Daredevil Brainrot

June 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Sleep had become a rare commodity the past couple weeks. 

The group of guy backpackers staying below you refused to turn their music down after eleven—if anything, they turned it up louder to spite you—and you could hear them fucking the poor girls who made the mistake of going home with them after the pub. Every night. Fortunately for you, the guys had awful stamina and they were finished within five minutes. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your headphones three days after you moved in to the short-term stay apartment—you were ninety-nine percent certain one of them had broken in to your room and stolen them, but you had no proof.

Sleep would welcome you for a few hours before the screaming across the hall started. The first time the deep, throaty screams made their way through your paper thin walls, you startled awake so violently you jumped out of bed and twisted your ankle. You limped out of your apartment—if you could call it that—with a Romanian dictionary held high as your weapon, your socked feet quiet on the concrete floor. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the screaming—the aftermath of a nightmare, heavy breathing and sobbing, was crystal clear through the door opposite yours. 

It was on day four of being woken up by your neighbours nightmares when you finally saw him. You were running late for your first class of the day, arms full of marked papers and keys hanging from your mouth as you opened your door, when you caught movement in your periphery. He was climbing up the stairs silently, his head titled towards the ground with a cap on top of his long dark hair, obstructing the view of his face. The first thing you noticed was the size of him—he was tall and broad, big muscles still noticeable under layers of clothes. The second thing you noticed was his gloved hands—an odd sight in the Bucharest warmth—one of them holding a bag of plums. 

Plum guy. You had seen him while out on your daily morning walks, buying plums at one of the fruit vendors down the street. You had no idea that the gentle giant you watched make quiet conversation with the vendor was the man whose sobbing and whimpering had your heart clenching at three every morning. 

The keys in your mouth dropped on top of the paper stack, the small jingle and thud making the man tense, his eyes darting to you—standing in your doorway staring at him. You quickly looked away, grabbing your keys and locking your door. 

He was opening his own door when you crossed the short distance to the stairs—and to him, given that his door was right next to the stairs. He turned his head slightly, a gloved hand clenched tight on the doorknob.

You smiled softly as you walked closer to him. “Bună dimineaţa,” you said quietly. He tracked your movements closely, offering you a brief nod before he disappeared inside his apartment. Not a talker, then. 

Later that night—or technically early the next morning—you were bent over the small kitchen table, struggling to read your student’s handwriting. You had just over a week left teaching English to Romanian middle-graders, and then you would be on a flight back home to the States. 

You were trying to rub the red ink off your hand when the first gasp echoed from across the small hallway. You looked towards the apartment door on instinct, halting your movements and waiting for another noise. It came a few seconds later—a loud gasp that sounded like someone was struggling to breathe. Then a pained shout, in what you were almost certain was Russian. The shouting turned into whimpered pleas within minutes. You felt tears well behind your eyes listening to the man across from you have another nightmare. Your heart bleed for a man you didn’t know, didn’t even know his name. You only knew he spoke gently to fruit vendors and bought fresh plums everyday.

Call it sleep deprivation, homesickness, or basic empathy, but you felt deeply enough to come up with a plan—to offer the hurting man some kindness. You finished marking papers as quietly as you could before you fell into bed, barely audible sniffling sending you to sleep with a heavy heart. 

In the morning you thought strategically about how you would approach him. Knocking on his door empty handed made no sense, and following him around the fruit market seemed an even worse idea. But, like him, you wanted to buy plums. And, it made sense to buy them on your usual morning walk.

You left earlier than you normally would, wanting to be at the market before him so it didn’t look like you were stalking him. You were making idle chit-chat with the vendor, asking what traits constituted a ‘good’ plum—half of you was interested, the other half was stalling in the hopes that plum guy would show. 

Conscious that you were in the way of paying customers, you turned to leave and found your neighbour standing two metres away, watching you apprehensively. How long had he been there?

“Bună!” You greeted him with a kind smile, a little louder now that you were outside. His eyes narrowed slightly, giving you a once over as he studied your body language. Despite how hard you worked on your Romanian pronunciation, your American accent came through strong and you knew he noticed it. 

Another brief nod was your reply. You tried to not let your disappointment show but his eyes darted to your shoulders, watching them deflate.

“Morning.” Oh. You were not expecting that. 

You were expecting the American accent even less. 

He spoke quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. He stepped to the left, turning his body slightly to let you pass. It was progress at least—you would take the simple greeting as a win. 

You saw him again later that day. You were stomping up the stairs cursing to yourself, more papers to grade overflowing your arms and a takeout bag dangerously close to slipping from your fingers. You tripped on the last step, the takeout dropping on the floor and spilling right in front of your neighbours door—half of the papers in your arms following shortly after. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You exclaimed louder than you intended, pissed that your dinner was now all over the floor—some of your students work now stained with pho. 

You bent down slowly, gently lowering the rest of the papers on the clean ground next to your ruined dinner. You didn’t notice the door in front of you opening—the sight of boots next to your mess making you flinch. You jerked your head up to find your neighbour watching you carefully, the side of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. You flushed red, embarrassed by the mess you’d made and flustered from seeing him without his baseball cap. He was handsome. 

“Shit, I—sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll just, uh…” You stumbled over your words, feeling suddenly intimidated by him. 

He squatted down to where you were crouched awkwardly, your arms still holding the pile of papers. He looked down at the mess of pho and essays, his eyes assessing the damage.

He picked up a soggy paper, a stray noodle sliding down the page. He read the page slowly, noticing the name and age in barely legible scribbles. He let out a quiet huff, his blue eyes flicking to your shocked ones. “Might have to give out a few automatic passes.”

He spoke first. He’s looking at you with amusement swirling in his gorgeous blue eyes, and he spoke to you first—even more, he made a joke.

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning closer to see what students name was written at the top. “He struggles more than anyone else in the class, giving him a pass may cause suspicion…” You trailed off with a small, teasing smile. 

He placed the ruined essay back on the mess, his movements gentle.

He stood to his full height, nodding towards the stack in your hands. “You should put those inside. I’ll clean this up.” He moved back towards his door to let you pass.

You stood back up and hesitated, biting your lip as you looked down at the mess. “No, this is my fault. I’ll sort it out.” 

“You should put those down first. Don’t wanna ruin more of your student’s work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back a smile. 

“Right, yeah, that’s smart.” You stepped over the mess and walked the few steps to your door, fumbling with the keys in your bag. You glanced over your shoulder as you opened the door, seeing plum guy crouched down and picking up papers gently. You shook your head fondly at the sight—of course he would clean it up anyway.

You entered the small apartment, making your way over to the dingy kitchen table and dropping the stack of papers and your bag onto it. You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths, shaking off the nervousness seeing your neighbours face properly had caused.

He’s just a guy. A handsome, tormented, gentle guy—whose name you still don’t know. 

In the time it took to give yourself a pep talk, plum guy had finished collecting the papers and was standing in your doorframe. He cleared his throat softly causing you to turn around quickly. His eyes roamed around your small apartment while yours focused on him—he made the doorframe look small, his shoulders just as wide and his head close to touching the top. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you walked towards him.

His eyes met yours, soft and hesitant. “I know.”

He looked down at the papers in his hands, extending them towards you. You offered him a grateful smile as you grabbed them. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, shrugging his shoulders at your gratitude. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his eyes scanning you and the apartment—looking for any hidden threats. 

He took a step back, nodding his head once in goodbye.

You blurted your name out quickly, not wanting to miss the first chance you’ve had to properly connect with the man. 

He tilted his head towards the ground, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. His eyes darted side to side, like he was thinking. Hard.

Finally, he lifted his head but kept his eyes downcast. “…Bucky.”

Your eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, surprised by the unusual name. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” His eyes met yours again, more sure this time. 

“Likewise,” he muttered before leaving your apartment, closing the door softly behind him. 

You felt a small smile take over your face as you stood still, watching the space he just occupied. Progress.

Half an hour later you were bent over the drying essays, determined to make sense of the smudged scribbles when two sharp knocks sounded against your door.

You furrowed your brows, not sure why anyone would be knocking on your door—the only person who knew you lived here was your neighbour, Bucky. You shot up from your chair quickly—it must be him. 

You opened your door a second too late, just catching his door across the small hall closing behind him. You looked down to the floor, surprise knocking you breathless for a moment. There on the concrete at your feet was a bowl of soup, steam rising from it. You picked it up slowly, your heart doing flips in your chest. Bucky had made you soup. He had cleaned up your mess outside his door, and had made you soup to replace your ruined dinner.

That night you found yourself silently crying along with him, the sounds of his nightmare causing you physical pain. What had happened to him?

It was Saturday afternoon and you were pacing the length of your apartment, trying to hype yourself up. Bucky’s clean bowl was resting in your palms, feeling like a loaded gun. You had a plan—to return the bowl and try make conversation, maybe even get him to laugh. That would be nice, right? For him to laugh, for you to hear something from him that wasn’t sounds of agony in the middle of the night. 

You raised your hand hesitantly to his door, giving it two soft knocks. You waited patiently, straining to hear any movement behind the door. A minute passed and nothing. You tried again, knocking with more confidence this time. Thirty seconds passed and you were shifting on your feet, starting to feel disheartened.

“Bucky,” you called softly. “I—sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to return your bowl—from the other night?” It came out as a question, your confidence fading and you started to feel silly. Obviously the guy wanted to be left alone.

You turned to leave when the door in front of you opened, Bucky’s large frame obstructing your view of his apartment. He was without his baseball cap again and his hair was damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans like usual, gloves covering his hands. His eyebrows were raised slightly at you standing in front of him, nervously biting your lip with his cheap bowl in your hands. 

You extended the bowl towards him. “Thank you, for the soup the other night. I…wasn’t expecting it. Beats the granola bar that’s been sitting in my bag for weeks.” You chuckled awkwardly.

He grabbed the bowl with a quiet nod.

“And, thank you again for cleaning up the mess I made. You really didn’t need to.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.” His voice was deep, still rough from lack of use. You found it comforting—you wanted to hear more.

You took a breath to steel your nerves, plastering on what you hoped was a disarming smile.

“I was planning on baking a plum pie this afternoon.” You started, watching as a confused expression took over his face. “My mom’s recipe—I used to bake with her, and I’ve been feeling homesick lately so…” You trailed off, hoping the lie wasn’t obvious. 

Your mom didn’t bake plum pies, and the last time you baked with her was when you were nine—you ended up in tears with little burns on your hands. 

“Would you…would you like some? Or want to join me?” 

His surprise at your invitation was evident, though it was quickly replaced with suspicion. 

“…Why?” 

“You like plums, right? I saw you down at the market.” He was still looking at you skeptically, his big arms now crossed over his chest. Your voice wavered slightly, “think of it as a thank you gift, for your help the other day.”

He sighed at you thanking him again.

“…Fine. I’ll come over in a couple hours.” 

Bucky looked abnormally large sitting at your small kitchen table. His shoulders were tense, his gloved hands clutched together tightly in his lap, his eyes darting around the small space absorbing every detail he could. His brows furrowed at your suitcase on the other side of the room, your clothes spilling out next to the bed.

You followed his line of sight, an embarrassed chuckle escaping you. “Sorry for the mess, this is just a temporary situation. I wasn’t expecting to be living out of my suitcase, still.”

His eyes flicked back to yours in interest. “Temporary?”

You turned back to the dirty dishes, needing something to do with your hands when he’s looking at you like that. Like he wants to know more about you.

“Yeah, I was meant to fly back home a couple weeks ago, but the school I’m teaching at asked me to stay until school finished for the year—they offered to pay for the flight transfer.” You shrugged lightly.

He shifted slightly, the small chair squeaking and straining beneath his weight. “Home?”

You noticed he didn’t talk much and when he did it was in small sentences. Though he was asking you questions now, and you took that as more progress. 

“The States—Philadelphia, to be exact.” You took a breath before asking him, “where’s home for you?”

He was silent for a minute before quietly muttering, “Brooklyn.” 

You turned to him, flashing him a bright smile you couldn’t tame. “Oh cool, my parents are planning on moving there in a couple months! Any non-touristy places they should check out?”

He hesitated again. “It’s—uh, it’s been a while since I was last…home.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead staring intently at his clenched hands. You took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

You bent down to check on the pie in the oven, sighing in relief that it didn’t look like an absolute disaster. 

Turning back to Bucky you tried to think of anything else to talk about, wanting to know more about the quiet man. 

“The pie should be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to…watch something, maybe? While we eat.”

His response was a small nod.

You walked over to grab your laptop off your bed. You sat down on the chair across from Bucky, noticing how he leaned away from you and put his hands in his lap.

“Anything in particular you want to watch?” You briefly glanced at him as you scrolled through the streaming apps.

“Dealers choice,” he hummed quietly. 

You picked A New Hope, deeming it an acceptable movie to watch while eating pie with your neighbour.

Bucky waited until you took your first bite of pie before he inhaled his slice in less than a minute. You let out a small laugh at the sight of him—hunched over in the small chair, shovelling the pie in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for days. 

He looked up at you sheepishly when he heard you laugh. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, mouth full of plum and pastry.

“No, don’t apologise—I take it as a compliment,” you smiled at him, licking your fork clean. His eyes tracked the movement carefully, causing your smile to turn to a small smirk. He looked back down to his empty plate quickly, his shoulders tense after being caught staring.

You stood up and grabbed his plate, cutting a much larger slice of pie for him. He offered you a bashful smile as you put the plate in front of him. 

“Thanks…it’s, uh, pretty good.”

Your body rushed with warmth at his compliment, your cheeks flushing and a small smile now permanent on your face. 

“I’m glad.” 

He ate the second piece at a normal pace, only half interested in watching the movie playing from your laptop on the table. You caught his eyes watching you every few minutes but it didn’t put you on edge. From the few times you’ve interacted with him you gathered he’s a cautious, suspicious guy—the occasional staring didn’t bother you.

Suddenly, the floor started to shake below you—the telltale sign that the backpackers had started partying early. Their music was more bass than anything, making everything in your apartment vibrate slightly. You rolled your eyes and sighed in annoyance—you knew it was going to be a long night.

Bucky stood up and grabbed your empty plates, walking over to the sink to wash them. You opened your mouth to stop him, to tell him you’ll sort it out. He shut you up with a sharp look and shake of his head.

“That happen often? The…music?” He asked, his head tilting towards the floor.

You let out a small scoff. “Yeah, basically every night. This isn’t even the worst of it.”

He grunted in response, displeased. 

“You don’t hear it from your apartment?”

“I do, it’s just not this bad. Becomes background noise after a bit.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s fucking awful music.”

You laughed at that. “Right?! I’m pretty sure they’re aspiring DJ’s…all I know is that I hate them.” He let out a deep laugh that sent a thrill through your body. God help you, you wanted to hear it again. 

“What music do you like?” You tried to ask casually.

He paused, deliberating his answer. “I like…older music, jazz. Not a fan of the modern stuff.”

That didn’t surprise you at all.

You hummed in response. “Yeah, I get that. My grandma made sure I listened to all the classics—I have a soft spot for Sinatra, among others.”

“Huh,” was all he offered. He started walking towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“This was…nice. I—um, I enjoyed your company. Pie was good, too.” 

You giggled at his nervousness—there was something so charming about this big guy being awkward. 

“Yeah, me too. We should do it again, before I go home.”

He hesitated opening the door. “When’s your flight?”

“Friday morning.”

“Monday after work. I’ll bring the plums.”

Later that night, you made the unsafe decision to take an after midnight stroll around Bucharest, choosing to potentially put your life in danger than listen to the gut wrenching sounds of Bucky’s nightmare. It was a bad one—you tried burrowing your head in all the pillows and blankets you had, but you could still hear the harrowing screams and cries. Potentially being mugged seemed a lot more appealing in that moment. 

Bucky knocked on your door an hour after you got home on Monday, with plums in his hand and a request that you teach him the plum pie recipe. 

“Oh Bucky, it’s really not that special. Any recipe you find on the internet will be just as good!” And you knew that was true, because your recipe was the first result when you googled ‘plum pie recipe’. 

“I want to know your one. Promise I won’t get in the way.” His eyes were almost pleading, and you hated the way your heart clenched at his kicked puppy expression. You could see the exhaustion lining his eyes, how his torturous, sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. Your eyes burned with tears just looking at him. 

That’s how you ended up hiding in your bathroom, staring unblinking at your phone screen trying to commit the plum pie recipe to memory. 

He didn’t get in the way, just like he promised. But you could feel him hovering over your shoulder, his eyes solely focused on your hands as you made the pie. His rapt attention made you stumble a few times, completely forgetting steps and measurements. 

