like if it were the first time anyone's said it out loud and addressed it head on with you.

"And why do you give a fuck? I'm not your responsibility, Bucky," you spit out, making Bucky feel like he's back to square one with you. But this time, you've ran through the last of his patience. "Fuck, this isn't about that! I give a fuck because I care! I give a fuck because despite all these years you still mean everything to me! Because the thought of anything happening to you would actually kill me." His admission causes you to lock eyes with him and within yours he can see something is cracking, he's getting through to you.

"Shut up, and go," you whisper out the words weakly, but he shakes his head, "No. I'm not leaving you. Not again," he cups your face, brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, "I don't fully understand why you ran, although I can take a pretty good guess its got to do with that piece of shit…," a horrifying thought strikes him, "Is he threatening you?"

You tense in his hold, "Bucky drop it."

"He is, isn't he?"

Your silence is the only confirmation he needs.

A few things finally start connecting for him, "That's why your parents don't know where you are, why you barley contact them. Is he also why you and Becca stopped being friends?" The mention of Becca has you stepping out of grasp, his hands falling reluctantly to his sides, "Becca and I stopped being friends before that. So you don't have to worry about her being mixed up in this mess."

"So why did you? Is it because of us? Because of what happened between us?" He doesn't think he's ready for the answer. But he should know better by now that answers from you don't come easily.

"Nothing happened between us."

"No, don't brush it off like it meant nothing."

"Well I wouldn't be the first to do that."

There you go again being vague and cryptic—and sounding accusatory toward him when he doesn't even know what he did. "Are you saying that because of the whole mistake thing? You don't even know what I was actually going to say. You didn't even let me finish what I wanted to say back then. Not before you stormed out of my room and slammed that door in my face. Before you blocked me on everything and I couldn't even reach out to talk to you."

His grievances don't seem to move you, "Seems like you still haven't gotten the hint." Bucky doesn't know how many more of your dismissals he can take, so he decides to leave it all out in the open once and for all. "No I haven't, and I won't because I was so hopelessly in love with you and you left my room like what happened between us meant nothing to you. You left and took my heart with you. And now that I have it back I have some things I want to say to you."

His confession throws you off balance, stumbling over your own footing as you take a step back. But he's not letting you get away this time, he's saying his peace like it's the last time you two might ever speak. "That night scared the absolute shit out of me. Because it was the first time in my life I felt as alive as I do when I'm behind the wheel. The thought of you feeling the same way I did brought that out in me and I didn't know how to handle it, and that's on me."

"Bucky, please stop."

He doesn't.

"That morning, I was trying to tell you that deep down I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I was still getting my shit together, still trying to prove myself to people who didn't give a damn about me. But on the off chance that you felt the same way, I would've dropped everything for you. I would've pursued something that would've had me better off, something close to home, close to you. I would've done what I could to help you pursue your dreams and—" this time you don't cut him off with words, but with your lips crashing against his, hard and with purpose. Knocking the cap right off his head. He's taken by surprise, but when your lips press harder, insistent on not being ignored, he kiss you back. His hands landing at your waist to keep him grounded to you.

You pull away slightly out of breath, "I just wanted you to shut up," you tease, and Bucky takes in a shaky breath staring down at your lips like he wants another taste, "You wanna shut me up again?" You don't hesitate to take the invitation, kissing him again with a passion bordering on hunger. You're stumbling backwards, pulling him in as he's crashing full force into you, lips parting to let him fully in. You're making out, your back pressed against his car, as you pull sounds out from each other that echo in the night air. He takes a moment to tell you this conversation isn't over, but you quickly shush him with another kiss. The heat between you is growing quickly, and it's no surprise when you find yourselves stumbling into the backseat of his car to take things further.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, his body hovering over yours. One of his knees slots between your legs, deliberately pressing on your core causing you to whine. You can feel the way you've soaked through your panties and tights already. He helps you take off your leather jacket and matching shorts, and he can't help himself as he tears away at your tights, making you gasp. "Bucky, what the—" He kisses you, mumbling into your lips, "I'll buy you as many new pairs as you want, sweetheart." His answer seems to quell your annoyance for now.

His hand reaches down to rub you through your panties, finding out just how soaked you are for him. He grins wolfishly into the kiss, "Fuck, baby. Didn't know fighting with me would turn you on so much." His tease is met with a slap to his bicep, which only makes him press harder along your slit making you cry out. He kisses your lips one last time, trailing featherlight kisses to cheek and jaw, all the way down to your neck where he nips at the skin. His fingers brush upwards toward your sensitive bundle of nerves to continue his ministrations there.