He still didn’t talk much, only offering small grunts and hums when you explained techniques and made the occasional awkward—trying to be funny—comment. 

You sat closer to him at the table this time, cheering internally when he didn’t lean away or move his chair further from you. 

You let out a breathy chuckle as a thought crossed your mind.

“What?” Bucky asked curiously.

“Nothing, just had a thought.” You shook your head with a small smile, pushing around a large chunk of plum with your fork. 

“Do you not get those often?”

You gasped in shocked delight, not expecting him to make a lighthearted dig at you. You looked up from your plate at him, seeing his blue eyes twinkling and an almost smirk tugging his mouth. 

“Wow,” you dragged out. “And to think, I was just starting to like you…” You teased him back.

He huffed out a small laugh.

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. What were you thinking about?” He shovelled more pie in his mouth, waiting for your response. 

“You remind me of a cat.”

“What?” He laughed out, his mouth full of pie.

“You’re like a cat. Aloof, wary of people, ready to run out the nearest exit.” You spoke softly, not wanting him to perceive your words as an attack. “But, with a bit of patience and treats,” you nodded towards the pie, “you start to become curious…even trust a little, maybe. It’s not a perfect analogy—it was just a thought.”

He looked at you with a strange expression on his face—something achingly tender, with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. He didn’t answer for a minute, just watched you like he still couldn’t figure you out. 

“What kind of cat would I be?”

“A black cat, for sure.”

You saw him two more times before Thursday afternoon. The first time he joined you on your morning walk around the neighbourhood, the both of you silent—basking in each other’s company and enjoying the quiet summer morning. The second time was late on Tuesday night, when you finally had enough of the backpackers bullshit and were banging on their door demanding they shut the fuck up. Bucky was there within a minute of you shouting, gently pulling you away from the door where two sleazy backpackers were leering at you.

“It’s not worth it,” he said your name softly. 

“Fucking assholes,” you seethed. “I know they stole my headphones, Bucky!” 

You were no match for his strength as he carried you up the stairs, your legs thrashing uselessly. “They were expensive,” you whined like a pouting toddler.

Saying goodbye to your students on Thursday was by no means easy. Even though you only taught there for a few months as part of your gap year, the kids had dug their way into your heart and left you in tears when they hugged you goodbye. 

You recovered by the time Bucky knocked on your door in the late afternoon, plums in one hand and a small bunch of wildflowers in the other. You were frozen, staring at him with what you were sure was a lovestruck expression on your face. 

He held the flowers out for you to grab, your hand brushing his gloved one in the process. He quickly pulled his hand back at your touch, running it through his hair as he looked everywhere but you.

“For your last day,” he said, like that explained everything. “Sorry, they’re nothing, uh, special—they were the only ones the florist had left…” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder.

You snapped out of your smitten daze, a soft giggle leaving you at his nervousness. He looked at you then, his shoulders relaxing.

“They’re perfect.” 

You opened the door wider for him to come in, walking to the kitchen to put the flowers in a glass of water while he closed the door behind him. 

You turned your head sideways, shooting him a teasing look. “You know…they’re going to die in a couple days. I won’t be here to look after them.”

You watched in fascination as a flush climbed up his neck, painting his cheeks red. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous huff. “I didn’t think about that.”

“You can always break in after I’ve left, grab them for yourself before the pricks downstairs steal them.” 

“We don’t want that happening,” he chuckled, putting the plums on the counter next to you. “I’m starting to see why you hate them so much.”

“You’re only seeing it now? They’ve been my number one enemies since I moved in.” You grumbled bitterly. 

You rolled your shoulders back with a sigh—you didn’t want your bitterness clouding your last night with Bucky. 

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” you clapped your hands together, turning to face Bucky fully. “I’m thinking one last plum pie, and maybe we can finish that movie we were watching the other night?”

“Whatever you want.”

An hour later you were both sat at the small table, the half-eaten pie between you and Bucky barely paying attention to the movie, again. His eyes were fixated on your packed suitcase and duffel bag next to the bed. He looked…sad, mournful even. There was a small crease between his furrowed brows, the sides of his mouth downturned, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few minutes.

“Hey,” you started, voice low and soft. “You okay?”

He whipped his head back to you, his glassy eyes meeting yours for a second. “Yeah,” his voice broke faintly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the pie.

“I’m…gonna miss you.” 

You sucked in a breath, the emotion in his voice making your throat feel tight. Tears pricked behind your eyes as you looked at the man in front of you. You wished you could take away all his pain, all his sadness.

You gently laid a hand on his arm, your eyes darting between his for any signs of unease—the only other time the two of you had touched was when he dragged you away from the backpackers door. His arm was solid and cold through his long-sleeve, almost unnaturally hard. His shocked eyes looked into yours as your thumb rubbed his sleeve faintly.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

You removed your hand and looked back at the movie, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

Tension hung thick in the air, causing you to clear your throat and try relieve some of the tightness in your chest.

“You kinda look like him,” you said to Bucky, nodding towards your laptop—a close up shot of Luke Skywalker on the screen. 

“Yeah, I can see it,” you continued, turning your face to see him already looking at you. “If you cut your hair short, shave the beard…” You trailed off, your eyes catching on a bit of plum on his chin.

You raised a hand without thinking, your attention transfixed on the piece of fruit and his pink lips an inch above. His stubble faintly pricked your thumb, your touch featherlight as you swiped the bit of plum away. A small gasp caught in his throat, his chin leaning towards your touch unconsciously. 

Your eyes couldn’t leave his lips, a faint purple tint to them from the pie. 

“You really like plums.”

“They’re meant to help with memory,” he murmured, distracted.

That caught your attention, your eyes darting up to his in question. He let out a deep exhale, the air brushing against your hand. 

“I had an accident…a few years back. Can’t remember much from before, it’s—uh, it’s coming back in bits and pieces.” Your heart clenched painfully, the sorrow for his lost life bleeding through his eyes. 

“Is that—,” you swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Is that what your nightmares are? Memories coming back?” You asked gently, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his chin. 

His eyes widened in panic. “You—you know about the nightmares?”

You moved your hand from his chin, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pushed a loose strand behind his ear. His body involuntarily shivered from your gentle touch.

“Yeah…I’ve known since my first night here,” you whispered. “The walls are pretty thin.”

His eyes dropped to his lap in shame. “God, I am so sorry,” he rasped out your name, his deep voice thick with emotion. 

You cupped his face with both your hands, tilting his head up until his eyes met yours. “Never apologise for your pain, Bucky.” The anguish and self-hatred you saw in his eyes made yours tear up. “Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?”

He stared at you for a long moment, then finally gave you a nod.

You stood up slowly with Bucky following your lead. You looked into his eyes once more, checking he was still comfortable with this, before stepping forward and winding your arms around his waist, your palms resting lightly on his back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles going stiff under your hands. You gently rested your cheek against his chest, his heart beating fast beneath your ear. He didn’t reciprocate the hug for a moment, his arms hovering at his side like he didn’t know what to do.

“Breathe,” you whispered into his shirt. He took a few shuddering breaths in and out then raised his right arm slowly, hesitantly draping it over your shoulder. You felt some of the tension leave his body as he sunk into your embrace. His gloved hand instinctively traveled from your shoulder to the middle of your back, pulling you closer into his warmth—surprising you both.

“Sorry,” his voice was quiet, a slight tremble lacing through. “It’s…been a long time, since I last…hugged someone.” His voice cracked at the end and your heart broke into a million pieces. 

You hugged him tighter, your hands clutching the back of his shirt—tethering him to you. A small sound slipped out of you, something between a gasp and a pained whimper. The lump in your throat grew bigger, spreading down your chest and sitting heavy on your heart. 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, so gently you barely noticed it at first. He let out a staggering breath and then rested the weight of his head on yours fully, purposely. He moved slightly, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply. His arm around you tightened, pulling you tight against his strong body.

“…I can’t believe you’re real.” 

You croaked out a watery laugh against his chest. Fuck, he had no clue what he was doing to you—that you were going to be leaving half of your heart behind when you got on that flight in the morning. 

You pulled away from him an inch, moving your hands from his back to cup his face gently. You looked into his glistening blue eyes before looking down at his lips, watching as his tongue peaked out to wet them.

“Can I kiss you?”

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips on yours hesitantly. He sucked in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to yours firmly. You let him set the pace, letting him know he was the one in control here. His hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you up into his chest as he deepened the kiss. A whimper caught in your throat when his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth opening for him immediately. His chest rumbled with a low moan, his kisses growing more desperate. Your hand slipped from it’s place cupping his jaw, trailing along his skin before tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a whimper at the feeling, breaking the kiss and taking in deep breaths. 

“You okay?” You asked softly.

His breathy chuckle brushed against your lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”

He kissed you again, more sure this time. Both your hands tangled in his hair, gently tugging his scalp as you kissed him with just as much desperation. His stubble scratched against your skin as he moved his lips, kissing along your jaw and making you gasp. The noise encouraged him, his kisses gaining more confidence, making their way down your neck. You titled your head back, granting him more access. He kissed and licked all over your neck, gently biting down on a spot under your ear making you release a moan. He focused on the spot, sucking and biting as you let out more moans and gasps. His hand on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers digging slightly as he pulled you flush to his body. That’s when you felt it—hard and unmistakable, pressing against your lower stomach. 

You broke away from the kiss, watching his eyes flutter open to look into yours. You moved a hand from his hair, brushing your thumb against his jaw. 

“Let me help you feel good.”

He swallowed audibly, his eyes leaving yours to glance at his left arm hanging stiffly at his side. You watched an internal struggle play out on his face, his darting eyes exposing his overthinking mind. 

“We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with,” you said softly.

He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle before kissing you again—his mouth both achingly tender and bruisingly desperate against your own. 

“Did you fall from heaven?” He whispered against your lips, walking backwards and pulling you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He took his hand off of your waist and ripped the glove off with his left hand. He brought his hand up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and gazing at you reverently. You let out a little gasp, not expecting him to initiate skin to skin contact first. He leaned in to kiss you again, hungrily claiming your mouth with his. He moved his bare hand down to your hip, slipping tentative fingers under the hem of your shirt and brushing your skin—igniting your nerves and sending shivers along your body. His hand cupped your waist under your shirt, pressing your hips down ’til they were flush with his.

He let out a wrecked moan from the contact, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily. You rolled your hips experimentally, relishing when he let out a deep groan—his body vibrating beneath yours. You rolled your hips faster, spurred on by his noises and his bulge pressing deliciously against your jeans. He broke away from your mouth, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long if—if you keep doing that.” He sounded ruined. A needy whine tore out of you, your need for Bucky overwhelming you. You ground down on him harder, the ball of desire in your core slicking your underwear and making you greedy. He moaned out your name, clutching your hip to stop your movements. He lifted his head off your shoulder, his glazed eyes meeting your own. 

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, panting already. 

You jumped off his lap, opening your suitcase in a rush to find a condom. You found the open—but unused—box at the bottom, grabbing a couple before joining him on the bed again. He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face. 

“Eager, are we?” 

You nodded quickly in response, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a needy kiss. He gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up and off your body, pausing to stare at your clothed breasts. He kissed down your neck, lavishing your collarbones and chest in tender, hungry kisses. 

“God, you’re a work of art.” He mumbled into your skin. Your heart swelled in response, unexpected tears pricking behind your eyes. No guy has ever said anything like that to you, it’s normally ‘you’re hot’ or they don’t compliment you at all.

“Take off your pants,” he muttered. He removed himself from your body, standing at the foot of the bed to take his own jeans off, your eyes widening at the impressive bulge in his boxers. You felt more wetness gather in your core, preparing you for what was to come.

You eagerly pushed your jeans down, kicking them off your feet. He climbed back over you, holding his body up with his left arm next to your head. His right hand trailed down your torso slowly, stopping at the wet patch of your panties. He pressed down on it, pulling a desperate whimper from you, your hips rolling up to his touch. He pulled your underwear down your legs one-handed, throwing them somewhere behind him.

He pulled his boxers down to his knees, grabbing one of the foil squares on the bed next to you and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock, gasping from the sensitivity. 

He leaned down to kiss you tenderly. “Still wanna do this?” He asked breathlessly.

“Please, Bucky.” You whimpered.

With his mouth on yours, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped at the feeling—he was the biggest you’ve had and you couldn’t control your walls clenching down on him. A pained moan tore from his chest as you gripped him tight, your hands winding through his hair and tugging the dark strands.

He mumbled curses, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He pushed in more, and you let out a sound you’d never heard before—the stretch of him sending you to another world. He started off with slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his size.

“More,” you moaned against his mouth. He picked up the pace, hitting the spot that had your back arching and stars forming behind your eyes. You clenched down on him hard, his hips stuttering and head dropping onto your chest at the feeling.

“Christ, shit—I’m not gonna last long.” He whimpered, his thrusts starting to lose rhythm. He moved his hand to your centre, finding your throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing firm circles. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, the fire in your core spreading through your veins.

Bucky thrusted a few more times before coming, your name slipping from his lips in a half moan, half whimper. He continued thrusting into you, his release long and overwhelming. He doubled his efforts on your clit, sending you over the edge with a sharp gasp of his name. It wasn’t an all-consuming, white hot pleasure but it was good. Warm, like golden sun rays spreading through your body.

He laid his head on your chest, the both of you panting after your releases. You raked a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling, tears slipping from his eyes and wetting your chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel human.”

You woke up before six the next morning, finding cold sheets next to you where Bucky once was. Sitting on the small kitchen table was your stolen headphones, a ripped piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting next to them. 

You were right 

- Bucky

A week later you were at your parents place in Philly, sitting on the floor in their lounge sorting their stuff into boxes for donation or storage. Your mom turned the TV up louder, drawing your attention to the breaking news story. There on the screen was a video of the man officials suspected bombed the United Nations—James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Bucky.

 Oh, shit. 

Present day - Brooklyn, New York

The referee’s whistle shrieked loudly, piercing your ears and signalling the end of the soccer game. You had little time to prepare for the blur of messy dark braids and mud sprinting towards you, colliding with your legs and making you stumble back. 

“I did it, mama! I didn’t let a single goal in!” 

“I saw, peanut—I am so proud of you!” You squatted down and hugged your daughter tightly. “Did you have fun?”

She bounced in your arms, nodding vigorously. You pulled back, seeing the beaming grin on her face—proudly displaying the small gap in her top front teeth. She lost her first tooth the week before and she was ecstatic when the tooth fairy visited her—she tried to stay up two hours past her bedtime to ‘catch’ the tooth fairy, but fortunately for you she was out like a log long before you went to sleep. 

“Can we get ice cream? Pretty please?” She asked, her blue eyes wide and bottom lip jutted out in a small pout—the puppy dog expression pulling on your heart strings.

You stood up, combing the loose strands back from her face and wiping a smudge of mud off her forehead.

“Hmm, how about we go home first and get cleaned up?” The both of you headed towards the field’s exit, waving goodbye to her teammates and their parents.

She rolled her eyes. “But home is far away, the ice cream store is closer!” Where she got her attitude from, you had no idea. Well, you did—while she was the spitting image of her father, her personality was a mirror of your own. 

“You have a great point, Jamie. But—” you leaned towards her and took an audible sniff of her hair, dramatically taking a big step back and holding your nose. “—you’re stinky. We need to get you cleaned up for the public’s sake.”

She let out a high-pitched giggle, a familiar smile gracing your face at the sound. It was the most beautiful sound—your daughters joy was all that mattered to you. It meant you were doing something right.

“Okay,” she dragged out. “Does that mean I get two scoops?”

“What?! Two scoops? You won’t be able to sleep after that, bug.” 

The two of you made your way down the street, walking the normal ten minute route back home. She continued to try her luck, trying to guilt trip you into giving her more sugar and you were close to breaking once—when her big eyes glistened with tears—but you held strong even when your heart tugged. God, what you would do for those baby blues.

You were halfway home when a group of men in suits stepped out of the cafe ten metres ahead of you. They were taking up the whole sidewalk, laughing obnoxiously and all exuding alpha male energy. You pulled Jamie closer to you out of instinct, your eyes scanning for an open gap in the group of men when something—someone—caught your eye.

He looked…older, more refined. His hair was slightly shorter, the once styled strands tousled—likely from him running his hands through his hair. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, the faded blue and dark grey combination making his heavy stubble stand out. He held his head high, his shoulders rolled back in a quietly domineering stance. He looked confident, comfortable even. 

You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The world around you faded, your attention focused solely on him as he shook his head with a small laugh, a faint smile curving his lips. 

Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. 

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jamie’s little hand tugged on yours, confused as to why you stopped walking.

“Mama?” 

You sucked in a sharp breath, reality crashing down on you—along with a bucket of anxiety and fear.

You tightened your grip on her hand, spinning the both of you around and hurrying in the direction you came from.

“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Jamie asked in her sweet small voice.

You brushed a hand over her head, tucking loose strands behind her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, peanut. I just—you were right, it makes sense to get ice cream now!”

She instantly perked up, her little feet walking faster than you—dragging you towards the store.

“Finally! Can I get two scoops?”

You nodded in a daze, your mind racing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, honey.”

Had he seen you? Had he seen Jamie? 

You spent countless sleepless nights tossing and turning over the past five years, playing out millions of different scenarios. You had numerous scripts drafted in your head, what you would say to him—how you would tell him he had a child, a daughter. But seeing him a few feet away from you, alive and well—and so fucking handsome—your mind went blank. 

It wasn’t the right time, you told yourself. Other people were around—you couldn’t put Jamie in that situation.

Trying to get a sugar crazed Jamie to bathe was like trying to tame a sticky-fingered tornado. She jumped over furniture, slid between your legs, and slipped through crevices like she was boneless. You were starting to regret enrolling her in taekwondo classes.

“The hell? How are you moving like that?” You flopped on the couch in defeat, the pounding in your head exacerbated from chasing her around the apartment.

You blinked and suddenly a jar was shoved in your face, half full of crumpled dollar notes, glittery pink and purple letters spelling out ‘swear jar’ on the white label.

“You said a swear word!”

You pounced on her, securing your arms around her waist and pulling her tight against you. You blew raspberries on her face and neck, holding her tighter as she squirmed.

“Let me go!” She squealed through giggles, trying to wriggle out of your arms.

“Not a chance, peanut.” 

After her bedtime routine that took twice as long with the sugar in her system, you sunk into the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other. 

Your phone shook slightly in your grip, anxiety pinching your chest. The last time you looked up Bucky on the internet was over a year ago; you found out he was saving the world alongside Captain America and had been pardoned of his crimes from when he was the Winter Soldier. It was hard to process—that the gentle man you had spent a tender night with in Bucharest, the man that was Jamie’s father, was off saving the world when the world had been anything but kind to him.

But now, you knew he was in the same city—the same borough—as you, and you couldn’t keep running from the truth. 

Ever since that night you’ve felt an ache in your bones, like you had left a part of yourself behind in that shitty apartment. You missed him, but you were so confused. After the UN bombing you tried to find out everything you could about him, and when the two pink lines appeared clear as day on the pregnancy test you knew you had to tell him. But, he had disappeared—gone off the face of the earth and you had no ways to contact him. You thought he had died.

Then the blip happened. Jamie and you came back to find a world that had changed—that had forgotten about you. Your apartment in Philly had new residents, all your belongings gone—you had taken Jamie for a walk in the park and then suddenly five years had passed when you blinked. You moved to Brooklyn to live with your parents while you rebuilt your life, and keeping Jamie safe in a world that was torn apart was all that mattered. The Avengers had brought back half of the world, and that’s when you found out Bucky was alive—his face plastered on the TV screen along with dozens of other superheroes. You didn’t know how to reach out and you didn’t know if you wanted to—you and Jamie were just finding your footing and you didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. And truthfully, you were scared.

When Jamie asked about her dad you told her that you had lost contact when the blip happened, and that you were looking for him. You told her he was once in the army and fought for your country, that he took down bad guys like it was nothing. She occasionally asked, “have you found daddy yet?” and your heart broke every time you looked into her bright, hopeful eyes—the exact same shade of blue that you had fallen for over plum pie.

Taking a long swig of wine, you typed his name into google—your thumb shaking as you hit the search button. 

And there he was.

Congressman James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Representative for Brooklyn.

A memory from two weeks prior surfaced, when you were slumped over your home desk—trying not to panic over the next months budget. Jamie had begged to join a swim club, even with her already busy schedule of school, soccer, and taekwondo. You were starting to struggle on your teacher’s salary, but you couldn’t say no to her. You wanted to provide her with everything she wanted and more.

You were barely paying attention to your mom on the phone, gossiping about brunch with her book club friends earlier that day.

“You’ll never guess who we saw—that new Congressman, the handsome one. You know, I heard that he’s single…” 

You sighed at her tone, knowing what she was suggesting. “Great, I’ll make sure to tell dad he’s got competition.” 

“Oh, hush! That’s not what I was implying and you know it.” You dropped your head onto the desk with a groan. “It’s about time you put yourself out there, give dating a go again. You never know who you’ll meet.”

“Mom, I’m busy—“

“We’re worried about you, honey. All you do is work and take care of Jamie—who takes care of you?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me, thank you very much. Jamie and I are happy on our own.” You mumbled, a headache starting to pound against your temple. 

There was a pause on her end, and you braced yourself for what was coming. 

“…Have you—has there been any updates on Jamie’s father?” 

“No—look, sorry, I’m busy with school stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” You ended the call without waiting for your mom’s goodbye, guilt gripping your chest like it always does when someone brings him up.

Little did you both know, the congressman she was gushing about was Jamie’s father. 

You gulped down the rest of your wine, saving the number for his office in your phone. 

“What the fuck.” You muttered, your voice echoing in the quiet apartment. You had no clue what you were going to do. 

Jamie’s giggles could be heard from across the grocery store, bringing an unconscious smile to your face. She was with your mom in the bakery section, giving her opinion on what her grandpa’s birthday cake should be. You could already picture the awestruck expression on her face—no doubt her nose was pressed against the glass with wide eyes taking in all the baked goods.

You were in the fruit and vegetables section, gathering ingredients for your plum pie. It had become a tradition without meaning to—baking the pie for your loved ones on special occasions, or even when they just needed comfort. It was a staple in your kitchen now, you had even altered the recipe throughout the years, truly making it your own.

In the weeks after you left Bucharest, you would find yourself making it when you missed him. When you couldn’t get to sleep at night, the sounds of his nightmares echoing in your mind, you were in the kitchen making the goddamn pie. And then when your pregnancy cravings kicked in, all you wanted was that stupid pie. And him. But you couldn’t have him, so the sugar filled pastry would have to do.

Walking through the section, you felt your phone sitting heavy in your pocket, weighed down by the numerous email drafts in your inbox and his office number in your contacts. 

You were focused on selecting the right apples—Jamie was seriously picky with them—when a deep voice called out your name. A low, gravelly, familiar voice—one that you hadn’t heard in years. 

You turned around and there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing a similar suit to when you saw him outside the cafe. His hair was just as messy, dark strands swooping on his cheeks, making his blue eyes look even more electric, intense. You watched as they widened in surprise, an awed smile overtaking his face. He took a small step towards you and you resisted the urge to take one back, your brain struggling to comprehend that Bucky was right in front of you. 

“It really is you.” He spoke softly, dazed.

You blinked.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You were meant to meet at a cafe, or a park—a safe, common ground. Not at your local grocery store after five pm on a Friday, your hair frizzy from a long day at work and running around after your daughter. 

“Bucky, hi,” you mumbled, still in shock.

“You—you look great, beautiful.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, his eyes trailing up and down your figure. 

Your nerves lit up in response, your body begging you to step closer—to close the gap between you and the man you had spent the past five years yearning for.

“How are you? Are you still teaching?” Your breath caught in your throat—he remembered. He remembered you, and he remembered the brief conversation you’d had about teaching during your gap year. 

Then, as if fate had orchestrated this whole interaction, your daughter came skipping over, a big giddy grin on her face.  

“Look, mama! Nana said I could get Pop the Captain America cake for his birthday!”

Bucky watched closely as Jamie crashed into your legs, your hand instinctively rubbing her back in soothing circles—more for you than her. You watched his eyes drift over her, starting at her messy dark braids, then taking in her taekwondo uniform, finally ending on her crocs—covered in princess and Captain America charms. 

She peered into the basket in your hands. “Oooh! Are you making plum pie tonight?!” You think the whole store heard her yell. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours, a stunned and confused expression on his face. He looked speechless.

Jamie turned around, finally noticing the other adult in front of her. You watched the infectious grin take over her face, proudly showing off her missing tooth. She waved to Bucky. “Hi!” 

You had taught her the importance of stranger danger—well, as much as you could teach a five year old—but her kindness was built into her DNA, she couldn’t help smiling at and greeting every stranger she met.

Bucky was still speechless, his wide eyes looking into your daughters—seeing the same blue you imagined he saw in the mirror. He let out a stunned breath, his body swaying slightly like the rug had been pulled out from under him—because it had. You knew he knew.

“Sorry, hun. I don’t know what you feed her, but I’ve never seen a kid run that fast.” Your mom panted as she joined the accidental family reunion, the Captain America cake in her hands. She looked at the man in front of you, doing a visual double take as she recognised him. 

“Oh! Congressman Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to Bucky, shooting you a side-eye that screamed “what the fuck aren’t you telling me.” Bucky shook her hand absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving Jamie for a split second. 

You were stood frozen, unable to think. Both your mom’s and Jamie’s eyes were watching you curiously. Why weren’t you saying anything?

Bucky finally looked away from Jamie, his confused yet hopeful eyes meeting your panicked ones. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, at a loss for words. He licked them nervously then tried again.

“…Is she—“

His voice brought you back to earth, back to your body.

“It was really great seeing you, Bucky—I hope you’re well! We’re running late—like super late, so we need to get going.” You grabbed one of Jamie’s hands tightly, using it to pull her with you and to ground yourself. Your mom hesitantly followed, her eyes darting between you and Bucky—suspicion written clearly on her face. “We’ll—I’ll see you later!” You said to him over your shoulder, scurrying towards the checkout as fast as you could.

Your hands shook as you bagged your groceries, barely noticing that you had only gotten half of what was on your list. You took in a deep lungful of air once the three of you were outside. 

Your mom called your name softly yet sternly. “What was that in there? How do you know—did you call him Bucky?”

You sighed, exasperated. “Mom, it’s nothing—“

“No, that was not nothing! You’re acting strange—what’s going on?”

“Please, just drop it!” You nodded towards Jamie next to you, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll talk about it later, promise.”

She narrowed her eyes at you but ultimately let it go.

The next morning you were rushing around the lounge, struggling to get Jamie into her soccer kit as she zoomed through the apartment.

“Jesus—just sit still, peanut. Don’t you wanna go play with your friends?” She nodded eagerly, stopping her mad dash around the place so you could get her shirt on. She didn’t stay still for long though, running back into her room with one sock on. “How do you always have so much energy?” You muttered to yourself.

Three heavy raps sounded against your front door. You knew who it was immediately—who else would be knocking at your door before nine am on a Saturday.

Your heartbeat hammered in your throat as you walked to the door slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. You took a deep breath in and grasped the doorknob, stopping for a second to collect yourself.

You opened the door and were greeted by the sight of Bucky, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue t-shirt and black leather jacket. It should be criminal to look that good so early in the morning. His eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them—hope, determination, and something that looked too close to hurt for your liking. Shit.

You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.

“We need to talk.”

“Bucky, hi—how do you know where I live?”

“I have my ways.”

He looked over your shoulder, straining his neck to see into your apartment behind you.

“Look, I agree we need to talk—“

“Why did you run off?”

And yup, there it was—the hurt crystal clear in his voice.

You closed your eyes briefly, the familiar clench of guilt overwhelming your chest. 

“I—it wasn’t my intention to…run off, I just—“ You stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at you expectantly, the exhaustion from a sleepless night evident on his face.

“You what? Were you ever gonna tell me?”

The accusation in his tone slapped you across the face. 

“Bucky, that’s not fair—you don’t even know—“

And, like usual, your daughters timing was impeccable.

“We’re gonna be late!” She barrelled towards you, knocking you off balance as she slammed into the backs of your legs. 

Bucky instinctively grabbed your upper arms, holding you steady as you regained your balance. Your nerves buzzed alive under his hands and you couldn’t help but notice—no gloves, he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore. 

He stepped back from you just as quick, and your body felt the loss of his touch immediately. Goddamn traitor. 

He squatted down to Jamie’s level, smiling at her with the softest look you’ve ever seen on the man. 

“Hi, I’m Bucky.”

You were suddenly annoyed with him. Coming to talk to you unannounced was one thing, but introducing himself to your daughter when you hadn’t had a chance to place boundaries—yeah, that pissed you off. 

“Hi, I’m Jamie!” 

The look he shot you had some of your anger dulling, the guilt you were so familiar with clouding over. You both knew the name Jamie was no mistake, and the flurry of emotions that crossed his face showed what the name meant to him. 

“Jamie?” His voice wavered. “That’s a great name.”

She beamed brightly at him and you felt the world shift beneath the three of you. There was no going back now.

“Are you coming to my soccer game?” 

That shocked both of you.

“Only if your mom wants me there.” And then two pairs of blue eyes are staring at you—one pleading, the other just waiting, letting you know the ball is in your court. And it’s not fair.

“Jamie, we need to talk about you inviting strangers out with us.” Bucky visibly flinched at the word ‘strangers’—it hit like a punch to your gut. “But, sure. Bucky can come with us.”

The ten minute walk to the soccer field was…nice. Bucky fit in like the missing puzzle piece, and it was doing complicated things to your heart. To be fair, Jamie talked the whole time. She was excited to tell someone new all her stories from school, yapping his ear off about everything she could think of. And Bucky was lapping it up. He had a soft smile permanently plastered on his face, his eyes on Jamie the whole time. From the second you stepped outside of your building, he positioned himself to be on the car side of the street, angling his body to protect Jamie—making your heart flip in your chest even more, and waking up something dangerous in your core. 

There was no missing the looks sent your way from the other parents when you arrived—especially the looks your fellow soccer moms shot Bucky. Great, the last thing you wanted was Jamie to be stuck in the middle of their rumour mill.

Jamie sprinted towards her friends already warming up for their game, leaving you and Bucky alone for the first time. You drifted towards the other side of the field, putting distance between you and the gossip hungry parents. No one else needed to be privy of your conversation.

The air around you and Bucky grew heavy, neither of you speaking for a few minutes as you watched Jamie hug her friend after they fell, asking if they were okay. An overwhelming sense of pride took over you, tears warming your eyes at the sight of your daughter being so kind, so caring. 

Bucky cleared his throat softly.

“She’s…happy,” he said wistfully.

“Yeah,” you mumbled softly. “Means I’m doing something right.” 

He looked at you then, his eyes scanning your face as you kept your attention trained on Jamie. You couldn’t look at him. The exhaustion from the last few years was weighing heavily on you, and you knew one glance at Bucky would have you breaking.

He turned back, watching Jamie put her oversized goalie gloves on, chuckling softly as they dwarfed her hands.

“She looks like my sister.”

That had you looking away from your daughter, focusing on the man next to you offering more information about himself. You didn’t know he had a sister.

“Becca was full of energy at that age, too. We both were,” he shook his head with a small laugh. “Ma used to say our house was tornado central with all the damage we caused.”

You let out an amused huff. “I figured she got her energy from you—I was more on the reserved side as a kid. She’s now in three different after school sports activities, but I think they just make her more energised.” 

He made eye contact with you briefly. “Three, huh? That’s…a lot.” 

You both grew silent again, watching Jamie dive for a ball and successfully defending the goal.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Were you gonna tell me?” He asked again, no accusation in his voice this time—a pensive sadness in its place. It only made you feel worse, the tears from earlier blurring your eyes.

“Bucky, I—“ you took in a deep breath, trying to control your emotions. “I was planning to, I swear.” You kept your eyes on Jamie, her smile bringing you some comfort.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I tried looking for you—I really tried. But, you just vanished…I thought you were dead.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at that, looking down at the ground.

“I didn’t want to go through the pregnancy alone, I was fucking terrified. Then, Jamie was born and she became my whole world—I would do anything for her.” Your throat grew tight and a single tear slid down your cheek.

“After the blip, I could only focus on her, on building a better life for her. And then I found out you were alive, that you had helped save the world, and I was…scared. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, and Jamie’s father—you—being a superhero, putting your life in danger…it was a risk I didn’t want to take. I didn’t want you in our lives if you were just going to be…ripped away from us. It would break Jamie—it would break me.”

Your voice cracked and Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with concern. You brushed the tears off your cheeks and continued.

“Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but getting in contact with the Avengers when you’re a civilian…it’s pretty fucking hard.”

He let out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I thought about reaching out last year, when I saw you were fighting alongside Captain America—who Jamie is obsessed with, by the way—but I just couldn’t get past that fear. It was easier to…live without you than potentially have you torn from us. Well, that’s what I tried to tell myself.”