You only let him have his way for a few more seconds before you're pushing impatiently at his chest. He's already dazed by just a few kisses from you, so when you tell him to sit back he listens without putting up a fight. He sits back in the seat, watching you with something close to devotion as you go to straddle his lap, bracketing his thick thighs with your legs. You strip him of his jean jacket and hoodie, throwing it on the car floor somewhere, raking your nails down his chest with just enough pressure to make him bite down on his lip, looking like he's moments away from coming undone.

You start to grind on him, making a mess of his sweatpants, but he doesn't care, it feels too good to care. His cock twitches beneath you and with the way you smirk at him he knows you felt it. You're making him go crazy, drunk on you, and you're living for every second of it.

One hand snakes it's way beneath your white tee to palm at your breasts, while the other grips your hip to press you down on him harder. A deep groan leaves his chest, and it mingles with your own as you crash your lips to his again, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him whine. Your hips continue their grinding motion, leaving you both breathing heavily enough to start fogging up the windows of the car. One of your hands finds the back of his head and tugs at his hair, pulling his attention long enough to slip your other hands into his sweats, giving him a teasing squeeze that his seems stars with how hard he's holding back from coming undone so embarrassingly soon.

"Oh, fuck," a deep groan rumbles with his chest when you squeeze him again, "Wait, baby, I can't. I don't got a condom on me," he grabs your wrist to stop you, "Just let me make you feel good okay? Let tonight be all about you." He tries to coax you, his hand leaving your wrist to bring the attention back to your cunt when you swat his hand away. He pouts, confused as he watches you pull your white tee off and reach into your bra to grab a condom out it.

His eyes narrow at you, "Why the hell do you have that there?"

You huff, the jealousy in his tone not getting past you, "Don't ask what you don't wanna know, Barnes."

Whether or not he wants to pry into that detail, you don't let him. Making his breath catch in his throat as you tear the condom wrapper with your teeth—an action he found incredibly hot.

He takes himself out of his sweats, squeezing the base of his cock to get himself under control. He's already leaking as you hastily roll the condom down his length. You're getting yourself into position when he stops you. Your gazes meet, a questioning look in your eyes. "You sure about this? We can stop if you're not. It's okay." He assures you, needing you to confirm you really want this. When you realize what he's asking, you smile at him. Taking his lips in a softer kiss, one that conveys how sure you are of this happening. "I'm sure, Bucky. I want this."

That's all Bucky needed to hear.

He rubs your folds through your panties a few more times before his fingers hook into the fabric of your panties and push them to the side. He helps guide himself inside you as you lower yourself down on him, inch by inch. "Baby, you're squeezing the hell outta me—fuck," he curses under his breath, urging you to take it slow. He hasn't told you, but it's been a long time since it's been anything other than his hand and him. And he feels every bit of that longing as your walls squeeze him tighter the more of him you take.

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me a minute. I can't. I don't want this to end so soon," he's pleading with you, breathing heavily as the need to thrust up into you gets harder to restrain. You cup his face, making sure he's staring right into your eyes as you lower yourself completely. His breath his hot against your mouth as he gasps, the sound turn into a moan the second you start riding him. Not giving him any time to adjust as if this were your way of getting payback for the way he pushed your buttons all night.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, guiding your hips with his hands to move you in ways that have you both moaning out for each other. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for a makeout that's all tongue and teeth—messy and passionate all in one. Breathing each other in like the only source of air you need can be found within each other. And that's when Bucky feels it again, his heart soaring with how right this feels, just like the first time you slept together.

"I missed you, I—" he mumbles into your lips, but when you pick up your pace, he forgets what he was going to say. You've got him pussy drunk and wrapped around your finger—right where he wants to be.

He can tell he won't last much longer at this pace, and he needs you to come before he does. His hand goes to where you're connected, pressing circles onto your clit in the way he knows you like, making you mewl. "That's it baby, you're doing so good for me, pretty girl." His other hand grips you tighter, keeping you steady as he starts fucking up into you, meeting your hips. You whine at how deep he's going, one of your hands shooting out to the fogged up glass like that'll help anchor you. He can feel how close you are, so he doubles down, fucking up into you harder and increasing the pressure on your clit. "Come on, baby, give it to me. Let go, sweetheart, I got you," he whispers affectionately and wrecked, bringing you in for another kiss that undoes you. You come hard, crying out his name, and he follows suit, coming harder than he has in years. You got him seeing stars with the way your cunt squeezes him for all he's got.