You both watched as Jamie hit the ground, hard. Bucky stepped forward instinctively, like he was about to run to her side. She recovered quickly, jumping back up with a giggle. 

“She’s tough,” he mumbled with a small smile. 

He turned to you, determination and longing shining in his eyes.

“I get that. I get why you didn’t reach out, you were putting Jamie’s safety, her happiness, first.” He let out a humourless chuckle, “it’s a fucking complicated position to be in, I’ll give you that.”

“I want to be in her life, in your life—if you’ll have me.” 

You looked back at Jamie in time to see her waving at you, at both of you. 

“Yeah,” you muttered softly. “I don’t think she would let you leave, even if you tried.” 

“Good.”

You both settled in to a comfortable silence, before you couldn’t resist asking what you’ve wanted to know for the last five years.

“Where were you—“

“What does she know—“

You both laughed softly. You tipped your head towards him. “You go first.”

“What does she know…about me?”

Yeah, you were expecting that.

“I told her you were in the army, that you fought bad guys…that we lost contact after the blip. She asks for updates, wanting to know where her daddy is.”

His brows pinched, his mouth trembling slightly like he was holding back tears. He cleared his throat twice. 

“How do we tell her?”

There it was, the question you had been dreading—because you had no fucking clue. 

“…I don’t know—hope she figures it out herself?” 

The look he shot you was deadly. 

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll sit her down one night, tell her gently.”

“I want to be there.” 

Of course he does. Of course he just walks back into your life and wants to be involved in everything. Half of you is fucking thrilled he’s here and wanting to be part of your lives, but the other half is terrified he’ll think it’s too much and leave you both—or worse, die and leave you broken.

His eyes watched you carefully and you knew he could sense your internal battle.

“I’m not going to leave, I promise.”

And, because it was the reason you suffered many restless nights, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“What happened to you? After Bucharest?” 

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath.

“I was in Wakanda. I…couldn’t trust my mind, and they helped me. Brought me a bit of peace.”

You could see it, how different he was to the man who once lived across from you. He was still gentle, soft, but more sure of himself—more confident in who he was. He no longer walked around like he was ashamed to be alive. 

“And now…you’re a Congressman? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, it’s quite the difference to the guy who could barely make eye contact with me.” You teased lightly.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a small smirk. 

“Trust me, speaking in front of Congress is much easier than talking to the pretty girl across the hall.”

Your body flushed with warmth. Was he seriously flirting with you? 

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were not going to crumble for him that quickly. 

“We need to set ground rules, if we want this to work. For Jamie’s sake.”

He nodded solemnly, catching the seriousness in your tone.

“No showing up unannounced—we have a routine, and Jamie can get easily distracted.”

“Noted.”

“Communication is important, okay? Let me know if you want to see her, or if you have to cancel last minute. We have to be honest with each other—you need to tell me if it’s too much. If we’re too much.”

“Not gonna happen,” Bucky muttered.

“And absolutely no funny business—I’m serious, Bucky. I’m not jeopardising her relationship with you because we couldn’t keep it in our pants.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he nodded regardless. 

“Whatever you say, doll.” 

You glared at him when he said ‘doll’—that was not helping. 

“Should I come ‘round tonight to tell her? I can bring dinner.” Bucky was rocking back and forth on his feet, barely containing his eagerness. You bit your lip to suppress a smile.

“No, not tonight. She has a playdate this afternoon and she’s always a nightmare to calm down afterwards.” 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

You rolled your eyes, the smile breaking out across your face.

“Fine.”

“…Any chance you can make that plum pie?”

Jamie was lying on the couch, her head hanging off the side when Bucky knocked on the door the next evening. You had told her earlier that he was coming around for dinner and she had barely sat still since. It was a pain in the ass, if you were being honest. She clung to your torso like a koala as you tried to vacuum the apartment, making the chore take twice as long. Her crayons and toys covered the dining table—you had already put them back in her room three times that afternoon but she kept on bringing them back out. And there was a purple stain on her chin—which you were fairly certain was a bit of plum pie mixture she had swiped when you turned your back. 

“I’ll get the door!” She all but screamed as she ran towards it. 

“I hope you like burgers,” came Bucky’s deep voice from behind you. You turned to find Jamie giving him a tour of the apartment, starting with the small kitchen you were standing in.

She gasped, delighted. “They’re my favourite!”

“Thank you,” you said, taking the bags from his hands and putting them on the counter. 

“Of course,” Bucky replied, his eyes traveling down your body before meeting your eyes. You tried to not let that affect you, busying yourself with gathering plates and napkins.

“Peanut, can you please grab your stuff off the table?” You asked Jamie. “Don’t forget to wash your hands, too.”

Jamie grumbled her objections but did as you asked, huffing as she gathered her mess of toys. 

You turned to Bucky. “Sorry for the mess, I cleaned earlier but…”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his face. “Tornado central.”

You grinned at him. “Exactly.”

Jamie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him towards the lounge. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.” She was no match for his super soldier strength yet he let her drag him around with no complaint. 

You put the finishing touches on the plum pie, sticking it in the oven before setting the dining table for dinner—all while listening to Jamie show Bucky your quaint apartment.

“And finally, this is mommy’s room—“

“Peanut, I don’t think he needs to see that.” You raised your voice slightly, rushing down the hallway to see them already in your doorway. You did not need Bucky in your room—that would just open pandora’s box and you were not prepared to deal with that.

“Your mom’s right, I don’t need to see her room,” Bucky said, though the small smirk on his face said something else entirely. You really hoped he didn’t catch the bra hanging from the laundry basket.

“Let’s eat before it get’s cold, yeah?” Jamie didn’t need to be told twice, forgetting her tour and sprinting down the hallway.

You and Bucky followed behind her, and he was an inch too close for your liking.

“Red, huh?” He muttered lowly. Your body went hot—he definitely saw the bra.

The burgers were good, like really good, and you weren’t afraid to tell him.

“Where did you get these? I think they’re the best I’ve had in Brooklyn—wait, no, in the city.” You practically moaned.

Bucky’s smirk was bright and smug. “It’s a small hole-in-the-wall near my office. I can take you there sometime.”

Jamie was bouncing in her chair, happily nibbling away at her food—unaware that her life was about to change in a second. You made eye contact with Bucky, both your faces falling serious. It was time.

“Hey, Jamie? There’s something I—we—need to talk to you about.” You spoke to her gently, putting your burger down and wiping your hands. Her bright eyes met yours and you knew you had her attention.

“You know how I said I was looking for your dad?” She nodded eagerly, her eyes briefly flicking to Bucky. She was a smart kid, you could practically see the gears in her brain turning.

“Well, I—uh,” you stuttered. Now that you were here, your mind had gone blank. How the hell do you tell your daughter her dad is sitting right next to her?

Bucky placed a hand on yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. He shot you a look saying “I’ve got this” before turning to Jamie fully. 

He sucked in a breath. “I’m…I’m your dad, Jamie. And I would love to be in your life, if you’re okay with that.”

Bucky had barely finished his sentence before Jamie lunged, wrapping her little arms tight around his neck—no doubt smearing sauce on his shirt and hair.

He was taken aback for a quick second before returning her hug, his hands gently cradling her back. And that’s when you noticed it—his arm, the left one. You had seen it in pictures, on TV, but never in the flesh. His vibranium thumb was rubbing soft circles on her back, soothing her as sobs wracked through her—her little frame overcome with emotion. A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them—overwhelmed with guilt from keeping them apart for so long, and something else warm blooming in your chest. 

Bucky pressed a kiss to her head, closing his eyes tightly like he was fighting back tears. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to brush away the tears on Jamie’s cheeks.

“Does this mean you’re moving in?” Jamie asked sweetly.

He let out a watery chuckle. “No, no I’ll be staying at my place. It’s not far from here.” His eyes shot up to yours quickly before continuing. “But, I’ll come ‘round as much as I can. And, I’ll be at all your soccer games—promise.”

By this point she had fully crawled onto his lap, bouncing happily in his arms. “What about taekwondo and swimming? Will you be there?”

“If I don’t have to be away for work.” 

She pouted at him, opening her mouth to argue when the oven’s timer went off. She jumped off his lap, running the short distance to the kitchen. “Plum pie!” She squealed, excited. 

You put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered. He looked at you with glassy eyes that you were sure mirrored your own. 

“Get the pie, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded towards the mess of burgers and napkins. 

You shooed Jamie away from the oven and she climbed back onto Bucky’s lap—natural, like it was where she belonged. You put your hands on the counter, dipping your head down and taking a few breaths. This was going better than you imagined, but it was also dangerously twisting your heart. 

“You’ve got no idea how much I missed this,” Bucky muttered, looking at the pie in your hands. His eyes dragged up your body, meeting your own with a darkened gaze—it was obvious he was not just talking about the pie.

Your hands shook imperceptibly as you plated up three slices. Bucky was the first to dive in, letting out a low moan as he tasted the pie for the first time in five years. Jamie giggled at him from her place in his lap.

And you? You were frozen in your chair, a warmth spreading in your core from his moan. It was fucking sinful, and he had no right to make a noise like that at your dining table—even if it was him showing his appreciation for your baking. It felt like it was more than that.

You were in the kitchen cleaning up while Jamie had convinced Bucky to sit on the lounge floor with her, showing him her favourite toys. You looked over your shoulder, catching her holding his vibranium arm in her little hands—gazing at it in wonder.

Then you watched the realisation hit her.

“…You know Captain America.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sam? Yeah, I know him.”

And then she was shrieking, hugging the arm tightly. 

“Can I meet him? Please, please, pretty please?!”

Bucky laughed loudly at her excitement. “Yeah, princess. I’ll see what I can do.”

You watched as he stood up slowly with Jamie hanging from his arm. She swung on it, giggling nonstop. A smile spread across your face, despite the way your ovaries were screaming at the sight. The ‘no funny business’ boundary you set was looking a lot less appealing now, and it had barely been twenty-four hours. 

The three of you were stood at your front door, Jamie clinging onto Bucky’s leg like her life depended on it. You and Bucky had your phones out, syncing your calendars so you were aware of each others schedules, routines. 

“You weren’t joking,” Bucky muttered, looking at the colour coded schedule you had for all of Jamie’s activities. You rolled your eyes—you took your schedule very seriously, there was no joking when it came to having your daughter’s life prepared.

Bucky squatted down, pulling Jamie into a hug. “I’ve gotta go now, angel. You be good for your mom.” He tried to pull back but she held on tighter, her little fists clenching his jacket.

“No,” she whined. “Please don’t go.”

“The sugar crash, right on schedule.” You mumbled, gently prying her hands off of him. She let out a cry as you gathered her in your arms, her little hands reaching for Bucky. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. He gave you a small smile and shake of his head, stepping forward to kiss Jamie’s forehead.

You were exhausted by the time you tucked Jamie into bed. She cried for half an hour after Bucky left, and it fucking broke your heart. You weren’t expecting her to get attached to him so quickly, but that was your daughter—she loved with her whole heart. And you couldn’t blame her, you felt like crying after he left too. All your feelings for him came rushing back as you watched him with your daughter—his daughter.

This was not going to be easy on your heart. 

A few weeks passed and everything felt so right. Bucky kept true to his promise—he didn’t miss a single one of her games and came to her taekwondo and swimming classes when he wasn’t needed at the Capitol. He spoiled her with gifts—even when you told him not to—and he had started spoiling you too. You tried to brush him off with an eye roll every time, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away. 

First, it was a nice bottle of wine, one you would never buy for yourself. Next, a box of expensive chocolates he had been “gifted” and didn’t want—you called bullshit. Then, it was a massage voucher—when you tried to refuse it, he promptly said “it’s either this or I give you one myself, doll” and you snatched it out of his hands before he could see the deep red crawling up your neck. The more he did for you and Jamie, the harder it was for you to ignore the way your heart tugged towards him—the way your body lit up every time he threw you that secret smirk. You were growing more frustrated each day and it was starting to show.

You were sitting in the break room at work, half paying attention to the geography teacher who was gossiping about one of her sophomore classes—apparently two of her students had a cute back and forth and she was coming up with a plan to push them together.

She called your name, looking at you expectantly.

“Huh? Sorry, bit out of it today,” you muttered, your cheeks growing warm.

“I was talking about Sophie and Ben—they’re in your third period English class, right? Don’t you think they would be cute together?” She all but squealed.

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I don’t know if we should be meddling in our students relationships, though. Besides, it’d just make me feel depressed about my lacking love life…” You trailed off, your mind already wandering to Bucky and the look on his face when Jamie called him ‘daddy’ the night before.

Your colleague dropped into the chair next to you, chin in her hand as she peered at you in interest. “Oh? Are you looking to date?” You were about to shake your head, but she continued. “My cousin just moved here and I think you would be perfect for each other! You’re definitely his type.”

You rolled your eyes, the last thing you wanted was to be set up on a blind date. “No, I’m not dating. It’s fine, really—“

But she was already grabbing your unlocked phone, pulling up your calendar and looking for a free slot. She found one—next Saturday, when Jamie would be staying the night at Bucky’s for the first time. She typed on your phone, setting up an appointment for eight pm—“Date with Michael!”

“I’ll text you his details!”

There was no way in hell you were going to text him to arrange a date. You already had a date scheduled that night—your bath, a bottle of red Bucky had given you, and the toy you hadn’t unboxed yet.

Later that night, Bucky was in your kitchen drying dishes slowly, a faraway look on his face. You had just tucked Jamie in for the night, and he didn’t notice when you returned to the kitchen.

“Hey,” you started. “You okay?” 

“Who’s Michael?” He asked gruffly, his eyes boring into yours.

You furrowed your brows at him, very confused. “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning the screen to show you an appointment in your synced calendar—the appointment you had forgotten to delete. 

You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Oh, that. My coworker was trying to set me up with her cousin, she put that in my calendar.” You shrugged.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He looked pissed.

“Tell you what, Bucky? I’m not going.”

“I think I have a right to know if you’re dating, doll.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you. Fuck, he looked hot. 

“I’m not dating, Buck.” He leaned against the counter behind him, still staring at you intensely.

“But, you would tell me if you were?” You were starting to get aggravated, this felt like an interrogation.

“What does it matter to you?” You said, voice louder than intended.

“We have a child together. I should know if you’re bringing random guys home.”

Now you were mad. He made it sound like you were out hooking up with any guy that showed you attention.

You stepped towards him, pressing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest.  “For your information,” you seethed, glaring into his darkened eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Bucharest. Don’t you dare imply I’m hooking up with randoms.”

You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes turning almost black. His vibranium arm whirred as he clenched the counter behind him. 

“You haven’t been with anyone else?” He asked, voice dangerously low. 

You hadn’t meant to let that slip, to tell him that he was the last guy you slept with.

You took a step back, dropping your hand and putting much needed space between you two. When did it get so hot in here?

“It’s a bit hard to find time for yourself when you’re raising a kid solo.” You were sick of the focus being on your nonexistent sex life.

“What about you, Bucky? Now that Jamie is going to be staying at yours, I have a right to know who you’re dating.” You were only asking for Jamie’s sake. It had nothing to do with the twisting in your gut at the thought of Bucky with anyone else.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the counter behind you. His eyes did a slow drag up your body, lingering on your lips for a few seconds.

“I’ve got all I need right in front of me.”

Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your breath hitching. This was not the Bucky you knew in Bucharest, he was never this forward.

“No funny business,” you whispered, though there was no heat to it. 

“It’s not funny business, it’s the truth. Thought you wanted me to be honest, doll.” 

You glared at him. How dare he use your words against you. 

You pushed at his chest and he took a step back, giving you some much needed breathing room.

You went back to cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky falling in step beside you after a minute.

There was a buzz in the air between you and Bucky, your body hyperaware every time he shifted next to you—slowly closing the gap.

“Do you have photos?” Bucky suddenly asked.

“Photos of what?” 

“When you were pregnant.” 

You whipped your head to him, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What? Why…why are you asking me that?”

He shrugged like it was a normal thing to ask someone. 

“I want to see.”

“Bucky, I’ve already sent you photos of when Jamie was a baby.”

“I’m not asking for those.”

You shook your head at him. “You’re weird, you know that?” He just stared at you blankly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll send you some later.” 

The side of his mouth twitched, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. 

“Good girl.” 

Every time Bucky looked at you all you could think about was those two stupid words. On their own they’re completely acceptable, harmless. Put them together and they’re a totally normal praise to say to a child. But when he said them to you in that low voice? There was nothing harmless or normal about your body’s reaction. 

And you knew he knew what he was doing to you. There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes raked over you, and the gifts he kept on getting you? They were not for the sake of co-parenting or whatever bullshit half-excuse he used. 

The bouquet of flowers he turned up with the other night? “Something nice for you and Jamie to look at.” 

The gift voucher for your favourite clothing store? “Can’t have the mother of my child wearing old clothes.” That was a bullshit excuse and you both knew it. 

“You use that massage voucher, doll?” He asked when he came to pick up Jamie for their first sleepover. 

You woke up feeling hot and flustered, with a notification on your phone telling you that you were ovulating. The heat lingered all day, your clothes irritating your skin every time you breathed. Now Bucky was standing in front of you with that half-smirk, asking about whether you used his gift, and it was not fucking helping. 

“You look…tense, it might help.” He stepped closer, your back pressing against the doorframe.

“Gotta make sure you take care of yourself, sweetheart.” 

Oh. That was new. He hadn’t called you that before.

He raised his vibranium hand slowly, running a cold fingertip along the heat blooming on your neck. “Got any plans tonight?”

You shuddered at the feeling, your brain going blank as the dull ache in your core amplified.

“…What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“Jus’ making sure Jamie’s mom is looking after herself, taking care of her needs.” 

Jamie came running from her room, her backpack unzipped and overflowing—even though you had already packed it and double-checked it had everything she needed.

Bucky took a step back, clearing his throat before turning and catching Jamie with ease. Your ovaries started a war inside you, your core cramping with need watching Bucky interact with your daughter.

“Bye Mama!” Jamie kissed your forehead, her spot in Bucky’s arms making her taller than you.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.” Bucky mumbled with a wink, grinning at your cheeks flushing even more red.

Bucky brought Jamie back early the next evening, her body slumped in his arms with little snores escaping her.

“How the hell did you get her to sleep?” You whispered, astonished that she was passed out so early.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “We did some soccer drills at the park, I let her try out some taekwondo moves on me. Helps that the serum gives me a high stamina.”

He walked Jamie to her room, tucking her into bed like it was second nature. He came back to the lounge to find you stood frozen, your mind still reeling over high stamina.

Blame it on your smart mouth, or on your ovulation obliterating your filter, but you opened your mouth without thinking.

“High stamina? Where was that in Bucharest?”

Your wide eyes gave you away—you had clearly not meant to say that. You weren’t disappointed with the sex you and Bucky had, god no, but you wouldn’t say it was a good example of super soldier stamina.

A devilish smirk spread across his face, stalking towards you like he was a predator and you were his prey. 

“Cut a guy some slack, doll. You were the first woman I’d touched since the 1940s. I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”

He was right in front of you now, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear—his hungry eyes latched on your lips.

“You want a redo? Want me to show you how long I can really go for?” 

Your pulse jumped in your neck, a breath getting lodged in your throat, the ache from the day before hitting your core at full force. 

“…Bucky, we—we said no funny business.” 

His hand moved to your chin, gripping it gently and tilting your head up. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as he stared into your soul.

“No, you said that.” His vibranium hand rested lightly against your hip, testing. You gasped at the cold seeping through your clothes, relieving some of the heat and making your core clench with need at the same time. 

He dropped his head, brushing his nose against yours.

“Did you take care of yourself last night, sweetheart?” His voice was low, husky.

Your body flushed even hotter. His proximity had your brain short-circuiting and butterflies raging in your stomach, the smell of his aftershave and something uniquely him overwhelming your senses with every shuddering breath you took. 

“I asked you a question,” he gripped your chin tighter, his tone bordering on demanding.

“I…had a bath, drank some wine…” the vibranium hand on your hip slipped higher, cupping your waist and pulling you closer. A tiny gasp got caught in your throat.

“Did you touch yourself?” His nose brushed across your cheek, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“You—you can’t ask me that, Bucky.” Your voice shook. Your hand clutched his shoulder, the vibranium cold against your palm even through his shirt. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, your body swaying towards him for support.

“Sure I can, your wellbeing is important to me. Answer the question.” The hand on your chin moved, a calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip.

The touch had your mind blanking, tingles erupting beneath his thumb and travelling through your body, gathering in the pit of your belly. Your head felt fuzzy and the world narrowed to him, only him.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He hummed, satisfied.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at the praise, the warmth in your core begging for relief. You watched his tongue swipe along his bottom lip, leaving them glistening and looking so fucking tempting. 

“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” He walked you backwards slowly, a small gasp escaping you as your back hit the wall. “No, I think you need more.” 

His head dropped to the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to moan. It had been so long since someone had touched you—since Bucky touched you—and the need pulsing through you was making you delirious.

Both Bucky’s hands dropped to your hips, squeezing tight as he stepped closer. One of his thighs slotted between your legs, the pressure against your core making you whimper. 

“You need to be more careful about what you put in your calendar, doll.” 

You struggled to understand what he was saying, too overwhelmed by his closeness and the dizziness it was causing.

He pressed a faint kiss to your throat, right where your pulse was beating wildly. He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“God, I’ve been hard ever since I saw that notification yesterday.”

That had you reeling, a fraction of reality slipping through the haze. What was he talking about? 

You found your voice, although meek and small. “What notification?”

His vibranium hand slipped from your waist to your back, pulling you into him until your back arched, your core shifting against his thigh. The slight friction made your body thrum, your hips instinctively rolling to chase the feeling.

“The one letting you—me—know that you’re ovulating.” 

You gasped, horror running through your body. You didn’t even think about how your tracking app was linked to your calendar. 

“I can smell it, sweetheart. How fucking needy you are.” His words had the horror dissolving into liquid honey, the need he was talking about dripping from your core. 

His right hand gripped your hip tighter, his fingers digging in as he moved your hips, dragging you back and forth on his jean-clad thigh.

“I wanna take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” He whispered, his mouth hot against your ear. 

Any worries you had about crossing boundaries, about ruining Jamie’s relationship with her father disappeared, replaced by a blazing fire.

“Please,” you whispered desperately.

Bucky didn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours in a bruising kiss. His hands pulled you tighter against him, your hips flush with his. Your hands found their place in his hair, tugging the soft strands and making him moan into your mouth. 

His tongue slipped past your lips with no resistance, meeting yours in a battle for dominance that you had no intention of winning. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it as he pulled back. He dropped his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily from the kiss.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

You whined when he stepped back, missing his warmth and the friction between your legs. 

“Patience, doll.”

And then he was dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and gripping the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down torturously slow. He groaned low at the sight of your panties, the dark wet patch exposing your need for him.

He pressed a quick kiss to the patch, making your head hit the wall with a thud. He chuckled at you, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.

“So responsive.”

He placed one of you thighs over his shoulder, peppering your inner knee and thigh with soft kisses. He stopped at your mid thigh, turning his head to lavish your other leg with the same attention. Your breathing grew heavy at the teasing, the need in your core growing unbearable the more he avoided where you needed him most.

“Bucky, please, stop teasing,” you whined, your voice echoing in the apartment.

He chuckled darkly, looking up at you like you were a feast he couldn’t wait to devour. 

“Gotta be quiet, doll. Don’t wanna wake Jamie up now, do you?” His tone was mocking and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

He relented his teasing, rising to his full height and gripping your hips. His mouth found yours again, softer this time but still just as hungry. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you tried to grind your core against the bulge in his jeans. He let out a small broken moan, leaving your lips to kiss along your jaw and neck. 

“Jump,” he muttered into your neck. You did as he said, your legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. His hands grasped your ass, rolling your hips against him harder. He spun you around, walking towards your room with his face still buried in your neck, biting and tugging your sensitive skin.

He closed the door behind him softly, dropping you gently onto your bed. He stood at the end, quiet as his eyes raked over your half-dressed body. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He dipped down to kiss you passionately. 

His hands grasped the hem of your top, dragging it up your body and over your head. He stopped momentarily, staring at your naked breasts in awe.

“I didn’t worship you like you deserved, sweetheart. I’m not making that mistake again.” 

Then he dropped his head, kissing a path down your neck and across your collarbones. He ran his tongue along your skin, biting the soft swell of your breast gently, avoiding your nipple. Your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. His hands tightened on your hips, pushing them into the bed to stop your squirming. He finally took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and grazing his teeth against it. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders. His flesh hand came up to palm your neglected breast, pulling and twisting the nipple between his fingers, eliciting more debauched gasps from your lips.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbled, switching his mouth to the other breast to give it the same attention. His vibranium arm whirred as your hips tried to buck more, holding you down with ease. 

His flesh hand stayed palming your breasts as his mouth descended, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your stomach. He stopped, pulling back slightly as his eyes focused intently on your skin—more specifically, on the stretch marks covering your lower belly.

He let out a low moan, pressing his forehead against your stomach like he was collecting himself. His hand on your breast trailed down, calloused fingertips reverently tracing the jagged lines your pregnancy left behind. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absentmindedly, like he was in a trance. “You’re always beautiful, but seeing those photos of you pregnant with my child.” He let out a dark chuckle. “You don’t know what that did to me, doll.” His dark eyes met yours. “I’ve fucked my fist every night looking at them. Seeing you big and round with my baby—shit, doll.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wanna get you pregnant again.”

He dropped his mouth to your skin, his lips kissing your stretch marks with a tenderness that had your heart clenching painfully. He took his time, worshiping every scar with his lips. Your underwear was soaked, his actions and words making you so overwhelming needy that it hurt.

You pushed on his shoulders, trying to get him to move down to your core—to offer you some relief. He relented his soft kisses, grabbing your panties and pulling them down your thighs. He moaned, watching the way the fabric clung to your wet pussy—a line of slick keeping them tethered. He stuffed your panties into his back pocket once he removed them, throwing you a wink.

“A souvenir,” he muttered before diving in. 

His mouth was hot on your core, his tongue dragging a line up your slit before latching onto your clit. He sucked greedily, a hum sounding in the back of his throat. Your hands flew to his hair, grasping the strands and pushing him further into your core. He switched between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, listening to your moans and whines to see what you liked. His flesh hand splayed against your stomach, stroking the marks there as he held you down. It was both tender and dirty, and it had the heat in your core spreading like wildfire. His vibranium hand trailed along the top of your thighs, making you gasp and shiver. 

He lifted his mouth off you, your slick glistening on his lips and beard—you almost came from the sight alone. He watched you closely as his hand inched higher, a cold finger brushing against your lower lips. You gave him a quick nod, muttering “please” and he didn’t waste any time.

He dipped a finger into your entrance, moaning at the wet heat and little resistance. He pumped it slowly, sucking your clit back into his mouth—making your back arch and hands tug harder, pulling at his scalp and making him moan into you. The noise had you preening, the ball in your core tightening. He inserted another cold finger, curling against the spot that had your legs shaking. You let out a long moan, your breath coming quick as you climbed higher. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against your core. A third finger joined in and the stretch had tears brimming your eyes, the pleasure he was unleashing on your body too much. You came with a cry, your body tensing and shaking under him. He slowed down slightly, dragging your pleasure out until you were whimpering and pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

He crawled up your body, peppering more kisses on your skin as you struggled to catch your breath, coming down from your high slowly. You giggled as his stubbled tickled your stomach. He brushed your cheeks gently, wiping away the few tears that escaped from your pleasure. He looked at you with what looked like love in his eyes, causing your cheeks to flush and heart to beat harder.

He kissed you deeply, the taste of you on his tongue turning you on more. You returned the kiss with fervour, wrapping your legs around his clothed waist and grinding your hips against his bulge.

He moaned at the feeling, his arms on either side of your head shaking with restraint.

“Can I fuck you, doll?” You responded with an eager nod.

“Will you let me fill you up?” You continued nodding, a little whine and pleads leaving your lips.

He removed himself from you, ripping his clothes off in a hurry. He dropped on top of you and you relished at the feeling of his bare chest against yours. Your hands found his shoulders as he rubbed his cock along your dripping slit. You both let out matching moans.

“Wanna give Jamie a little sibling.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded deliriously, your breath hitching as his tip caught your entrance. He pushed in achingly slow, kissing you as a high pitched moan escaped your throat. He grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he plunged deeper—a deep groan rumbling in his chest. You whimpered at the stretch of him. He thrusted slow and gentle at first, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of your tight walls hugging him. He picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot—sharp gasps escaping you with every thrust. Your hands clutched his back tighter, your nails digging into the flesh slightly. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your breathy pants and gasps, and his low moans filled the room.

His hand moved from your hip to your core, rubbing circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and you could feel the fire spreading from your belly at record speed.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Bucky muttered against your lips. You clenched around him tightly, the praise adding more fuel to the fire. “You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?” You nodded, babbling incoherently as everything became too much and you seized below him. A harsh gasp escaped you as you came a second time, your nails scratching along his back and drawing blood. 

“Fuck—squeezing me so tight, sweetheart. Shit,” he grumbled out as he continued to fuck you through your high, only slowing down when you let out a sob.

He cradled your face in his hands, brushing away tears with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Just breathe,” he cooed softly, pushing hair back from your face. His eyes roamed over your features as you collected yourself, gasping in small breaths as your mind came back to your body. 

“You still with me?” You nodded shakily. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Please, need you to come inside me.” You whispered, a shaky hand grabbing his jaw and kissing him softly.

He groaned into your mouth, his cock dragging inside you slowly—making you whine.

“You got any idea what you do to me, doll? Fucking begging me to breed you,” he gave a harsh thrust and you let out a broken sob. 

He shushed you, moving his flesh hand to your mouth as he continued to thrust mercilessly.

“You’re gonna wake Jamie up.” You moaned behind his mouth, your eyes rolling back and your body feeling weightless.

He pulled out suddenly, making you let out a pained cry at the loss of him. “No, no, please, don’t stop.” You babbled, your hands grabbing his arms trying to get him back inside you.

He chuckled at your desperation before grasping your hips and flipping you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You had little time to adjust to the new position before he was slamming into you, his cock pounding your walls at a relentless speed. Your moans were muffled by the pillow beneath your head, the fabric getting soaked in your drool and tears.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby,” he moaned, clutching your ass cheek before bringing his palm down in a harsh slap. Your body jumped forward, pain radiating from his slap and morphing into pleasure. You clenched down on him in a vice like grip, his hips stuttering in response. 

“You want another baby, doll? Want me to get you pregnant again?” 

You nodded your head vigorously, mumbling out “yes” and “please” like they were the only words you knew.

He slapped your ass two more times and you let out a broken sob, tears flowing down your cheeks as the pleasure became too much. You could feel Bucky getting close, his thrusts losing rhythm and his grunts increasing in volume. 

“God, you’re gonna look breathtaking, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.” He muttered out, cursing as you gripped him even tighter. His hand moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. Your back bowed from the oversensitivity, trying to escape his touch but needing it at the same time. You bit the pillow below you as you came for a third time, your wail ringing out in the dark room. Bucky thrusted three more times before stilling, coming inside you with a long drawn out groan. He kept pumping inside you, his warm seed filling you completely. You sighed at the feeling, bliss running through your veins. Bucky caught you as your body collapsed, all your strength leaving you. You felt completely ruined.

Bucky pulled out with a groan, gently rolling you over so you were laying on his chest. His hand trailed up and down your back in soothing patterns, the both of you quiet as you came down. He pressed a kiss to your head, breathing you in deeply. You traced a pattern on his sweaty chest, sleep pulling at the corners of your eyes.

“We should probably talk,” you mumbled.

“Later,” another kiss to your head. “Wanna enjoy you in my arms a little longer.”

More tears pricked at your eyes and you hugged him tighter. You took in a shaky breath as you prepared yourself to say what’s been on your mind since Bucharest.

“I…I think I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s chest shook with a trembling exhale below you.

“I know I love you, sweetheart.” 

Hand washing the car on a hot summer’s day was something you would never normally do.

You always let your dad handle a job like that. He’d always tease you for being ‘spoiled,’ always hitting you with the typical line of, “What happens when I’m gone? How will you take care of yourself?”

And every time he hit you with that line, without fail, you would find yourself grabbing the plastic bucket, soap, and sponges out of spite, just to prove a point.

Now, you were outside, drenched in a mixture of sweat and water as the sun beamed down. You were splayed over the hood of the car in a way that looked anything but sexy. You had on a tank top and shorts—natural, given the heat—but despite the porn director approved outfit, you looked anything but pornographic.

Matter of fact, if someone were to come up to you now, they would probably lose interest instantly.

“Hey there,” a familiar, deep voice called from behind you. “Looking pretty hot.”

Normally, you would scramble to make yourself look at least somewhat decent for anyone who approached you in this state.

But it was your best friend—so who cares?

“Steve,” you huffed, raising a leg to balance yourself on the hood of your dad’s car. “Are you going to help me or just taunt me?”