You're both panting in the aftermath, his head resting against the backseat as he tries to catch his breath. Your head drops onto his shoulder, his hand gently rubbing at your back to help you with the aftershocks of your coupling. He kisses your temple reverently, whispering soft praises and sweet nothings as you both come down from your highs. For a few minutes, the car is quiet with a tranquility Bucky wasn't sure you two would ever get to again.

Your head rises from his shoulder, moments later, a dopey smile on your face. He laughs fondly, his hand rising to stroke your cheek affectionately, "You're so beautiful." He doesn't know if it's what he says or the way he said it, but your smile no longer reaches your eyes. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest uncomfortably.

"Everything okay?" He's looking you over to make sure you're okay, fearing he might've been a little rough with you. You clear your throat, wincing, "Yeah, it's just—I'm feeling a bit sure already." His eyes widen at that and he apologizes right away, helping you gently off of him as you both wince, sensitive at the disconnection.

You start redressing yourself, confusing him, but he didn't question you. He had hoped you two could stay together a little longer in the backseat, talk a few things out and just enjoy this pocket of happiness you had granted each other. But whatever spell you two were under seemed to be broken. And faster than Bucky could process it, you were already dressed and getting out of his car. He scrambled to clean himself up with what he had at his disposal, tucking himself back in his sweats and hastily slipping on his hoodie just as he heard the engine to your car turn on.

He gets out of his car, rushing over to you and knocking on the window for you to lower it. You do, staring at him in a way that he can't read, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.

"You're leaving already?" Bucky can't hide the disappointment in his tone. You sigh, picking at a nonexistent thread on your jacket to keep your eyes somewhere that isn't on him. "I told you I have to return the car to Rumlow, it's not mine. He's got trackers on all his cars, so I have to return it before he comes looking for it."

"I can go with—"

"No, you'd only make things worse for me, okay? It's best if you just stay out of this."

He can't accept that, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Especially after being the only one who knows exactly how much trouble you're in. "I dont know how to help you, but I want to. Maybe I can't help, but maybe I can find someone who can."

"No, Bucky, just drop it," your tone made it clear you weren't budging from this. And maybe he couldn't make you budge on this now, but later, later he could fully convince you to let him help. "Fine, I will—for now. But, there's still some stuff I want to talk about," you give him a look and he's quick to dispel your apprehension, "Not now, I know you have to go. But later I'd like to have a proper talk. About us."

Something about you changes in this moment. Bucky can almost see it in the way you straighten up in the driver's seat, in the way your eyes glaze over with something deeply broken crawling it's way to the surface. Something meant to hurt him just as badly as he once hurt you.

"Us? Bucky, there is no us. Tonight… you were just an itch I had to scratch. Something I had to get out of my system, so thanks for that," your voice doesn't sound like your own when you say that. It sounds distant and cold, like you're trying your best to keep yourself together. However, the way in which you said certain things rings alarms bells inside his head. He's barley able to stutter out a reply when you pull back and drive off, leaving him in the dust of the engine fumes.

Those words. He's heard them before, but not from you, no, from his own mouth. He's replayed those words time and time again in his mind for the last six years. The things he once said to Sam way back then when he stupidly was trying to deny how he felt about you. You used those exact words against him tonight. It dawns on him, horrifically, that you heard him say that back then. Your anger and frustration—the heartbreak of that morning. It came from you thinking you weren't anything, but a one night stand for him.

And now youd done the same thing to him, as if trying to make things even. Maybe you had.

Bucky slumps against his car, sliding down it until he hits the floor. Pieces of a puzzle he could never solve slowly start clicking together until he gets a better picture of what happened. He had messed everything up like he feared he would. And it wasn't something he had done, it was something he had said. He wanted to kick himself for ever saying those things. If you were still angry at him all these years later, then you must have not heard the rest of the conversation. You only heard the part that broke your heart and made you hate him all this time.

Was there ever a possibility you would forgive him?

Could you forgive him?

Bucky doesn't know the answers to those questions, but what he does know is that he won't find out unless he tries to earn it.

a/n Well my darling barbies, you now have a choice to make. If you decide to not forgive Bucky, then your story ends here. If you decide to give him a second chance, then you're in luck! A part two is already in the works. Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! ♡♡♡