Steve crossed his arms, watching you slip and slide all over the green station wagon that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any given moment.

“Has your dad seen you like this yet? I’m sure if he saw what a poor job you were doing, he wouldn’t ask you to clean it again.

You puffed a strand of hair out of your face. “The reason I’m cleaning in the first place is to prove to my dad that I’m perfectly capable.” You mumbled under your breath, “… He called me spoiled.”

Steve chuckled lightly. “Can’t say I disagree.”

Sneering, you spun around and hurled your wet, soapy sponge in his direction. It landed right in the center of his chest, dampening his snug t-shirt with a dark spot that began to spread. He laughed, catching the sponge before it hit the ground.

“Get off the hood before you hurt yourself,” he grinned, taking a step closer.

You grunted as you slid off the car. As you stood up, your eyes trailed past Steve’s shoulder—something unfamiliar catching your attention.

The house across from yours had been unoccupied for months, but someone had recently moved in. Days had passed, and you hadn’t seen the new neighbors yet. But for the first time since the ‘FOR SALE’ sign was removed, you were finally seeing the man who lived there.

He was tall—maybe around Steve’s height. He had dark hair that fluffed messily at the top, and he was covered in dirt, looking as though he’d been doing yard work all morning. The sun hit his eyes, and he squinted, shielding them with a large hand.

As he looked up, his gaze drifted across to your lawn, and his eyes met yours for a long moment.

A warm, friendly smile tugged at his lips, and he waved. You blinked, a light smile forming on your own face when you realized he was waving at you. You waved back shyly, and his smile grew wider.

“He waved at me,” you pointed out.

Steve, curious, glanced over his shoulder. When he caught the man’s eye, he gave a quick, short nod—a casual greeting between guys.

“He seems nice,” Steve shrugged. “Your new neighbor?”

You nodded, stealing a few more seconds to look at the man across the street. He bent over, his large traps tensing against his cotton tank top as he shoved a pair of gardening gloves over his rough hands. He crouched, his dirty boots and jeans digging into the soil as he began to pull at stubborn weeds.

A man. Hard at work.

The best kind of man.

“He is,” you breathed, looking back at Steve. “And he’s hot, too.”

Steve huffed a laugh, stepping out of your way and towards the car, sponge in hand. “You trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a spare sponge from the soapy tub. You stepped up to the opposite window from Steve and began to scrub.

“You know, I’ve seen this play out in movies and stuff—” Steve shouted from the other side of the car. “The girl who washes her car and catches the eye of the conveniently attractive neighbor across the street.”

You quirked a brow. “In movies, or in porn?”

Now, it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Point aside, you should go for it.” He peeked at you over the roof and nodded in your neighbor’s direction. “You’ve been single for quite a while now. It wouldn’t hurt to dip your toes back in the dating scene.”

You snorted. “Whatever happened to you being jealous?”

Steve shook his head at your comment. “I’m just saying—you’re young and pretty. You could grab that guy’s attention if you really tried.”

Pausing your sponge, you glanced over your shoulder, catching your neighbor’s gaze again. He had been staring at you—for how long, you didn’t know. Either way, your heart did a little flutter in your chest, your face warming at the thought of him watching you.

“You really think so?”

Steve hummed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Since that day, and with the help of Steve’s encouragement, you found yourself spending more time outside just to catch your neighbor’s eye.

Most mornings, he was already out there working on the front of his house—mowing the lawn, painting fences, or tending to the plants.

The job itself didn’t matter. It was the man behind it all who suddenly made this boring, textbook suburban neighborhood interesting.

Despite only a few days passing since you last washed the car, you miraculously decided to wash it up again the day Bucky was working on the front of his house. How convenient!

Grabbing your tools while wearing a tank top—thinner than the last one—and shorts that rode so far up they were bordering on a wedgie, you stepped out with a confident stride that immediately caught his attention.

He glanced at you from his spot on a ladder, squinting as he smiled.

“Good morning!” you chirped.

“Morning,” he shouted back, nodding to the same car parked on your driveway. “Cleaning again?”

“Oh, yeah,” you smirked, motioning to your bucket. “Just something I like to do every few days.”

If Steve or your dad were here, they would be laughing in your face.

The man’s eyes slowly raked over the car—taking mental note of just how pristine and shiny it already was—before trailing back to you. “Must be a high maintenance girl, huh?”

It was just something about the way he said it—his voice deep and textured with a rasp that made every syllable sound flirtatious. You chuckled softly, your face warming.

“Something like that.”

He chuckled in return before getting back to work.

You dunked the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and got to work. Most of your time was spent focusing more on suggestive poses than actually getting the car clean. You stretched your arms high to reach the roof so the hem of your tank top rode up, then leaned low over the hood, letting your short shorts ride up to reveal the curve of your ass.

It didn’t take long for your clothes and skin to be covered in soap and water. The sun was in your favor today, catching the water as it glistened on your skin and the soap as it trickled down your thighs.

One quick glance over your shoulder made your heart stutter.

You knew you were doing it right because he was looking right at you.

He slowly began to descend the ladder. Before you knew it, he was walking in your direction, crossing the street until he reached your driveway. You had to bite back a smile as the sound of his boots scuffed closer, stopping just behind you.

“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he called out to grab your attention.

You didn’t turn around right away, careful not to make it too obvious. You glanced over your shoulder first, your back arching in a way that felt a bit of a strain—thanks to your usually terrible posture—then slowly stood up, trying not to groan at the sudden soreness.

“I don’t believe we have,” you said, setting the sponge down and wiping your wet hand on your damp shorts. Good enough.

You extended your hand and gave him your name.

He returned the gesture with a smile, his grip warm and rough—the hands of a working man.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky,” he huffed. “Bucky Barnes.”

He looked around, appearing almost skeptical to be standing in your driveway. “You look young,” he pointed out. “Are your parents home? I’d like to introduce myself, being new to the neighborhood and all.”

“They’re on vacation,” you explained. “I’m a student over at Jepsen University.”

“A student, huh?” He rubbed his chin with his left hand. No ring. “A pretty thing like you oughta’ be careful at Jepsen. There are a lot of nasty frat boys roaming around campus.”

You chuckled, a light sway in your movement. “You went there?”

He nodded. “Graduated top of my class.”

Even though there was no ring, you still needed verbal confirmation before throwing yourself at him.

“How are you and the family liking the neighborhood so far?” You tested.

Bucky took it upon himself to lean against your car, making the frame creak slightly. He didn’t seem to care about the soap dampening his jeans.

“Well, me and my girl are liking it so far,” Bucky said. “It’s quiet, and plus, I get a good view across the street.”

You made a face at his explanation. My girl. He had a wife? Or a daughter? He was deliberately flirting with you, wasn’t he?

Bucky caught your expression and laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.

“My girl Alpine,” he clarified. "She’s the cat loafing on the windowsill in my living room, always staring out.”

You felt your face warm, and your posture eased up instantly. Not only was your neighbor hot as hell, but he was single—and a cat dad! There was a bit of an age gap, but that wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

You crossed your arms, the movement accentuating your breasts beneath the thin tank top, and jutted your hip out to emphasize your curves. You smiled pridefully, watching as Bucky’s gaze traced a slow path from your eyes down your body.

“Like father, like daughter, then.”

His grin widened handsomely. “What can I say? We like looking at pretty things.”

You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. He was such a natural flirt—and despite all your attempts to grab his attention, your words suddenly failed you when the time came.

Bucky glanced around the driveway as if he were still searching for someone. Then, he asked, “That guy who usually comes over to help you out—” he brought up slyly, still looking around, “he your boyfriend?”

You blinked at his question. The way he was subtly trying to fish for information made your stomach do a flip in celebration.

“Steve?” you asked, your voice coming out breathier than intended. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

You noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words. He was jealous.

“He goes to Jepsen, too?” He questioned.

“Yeah, he’s my senior.”

“Ah,” Bucky drawled. “A frat boy, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his endless questioning. “I wouldn’t call him that. He’s my best friend,” you reassured him, watching the way his blue eyes searched yours. “He just comes over sometimes to help out—or more like he comes over to make fun of me while I do all the work.”

Bucky chuckled a deep, gravelly sound that was effortlessly charming. “Best friend, huh?” He pushed himself off your car, taking a step closer to you. Fuck, he even smelled good. “Well, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to hang around. Though, if you ever need a man who’ll actually help instead of just laughing at you, you know where I live.”

He tilted his head toward the house across the street, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“You said your parents were away on vacation?” he asked.

You nodded.

“For how long?”

“Just for a couple of days,” you replied.

Bucky hummed, an amused smile playing on his face as he looked at you. He leaned in, his voice releasing a low murmur as his warm breath tickled your skin.

“A couple of days, huh?”

You caught his gaze tracing a path down your tank top before he met your eyes with a devastatingly slow smirk. If he had this much confidence at his big old age, he was definitely a troublemaker when he was in college, that’s for sure.

“Would you look at that? That’s plenty of time for us to get well-acquainted.”

He watched the way your breath hitched and smiled, looking satisfied. He pulled away and turned back towards his side of the street. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he heard a small whine escape you.

“See you around, neighbor,” he called over his shoulder with a charming smile, sauntering down your driveway and back towards his own.

As he walked off, your heart was beating with excitement—beating far too fast to keep up. And the only thing you could think about was how much you were going to gloat about this to Steve later.

You sat across from Steve at the same dingy diner where you two met every Thursday for brunch.

While you sat cross legged on one side of the booth, Steve sat opposite from you in a crisp navy blue collared shirt with a name tag that read HYDRA’S MECHANIC! and the name Steven on the top right.

“He has a cat, Steve. A cat!” You smiled, dipping your toast into a pool of egg yolk. “Her name is Alpine—and he called her ‘his girl.’ Isn’t that so sweet? I nearly had a heart attack right there in the driveway.”

Steve held a coffee mug in his hand, watching you. He was supposed to be heading into work in twenty minutes, but he was currently occupied with the girl in front of him—and her endless rambling.

“And he’s single,” you continued through a mouthful of toast. “No ring, no wife—just a gorgeous, ripped cat dad with a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a smutty audiobook.” You paused, taking a quick sip of your drink. “I mean, yeah, he’s definitely got a few years on me. He’s a little older, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. It just makes him more…” You sighed dreamily. “Capable.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He set his coffee cup down, picked up a fry, and dipped it slowly into a side of ranch with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you caught his grin.

“Nothing,” he said simply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Steve. I know that face,” you pointed out. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say, but I won’t’ face mixed with something else. Come on, tell me! What are you thinking?”

Steve chuckled, wiping his hand on a napkin before leaning back in the booth. “I don’t know how I feel about you going after some guy who’s that much older than you. He seems like the type of guy you have fun with—not someone you bring home to your parents.”

Your eyes went wide. “What? You encouraged me to go for it!”

Steve held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know! It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t a guy worry?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his bashfulness. “Aw, you’re worried over little ol’ me, Stevie?” You tilted your head, taunting him.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what? Forget I even said anything—”

“No, no,” you leaned in, resting both arms on the table “Okay, fine. I’m hearing you. What can I do that’ll make you more comfortable in this situation?”

Steve shrugged, lifting the coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. “Could start by meeting the guy, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed casually. “He did mention you, actually.”

Steve quirked a brow, eyeing you over the rim of his mug. “Did he?”

You nodded. “He asked if you were my boyfriend.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Boyfriend? He’s already getting jealous? God—how old is he again?”

You gave him a look. “He was just curious, Steve.”

“Sure, and I’m a superhero fighting crime in New York.” Steve set his mug down, dipping another fry into ranch and plopping it into his mouth. He gathered his phone and wallet, quickly tucking them into his pockets. “I gotta go. Shift is starting soon.”

“Wait.” You sat up straight. “My dad won’t stop texting me asking if you can fix the wagon—it keeps making this weird noise and he won’t leave me alone until you look at it.”

“I’m free tomorrow after work. I’ll swing by then. I’ll consider this—” he motioned to the table, where the bill sat squarely in the middle with your name on it, “—payment for the repair.” Steve pushed himself out of the booth, licking the ranch off his thumb before pointing a finger at you. “I’ll text you. And don’t screw the guy ‘til I meet him.”

You couldn’t even get a word in before Steve was already rushing out the door, the bell jingling after him.

“Yeah. Okay, Dad.”

After paying for brunch, you drove home feeling giddy.

Turning the corner onto your street, you spotted Bucky right outside his house, mowing the lawn. This time, he was shirtless.

You purposefully slowed down to get a good look at him, but the moment he looked up and spotted your car pulling into the driveway, he smiled—aiming it right at you through your fishbowl wagon on wheels.

Parked in the driveway, you took a quick look at yourself in the pull down mirror, checking to make sure there weren’t any crumbs on your face or a stray strand of hair sticking out. Smoothing down your top and adjusting your shorts, you stepped out of the car—aiming for casual. But with the way your heart was beating, you were anything but.

Bucky had killed the mower engine and was wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked hypnotizing, his chest and stomach glistening in the afternoon sun.

“Eventful day, I take it?” He nodded towards your car. “Noticed your wagon was missing from the driveway this morning.”

He had noticed you were gone? You tried your best not to smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you leaned against trunk nonchalantly. “I went to have brunch with a friend.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest—a move that did very interesting things to his biceps that were hard to ignore—and leaned his weight back on one leg.

“Let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Steve?”

After Steve’s comment about Bucky being jealous, you couldn’t help but bask in confidence. You quirked a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Are you jealous?”

Bucky tilted his head, pretending to contemplate the question as he looked you up and down.

“Only a little,” he admitted with that handsome smile of his.

You grinned. “Well, there’s no need to be jealous, I assure you,” you explained, pushing yourself off the car.

Taking a step back, you gestured vaguely to his yard. “I’ll let you get back to it, though. You look pretty busy,” you said, despite how much you actually wanted to pull up a folding chair and just stare.

You turned to head towards your front door, but you didn’t get far before his voice stopped you.

“You know,” Bucky called out as he began crossing the street. “Your car is looking a little dirty.”

You stopped and turned back, your breath catching as you watched him make his way onto your driveway. Shirtless and confident, he looked even more imposing standing on your property than he had the other day. He came to a halt beside the green wagon, glancing at the circle of bird poop sitting right on the roof.

Then, he looked back at you with a smile—as if he already knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Need some help cleaning?”

“I…” Your eyes trailed to his bare chest slicked with sweat. You didn’t know how you were going to control yourself, but despite it all, you swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”

Minutes later, you found yourself grabbing all the supplies needed to get the car cleaned. Bucky stood by the bucket, holding the hose as the water filled the plastic. It took everything in you not to stare at the way the sun was shining down on his tanned skin, sweat and water glistening down the hard lines of his stomach.

His jeans sat dangerously low on his hips, the hem of his briefs peeking out over the top. He hadn’t even started cleaning the car yet, but he already looked hotter just standing there than you ever felt trying to look appealing while washing the wagon.

When the bucket was full, he lifted it by the handle without much struggle. You watched as his biceps and forearms flexed against the weight of it. His eyes caught yours, and you swallowed hard, quickly forcing your gaze away.

Bucky stepped to the passenger side, opposite where you were standing. He didn’t seem bothered by your staring.

Actually, he seemed to be feeding off the attention, especially after catching you several times.

“This is a nice car,” he commented, dunking a sponge into the soapy water. “Vintage. I’m surprised she’s still kicking around.”

While Bucky scrubbed down the passenger side, you kept trying to sneak glances through the untinted windows. From where you stood, you had a perfect view of his chest muscles and his stomach pressing against the glass as he worked.

“Uh—yeah,” you cleared your throat, forcing your focus back. “It’s from the sixties. It’s my dad’s, actually. Steve just helps me fix it up.”

“Your friend Steve,” Bucky mused, peeking at you over the roof. “He a mechanic?”

“Yup,” you nodded. “So if you hear loud car noises coming from across the street tomorrow when he fixes it, you can blame him.”

“This Steve guy sounds like a total catch,” Bucky said with a light laugh. “You sure you’re not dating him?”

You weren’t sure why Bucky was so insistent on you having a secret relationship with Steve. You had your fair share of insecure men who were jealous of you hanging around with someone like Steve Rogers, and you figured that habit died out once men hit the age of twenty five. But with Bucky standing across from you, poking at your relationship with Steve, you were starting to think that wasn’t the case.

“I swear, I’m not dating Steve.” You raised a pinky so he could see it over the roof. “Besides, he’s like an older brother to me.”

Bucky blew a raspberry.

“Poor kid,” he chuckled. “But really, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a move on you.” He bent down to clean the rim right above the tire, letting his eyes trail over your body through the window. “If I had a pretty girl like you in my life... we wouldn’t have been friends for long.”

You felt your heart stutter.

What did that even mean?

Did he mean he would make you his girlfriend?

You wanted to hear him say it—to blurt out the answer himself.

You dumped your sponge in your bucket, letting yourself get damp with the soapy water.

“Is that so?” you challenged, trying your best to play it cool. “And what would we be then?”

He stood up with a low groan, looking at you over the roof. He began making his way towards your side of the car, moving purposefully slow as he dragged his sponge across the hood—hardly even pretending to clean it anymore.

“After watching you wash this car—looking like a woman straight out of my dreams? We’d be a lot of things,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with you as he reached the corner of the bumper. “But ‘friends’ sure as hell isn’t one of them.”

You grinned, allowing him to be the one to approach you as you continued scrubbing.

“So,” you kept your voice playful, a little teasing. “You’ve been watching me?”

Bucky didn’t bother denying it.

He stopped just inches away from you. He let his tongue run slowly over his bottom lip, his eyes traveling shamelessly down your body. He was mesmerized with the path of the soap bubble trickling down your collarbone, sliding between the curve of your breasts before disappearing into the thin fabric of your tank top, where your perky nipples were poking right through.

It was hard for him to ignore. They were practically begging to be licked.

“Hard not to,” he rasped, stepping closer until he was standing directly behind you. He propped one strong arm against the roof of the wagon, locking you in. “Especially when you’re giving me a view like that from across the street.”

You let out a shaky breath—one that you hoped he didn’t catch, but he did. You stared at him through the reflection of the window, and his eyes were on you—tracing your face, leaning in to smell you.

It was this very moment that made you remember the age gap, because he was moving and talking so smoothly, like it was all natural to him. As if he had been swooning women like you for years.

But you weren’t going to let that shake you up.

You pushed your hips back subtly, letting your damp ass press against his hips. You tried not to gasp at the straining bulge that was waiting for you between his legs.

“Well, I’m right here,” you said quietly, staring at him in the reflection. “So, what then?”

Bucky looked around, his gaze sweeping across the street to make sure no one else was near.

With one hand still propped against the car, the other found your hip, giving it a firm squeeze to keep you right where you were with your ass pressed tight against his cock.

“Do you want to know what I love most about being in this neighborhood, aside from the fact that I have a super attractive neighbor living across from me?”

He rocked his hips forward, letting his hard bulge nestle perfectly between the curve of your bottom. His cock was fighting the restraint of his jeans, and just from that small movement alone, you could feel how big he was.

Bucky pressed his lips against your ear, murmuring low and tickling your skin with his warm breath. “I love how quiet it is. There’s rarely anyone outside, or even driving by... so when I touch you like this...” His hand slid up from your hip to cup your breast through your tank top. “No one will even notice.”

You gasped as he fondled your tits, his rough fingers flicking the sensitive peak of your nipple. As he dampened your shirt with his wet hands, the water seeped through the thin fabric, making every bit of friction feel even more sensitive than the last.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh,” he let out a low, rough breath. “You’re so reactive. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Bucky’s hand left the roof of the car to wrap around your eyes, pulling you even closer against him. He rocked his hips—back and forth, in a steady rhythm—dry humping you right there against the green wagon in your driveway where anyone could see.

The friction of his denim against your damp, thin shorts made a warm heat pool in your lower belly. Every grind of his hips was met with a hard twitch in his jeans, making your body ache for more.

His hands were everywhere. One hand gripped your hip, tickling the skin beneath the fabric as he gave your flesh a possessive squeeze.

The other continued to fondle your tits, tickling your nipple through the wet cotton. His thumb and forefinger would catch your nipple, rolling it until you were arching your back and whimpering his name.

“Cute noises coming out of you,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make if someone were to drive by and see what I’m doing to you?”

You shuddered as his hands roamed lower, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. He undid the button with just one hand, letting his fingers trace the skin of your mound, grazing low until he found your clit—lightly rubbing the nub of his finger against it.

A moan left your lips as you arched your back deeper against him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his throbbing cock.

While Bucky’s fingers toyed with your clit—rubbing in deep, circular motions—he rocked his hips, seeking pleasure of his own. You were moaning, breathing hard as you stared down at him playing with you.

“Bucky… I… mph—” you moaned, your voice pitched high. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking yourself onto his fingers.

With Bucky standing right behind you, he looked down at the soapy water trickling over your chest, his cock growing harder by the second.

He wasn’t lying when he said you looked like a woman straight out of a dream. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes apart—which he could do easily—and fuck you right on the hood of the car he’d been watching you parade yourself on for the past few days.

He was so horny, he needed to sink into you—fast.

But first, he needed to see how much of him you were willing to take, starting with his fingers.

“Gotta test you, baby,” Bucky rasped against your ear. “See how much your little pussy can take.”

His hand traced down from your clit to your folds. He groaned once his fingers made contact with your slick heat. You were so wet, so easily riled up, and so ripe for the taking, yet he wanted to make this last.

Bucky glanced around one more time—the coast was clear. He shoved your shorts down, exposing your ass to the cool air, and pushed your lace panties to the side. He probed his middle finger against your entrance, dancing his digit in a curling motion to prepare you.

“So wet,” he murmured, grinning at your little gasps and mewls. “Could easily slide my finger right in.”

His middle finger slowly eased into your pussy, the warm flesh of your entrance accommodating him smoothly. There was a bit of a stretch, sure, but he could easily finger fuck you right now with no struggle at all.

“How many can you take?” he asked.

You felt your face warm at his question. “… Two.”

He hummed against your ear. “Two, huh?”

Without warning, his ring finger took a quick drag against your entrance—already stuffed by his middle finger—and slid in slowly. Your mouth dropped as a broken gasp tore from your throat. The stretch was burning. His fingers were long and thick, and having two of them inside was enough to fill you completely.

“Fuck—Bucky!”

Bucky didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust to his two fingers before he started moving—thrusting in and out, curling deep inside you as he searched for every sensitive spot. With his free hand still clamped onto your hip, he humped you from behind, groaning as his denim jeans grew even tighter around his throbbing cock.

He was so hard it was painful.

His need to sink himself inside you was spiraling out of control as he felt his pre-cum soaking into his waistband. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched the way your ass bounced against his hand, swallowing his fingers with every move.

“Christ,” he hissed against your neck. He slowed his hand just enough to hook a third finger against your entrance, probing the tight and overtaxed muscle. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, baby.”

He looked at you through the reflection of the window, and you stared back, caught in his dark gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded with a whimper.

Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and without warning, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against your stretched entrance.

Your eyes flew wide at the sensation as he slowly began sinking that third finger in, forcing you to press your tits and hands into the glass window for support.

“Bucky,” you gasped. “What are you—!”

“Think you can take three?”

He couldn’t even sink his third finger in all the way, your body simply wouldn’t allow it.

The stretch was a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure, your hips going stiff as you struggled to take him in. He was breathing hard against your ear, and you could feel every heavy throb of his cock right behind you.

“Oh my—fuck, Bucky! It’s too much, I can’t—”

He continued rutting his hips against yours, silently encouraging you to accommodate all three fingers. You could tell he was trying to hold back. His fingers stayed there, unmoving, while his hips did all the work.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, his hand stilling completely inside you. “Three’s a little tight, huh? Come on, baby. Try for me. If you can take three, then you can take my cock with no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax the muscles that were fighting him.

Slowly, you began to push back, easing yourself onto those three thick fingers and sinking down until you felt the base of his hand press against your folds.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he felt your tight cunt finally give way to accommodate him. He was hard as hell, his balls growing heavier and his cock thickening against your lower back with every heavy breath he took.

“Fuck. That’s a good fucking slut,” he hissed, his hips rutting in an uneven motion. “Taking all three fingers—God, you’re being so good for me.”

His teeth traced the column of your neck, biting gently to make you gasp. His lips closed against your skin, sucking and marking you as he murmured filth in your ear.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Been watching you for days, thinking you were going to be untouchable—just eye candy for a man like me living across the street.” He curled his fingers, hitting your sensitive spot and making you cry out his name. “Who knew I’d have you right here, pinned against your daddy’s car, being stretched out in broad daylight.”

You watched him through the reflection, your pussy clenching around his fingers at the dark way he was staring at you.

“Oh, you’re such a little slut for your neighbor, aren’t you?”

Your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers fucking you so thoroughly you felt like you could cum.

“Bucky,” you whined, your hips twitching as you tried to clench your legs together. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“No,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Not yet.”

If he had fucked you for even a second longer, you would have cried out in pleasure and came right there in your driveway.

But instead, he abruptly yanked his fingers out, the vulgar squelch sound following after. You let out a cry of frustration, your body slumping against the window as he left you feeling cold and aching.

Behind you, Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours in the window’s reflection as he slowly licked your juices off his fingers. The act was so unapologetically filthy that your face burned with embarrassment.

“You even taste sweet, too,” he murmured.

He took a step back, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He gave himself a quick squeeze through the denim before finally freeing himself.

You couldn’t help it. You looked over your shoulder and your breath hitched.

Now, you understood exactly why he wanted you to take three fingers first.

His cock was massive, thick and pulsing for you. He stepped back into the space between your legs and slapped his cock against your lower back. It was hot, hard, heavy, and already wet at the tip where he leaked pre-cum. His breathing was labored as he grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip against your bare ass—smearing his slickness and marking you from behind.

Bucky moaned at the sight of his pre-cum glistening on your soft skin.

“What a pretty, pretty whore,” he cooed. He leaned over you, his thick arm hooking around your waist to bend you over while your hands pressed against the window.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy, making you wince as your body hummed with anticipation.

“Your pussy’s all stretched out now, ready to take me.” He grabbed his shaft, positioning the head right at your entrance.

The tip of his cock nestled perfectly between your wet, aching folds. Just the sensation of it alone was enough to make him groan in pleasure.

It felt as if your entrance was giving him warm, wet kisses, welcoming him home.

“So, it should just slide right in,” he rasped, slowly drawing his hips forward and beginning to sink into you. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t even make it past the head because of how tight you were squeezing him. His face scrunched in a twist of pleasure and pain, his arm wrapping you tight as he fought for control. You mewled and whined so sweetly—the sound of it should have made him feel bad, but it only made him want to tear you apart more.

“Fuck—how the hell are you still so tight, even after everything?”

Every time he tried to draw his hips forward, your body buckled and clamped down, refusing to give an inch more than the head of him.

“God,” he hissed, forehead dropping to the back of your neck as he struggled to breathe. “What a tight pussy fuck.”

He tried to rock into you again—slow and agonizing. He was gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, his cock pulsing as your cunt fluttered around him, desperate to stretch around his size.

“F—fuck, Bucky, I’m trying—” you whimpered.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, rocking his hips and trying to find pleasure from what little was already inside you. “I already stretched you out. I know you can take me. You’re just so fucking small.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. His face was twisted. He looked almost angry—snarling from how difficult this was for him.

You tried pushing your hips back, wincing from the delicious stretch.

“Is this hurting you, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out more timid than you’d like. “Are you hurting because I’m so tight?”

A raspy, deep groan tore straight from his throat. You were asking out of genuine concern, but he took it as a challenge.

“God—you fucking—are you trying to test me?”

Bucky kicked your legs wider, his hands clamping down on your waist. He hauled your body back into his, then completely sheathed his cock into your tight pussy.

The air left your lungs the minute your ass pressed against his pelvis. His dark curls were hot against your skin as he finally, finally buried himself all the way inside you. He was in to the very hilt, but you were still so tight that moving was nearly impossible.

He stayed perfectly still for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let the sensation of your tightness settle.

In the window’s reflection, it looked as filthy as it felt—a large, shirtless, and sweaty man mounting and rutting into you from behind like an animal, his broad shoulders swallowing your frame as his heavy arms circled you, keeping you pinned close and tight.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “There it is. There you are.”

After a moment of adjustment, he began to rock his hips. He drew in and out slowly, fucking you with deep, hard strokes that made the car creak.

“Christ, look at you,” he hissed, his eyes fixed on your reflection over your shoulder. “Stretched wide open—fucked like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see. You’re taking every goddamn inch of me, aren’t you, baby?”

Your face twisted in pleasure, your bottom lip hanging open as you moaned a litany of words. “Don’t stop... Please, Bucky, please.”

“This was why you were putting your body on display for me, huh? Hoping I’d finally cross the street one day and fuck you.” He fought for his breath as his hips increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, relentlessly making you his. “You’re a smart cookie, too. Made sure your parents were out of town so you could act like a total slut.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back at his filthy words as your body clenched in reaction. “Yes! Yes, Bucky! I’m a slut for you!”

He groaned as he tilted his hips, forcing himself even deeper into your abused pussy.

“Squeezing me so tight... I can only imagine how you’d react if your parents were to drive down the street right now. Imagine them seeing their precious daughter getting split open by her older neighbor—a man they haven’t even met yet.”

He felt your body begin to tremor, your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. He leaned in even closer, his hot, raspy breath dancing against the shell of your ear.

“Now, what would happen if your poor best friend—Steve, was it?—drove down here expecting to fix your car, only to find you with your tits pushed against the glass, stuffed full of my cock? How would you react then?”

Your knees wobbled and your eyes rolled back at the image. Your body convulsed, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight at the filthy thought of it.

“Oh, my god—S-steve...!”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, followed immediately by a deep, guttural groan at the sensation of you clenching around him. He didn’t even care that you moaned another man’s name when he had you stuffed.

“Fuck, so goddamn tight,” he rasped, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you shook. “Shit, you like it, don’t you? The idea of getting caught by your best friend? Fuck—what a goddamn nasty whore you are.”

His hips began to blur against yours as he fucked you harder, the car creaking and groaning with every thrust.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how you’re clenching around me just at the thought of him. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him?” He leaned over, biting your shoulder to stifle his own grunt. “Would you let your best friend watch me split you open like this?”

You nodded frantically, sweat beading at your temple from being used so thoroughly. The talk—the idea of it was filthy, a dream that you would’ve never considered doing, but Bucky was fucking you so good that anything he said at this point was hypnotic.

“Yes, yes, Bucky, please! You both can take turns using me!”

“Nasty little slut,” Bucky hissed, his teeth biting gently at your skin again. “Fuck. I’m getting close.”

You nodded hard again, your knees nearly giving out if it weren’t for his big hands holding you back. “Me—me too, shit—!”

Bucky’s grip on your body tightened, pulling you close against his bare and sweaty chest.

After three hard thrusts that bottomed out against your womb, he let out a deep grunt against your neck, his body going stiff as he finally came.

His cock pulsed as cum began to spill out of his tip, pumping you full of his seed and staying completely stuffed inside you until you were filled to the brim. Your head tossed back as a cry left your throat, your overworked pussy clamping down on him and pulsing in a way that milked every last drop out of him.

He held you tight, breathing deep into your back as you both fought for air. “Fuck—you’re draining my balls dry, sweetheart.”

You both started to laugh—deep, tired, and rumbling laughs at everything that had just transpired out in the open, right in your very driveway.

Bucky looked down, pulling out slightly and watching with blown out pupils as his cum trickled out of you and onto the concrete, where it mixed with the soapy water.

“Dirty, dirty girl.”

You spent the following afternoon in your room, going through lectures, though you were hardly paying attention to them. With your cheek resting on your palm, your eyes kept drifting to the open window that gave you a perfect, convenient view of the house right across the street.

Bucky’s house.

The driveway was empty, and the lights inside were off. The blinds were pulled open though, and you could see Alpine—the little cat he mentioned—loafing on the windowsill and staring back at you.

In that moment, the two of you were exactly the same.

Just waiting for Bucky to come home.

The silence of your bedroom was overtaken by the rumble of a truck engine. Sitting up and peeking out the window, you recognized Steve’s battered pickup truck turning into the driveway before the engine cut out.

Steve climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking as exhausted as ever, but he had still shown up for you.

You smiled, racing down the stairs to meet him outside. In the driveway, it was clear that his shift at Hydra’s mechanic shop had done a number on him. His navy blue collared shirt was stained with sweat and motor oil, with dark streaks smeared across his jaw and down the length of his thick forearms.

“Steve,” you breathed with a smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Steve shut the door, the truck shaking from the force. “Could never forget about you. Work was just running me late.” He reached for his tools in the flatbed with a tired groan. “How’s your car holding up? Been using it since we had lunch yesterday?”

Your face warmed at the question.

Using it wouldn’t be the right term for it, you thought.

“Not really,” you said, trying to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“Still making that weird creaking noise?” he asked, walking over to the front and popping the hood.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Yep.”

Steve stood over the engine, glancing at wires and mechanical parts that were completely foreign to you.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, hovering over his shoulder.

He didn’t look back as he lifted a straining wire with his pointer finger, examining it closely. “Looks like she’s been through it.”

You had to bite back a snort. You would’ve complimented him on his sense of humor—if only he had known any better.

“Thanks for doing this, Steve,” you said, giving him a pat on his sweaty back. “My dad’s going to be real grateful.”

Steve nodded. “How are you and that neighbor doing?” He still kept his focus on the wires, his voice casual and unassuming. “You two didn’t screw each other after my warning yesterday, right?”

You were so glad he was focused on the engine—the face you made would’ve given it all away.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” you scoffed playfully, crossing your arms defensively.

Steve glanced up at you with a chuckle. “A good one, I hope.” He brought his tools to the edge of the car, rummaging through the kit. “You two exchanged numbers yet?”

“Do I have to?” you shrugged. “He lives right across the street.”

Steve tilted his head, agreeing. “You make a good point.” He looked back at the engine. “When are you going to introduce me to the guy?”

You leaned against the car with a roll of your eyes. “Steve, you’re sounding an awful lot like my dad. And why are you in such a rush to meet him, anyway?”

Steve shrugged, pulling a wire stripper out of his toolbox before setting it back down on the ground. “I’m your best friend, alright? It’d give any man peace of mind to know what kind of person you’re talking to. Hand me a wrench, would you?”

Crouching, you dug into his toolbox until you found something that resembled a wrench. You handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the tool from your hand. His brows furrowed as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed hard, giving you an up close and personal view of a working man.

After the filthy things Bucky hissed in your ear yesterday, you couldn’t help but stare. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him? Even worse was the memory of what you cried out in response. You both can take turns using me!

You wanted to slap yourself for the secondhand embarrassment you were giving yourself.

You wouldn’t consider it—no, you couldn’t. Steve was the person you grew up with, the one who fended off your bullies in kindergarten. Steve was the one who drove you to school every morning in high school. Steve was the one who took you to prom when no one else did.

Steve was family.

But as he stood there, covered in motor oil and sweat, you finally understood why a man like Bucky would be jealous over you hanging out with a man like Steve Rogers.

The wrench slipped, clattering against the frame of the car before hitting the driveway with a noise that made you flinch.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He bent down to pick it up. He stood up straight—reminding you all over again of just how big he was compared to you—and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

While you were having filthy thoughts about your best friend, he was standing there in an increasingly sour mood. Between the long shift at Hydra’s and the oppressive heat of the bright afternoon sun, he looked completely spent.

You didn’t know the first thing about wire strippers or engine blocks, and you felt useless just hovering over his shoulder.

“I’m going to go make you a lemonade,” you said, giving his shoulder another supportive pat. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He just gave a single, firm nod to let you know he heard you.

As you retreated inside, a car that Steve didn’t recognize pulled up to Bucky’s driveway.

It was a sleek, black convertible sports car. Steve couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of it. Of course Bucky drove a sports car.

He stood no chance against his rundown pickup.

Bucky stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his hair. As he turned to glance at your driveway, expecting to see you, his blue eyes landed on Steve instead.

For all that talk about wanting to meet him, Steve really only cared to do it if you were there, bridging the gap. So for now, until you returned with his lemonade—which he was sure would make Bucky jealous—Steve tried to keep himself too occupied to notice him.

But he kept catching movement in his peripheral vision. Then another. Then another. A stupid, persistent movement that wouldn’t go away, like a goddamn fly.

Steve finally lifted his head and saw Bucky still in his driveway, waving.

Waving?

At what?

Steve turned around, expecting to see you standing right behind him with the lemonade, but you weren’t. The porch remained empty—meaning Bucky was waving at him.

“Need any help there?” Bucky called out from across the street, resting his hands on his hips.

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I’m good!” he called back. Short, straight to the point, and friendly enough.

He looked back down at the engine, but it didn’t take long before a bright spark jumped from the terminal with a loud popping sound. Steve jolted back with a hiss, snapping his hand away from the burn. “Shit!”

Across the street, Bucky was already making his way over with a smug grin that Steve caught—and one he especially wanted to wipe off.

Jesus. Where were you?

“Here,” Bucky finally reached him, occupying the small space between the car’s engine and where Steve was standing. “Let me help you with that.”

Before Steve could fight for his spot, Bucky was leaning over the hood, adjusting the wires in a way that made Steve—the man wearing an actual mechanic’s uniform—feel like a fool.

Steve stepped up to the hood, propping his arm against it as he looked the man over. “So, you’re the new neighbor that moved in not too long ago, right?” He already knew the answer, but this was at least him trying for short conversation.

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes slowly tracing over his uniform. Steve felt his eyebrow twitch.

Was Bucky silently insulting him?

“Yup,” Bucky drawled with the pop of the p. “And you must be my pretty neighbor’s best friend. The one she always talks about.”

It was getting harder by the second for Steve to go along with this. Bucky acted like the very frat boys at Jensen that Steve had warned you to avoid at all costs—and this man was in his mid-thirties, for crying out loud.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky stood up straight, extending his hand for a shake. “Bucky.”

Steve was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the offered hand before finally reaching out to take it.

“Steve,” he replied with a firm grip.

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer—as if studying him—before looking back down at the engine with a huff of laughter. “You know, for a guy who works at a mechanic shop, you’re struggling pretty bad with a simple alternator issue.” He bent over the engine again, examining it. “Are you trying to actually fix the car, or just trying to impress your lady friend?”

Steve let out a dry laugh as he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “It’s been a long day, alright? I’ve been dealing with different cars all day, the sun is giving me a headache, and now I’ve got my best friend’s neighbor to worry about—”

He stopped himself before he could spill too much, but Bucky caught it anyway. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he looked up at Steve from where he was bent over. “You’re worrying about me?”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m just looking out for her. New guy in the neighborhood, it’s just a habit.”

Bucky hummed, a small, knowing grin resting on his lips as he turned back to the engine block.

He leaned further under the hood of the old sixties station wagon, his fingers moving towards the distributor cap and the fraying ignition wire Steve had been struggling with. Bucky repositioned the stubborn ceramic boot, adjusting the distributor to ensure the connection wouldn’t spark again.

He wiped his hands on his thighs as he stood up straight.

“Since it’s an older model, you’re going to need to buy a specific point and condenser set for a sixties Ford wagon. But this should hold her over for now.” Bucky looked over at Steve. “You got a piece of paper so I can write down the part number you need?”

Steve blinked, surprised and undeniably impressed by how easily Bucky had handled it.

“Oh. Y-yeah, hold on—” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn notepad and a pen, handing them over.

Bucky took them, resting the pad against the car’s fender as he scribbled down the specifications. Steve glanced up, watching you through the kitchen window where you were completely oblivious, still focused on making the lemonade.

Surprisingly, he actually liked the guy. Despite the age difference, he could see potential in Bucky. He was handsome, owned his own house, drove a nice car, and was clearly respectful and handy. He was exactly the type of man your parents wouldn’t pass out at the sight of.

He was a good man for you—regrettably so.

Bucky finished writing, flipping the notepad shut and handing it back to Steve along with the pen. “Here you go.”

Steve smiled, and this time it was polite and genuine.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” He held up the notepad with a slight nod. “She’ll appreciate this. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

Bucky’s smile widened just slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your silhouette through the kitchen window where you were still occupied with the lemons. His gaze lingered on you for a split second before he looked back at Steve, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Remember, I’m right across the street if you ever need help.”

He gave a parting nod before turning on his heel, brushing past Steve to head back to his side of the street.

Steve watched Bucky disappear past his front door. By the time the door clicked shut, you had finally stepped out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade in your hands. Perfect timing.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said breathlessly, walking down the steps and handing him a glass. “It’s been a minute since I last made it from scratch, so…”

“You just missed him.”

You raised a brow in confusion. “Sorry?”

Steve brought the cold glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the tart drink before nodding towards the house across the road.

“Bucky.” He let out a satisfied exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “He was just here—helping me with your car, actually.”

Your eyes went wide, your head snapping towards Bucky’s house—though he was nowhere to be found. You reached up, trying to smooth down your hair.

“He was? Is he coming back?” You asked, sounding too excited for your own good.

Steve shrugged, taking another sip. “Probably not. Seemed like he had other things to do.”

You looked at Steve, your eyes narrowing skeptically.

Steve caught your look and let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cold glass against his palm. “What?”

“So…” you teased, swaying back and forth subtly. “I assume you two talked for a bit then? How was he? What do you think of him?”

Steve shrugged again, a genuine smile breaking through the tired expression he had on before. “Alright, alright. You know what? He’s not a bad guy. He actually helped me fix your car. I like him.” He handed you back the empty glass, flipping through the crumpled pages to find the note Bucky had left. “He even told me what part we needed to order to get this thing fixed up and working again—”

He froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went wide, staring at the page as his words got lost in his mind.

You raised a brow, confused with Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. “Well? What part is it? Is it expensive?”

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to step closer and peek your head over his arm to look at the notepad. What you saw made your breath hitch, and your own eyes went wide.

There was no part number.

Written in bold handwriting, on the paper was a phone number, Bucky’s phone number, followed by a little message in black ink.

you’re gonna have to call me if you want that part number. xoxo, buck.

Your jaw hung so loose, a fly could’ve flown in at any moment. Steve didn’t know what to say either—if anything, he was standing there frozen, waiting for you to say something first.

“Oh my god,” was all that managed to leave your mouth. You looked up at Steve, your wide eyes meeting his. “Is Bucky…?”

Steve, poor Steve, who remained completely oblivious to the fact that you and Bucky had fucked just yesterday on this very driveway, only felt confusion and secondhand guilt.

He glanced across the street at the sleek, clean Mazda resting in Bucky's driveway, specifically staring at the custom vanity license plate on the back that read ‘BIGBUCK.’

Steve swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a rosy shade of pink. Though, he could easily excuse it for the sun.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “He drives a Miata.”

if you were curious to know why a mazda miata specifically, you can thank r/askgaybros for that when i was conducting my research.

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

You nipped that thought right in the bud, focusing your gaze on Steve’s face—his stupidly handsome face—which was contorted into a cold, furious scowl. You couldn’t help but notice that even that expression looked good on him, and you had to force yourself to concentrate on the problem at hand.

Because the frown on Steve’s face wasn’t the one he typically wore in your presence. No, this particularly charming glower was because he’d discovered you in the secret, locked room in his boss’s Brooklyn mansion. The one that housed the mafia boss’s private collection of art, jewels, and other priceless valuables in a cramped maze that looked like an elegant version of a museum’s storage room.

It was a room that you absolutely, one hundred percent, shouldn’t be in. 

But not everything in that room was priceless. The Blue Diamond of Alqualondë would fetch your employer a cool $5.8 million on the black market. All you had to do was retrieve it, steal it away from the mansion and put it in your employer’s hands. Then you’d get the $1 million you were promised…and your debts would be forgiven. Finally.

Giving your head a subtle, impatient shake, you reminded yourself that you didn’t have time to ruminate on the mess you were in. It didn’t matter that you’d been forced to get close enough to a mafia boss to be invited to one of the exclusive parties at his mansion—or that you’d enjoyed your time with the Brooklyn mob boss more than you should’ved.

You had to focus on the problem in front of you. Namely the fiercely protective and extremely dangerous mafia enforcer standing between you and your freedom.

“Would you believe,” you began, sauntering toward Steve and putting a little extra sway in your hips. The gown you wore hugged your curves lovingly, a slit up the side offering teasing views of your bare thigh. It was meant to be a distraction of a dress and it was doing its job. “That I got lost while looking for the bathroom?”

A little zip of satisfaction shot straight down your spine when Steve’s cold, blue eyes dipped briefly to your body, raking quickly over your chest, your hips, your legs, like he couldn’t help himself. But the excitement you felt at getting the man’s attention fizzled when his gaze returned to your face, harder than before.

But you wouldn’t—couldn’t—be deterred. It was imperative that you distract Steve and get him out of the room so you could sneak back later and steal the Blue Diamond of Alqualondë from his boss’s collection. How exactly you’d do that when the enforcer who already didn’t trust you, would be on higher alert? That was a problem for later you.

All you could do was deal with one problem at a time. So you moved closer to the big, intimdating man and slunk into his personal space, placing a hand over the breast pocket of his jacket while you fluttered your lashes at him. 

“This place is just so big and confusing,” you murmured demurely, trying to play the role of damsel in distress while you surreptitiously searched his jacket for something, anything to help you get free. 

But aside from a couple guns in shoulder holsters, all you found were the hard muscles Steve hid beneath his tailored suit. You forced yourself to ignore the twist of attraction in your belly, the melting warmth that sang in your blood, and urged you to do something stupid, something too fucking reckless, even for you. 

It became easier when Steve’s lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist and he stopped your wandering hand in its tracks. He gave you a tight warning squeeze before letting his hands fall and stuffing them in his pockets, making a show of how little of a threat he thought you posed.

“From anyone else, I might believe that excuse,” Steve rumbled, staring down his nose at you. His eyes were like two chips of ice, sending even more cold anxiety down your spine, and it was only your years of practice that kept you from wilting under his angry stare. “But not from you, sweetheart.”

It disturbed you how much you liked hearing Steve call you by that pet name, even if his tone was dripping with disdain as he said it. In your head, you reached for the calm that typically came so easily when you were working a job, but you found it was rapidly depleting. 

There was something about Steve Rogers that left you feeling stripped bare and defenseless, and it took much more effort than usual to gather your charm and clever tactics around you like protective armor. Giving an indignant, offended huff of a laugh, you swatted Steve’s chest like you were old friends.

“You’re so mean to me, Stevie,” you whined in your sweetest, most ingratiating voice, batting your eyes at the scowling enforcer. “I’m just a little lost,” you said, pouting up at him with your most pathetic expression.

At the same time, you pressed closer, your tits brushing against his chest, sending sparks of pleasure rioting in your belly, your nipples tightening beneath the thin, slinky fabric of your dress. It took everything in you to hold back a shiver as desire ran rampant in your body, making you feel hot and achy.

“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” Steve snapped, his anger bleeding over into his tone in a way that made his voice hard and unrelenting. It got you thinking about other things of his that would feel hard and unrelenting and could help soothe the ache between your thighs…

“This room is kept locked, so try again,” Steve growled, leaning in until he was looming above you, using that stupid heigh to his advantage. 

However, the movement also pressed you closer to him, your tits brushing his chest and making your breath hitch as your nipples rubbed against him again. Steve’s eyes dropped to your tits, which were heaving in the low neckline of your dress, in danger of spilling out. 

A sound, like a choked off, hungry growl, rumbled in Steve’s chest, and the air in the room crackled with unresolved tension. It went straight to your head, that sound, and you could feel your brain melting a little at how much pure, undiluted lust was etched into Steve’s handsome face.

For a moment, between one breath and the next, you thought Steve Rogers might kiss you. You were already sagging in relief at the thought, your body sinking deeper into him, your hands pressed flat against the lapels of his jacket, ready to grab him and haul him even closer. 

You knew the kiss would be good. It would be devastating for the both of you, and your body lit up with the anticipation… but the kiss never came.

With a violent jerk of his head, Steve wrenched his gaze from your mouth, where he’d been staring at your lips like they were the answer to all his life’s problems, and he looked past your shoulder, deep into the maze of the room. He swallowed thickly, put some space between your bodies and finally looked back at you. 

When he did, his expression was guarded, and all the lust that had filled his face had been buried deep within the span of a few seconds. All that remained was the distrust that had haunted his blue eyes since you first appeared in his boss’s life. 

“Now, answer me, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, his voice going infinitesimally softer on the pet name before he continued on. “What were you doing in here?”

The sudden shift in Steve’s mood was effective in waking you up from the lust spell you’d fallen into, and you realized you had one last card to play in an effort to get out of your disastrous situation. It was a long shot—Steve was so loyal to his boss, that it was unlikely he’d betray him for anything—but you had to try.

So you pressed your soft body more deliberately against the hard, unyielding bulk of Steve’s form, taking care to keep your wits about you as you danced your fingers along the line of his jacket. You let your fingertips trace the buttons of his white dress shirt, down to his abdomen, feeling the muscles of his stomach spasm at your touch. 

Steve’s face remained a stony, unforgiving mask as you teased your nails along the hem of his pants, toying with the leather of his belt. You sucked in a breath for courage, emboldened by the bulge brushing against your hip and looked at the handsome mafia enforcer from under your lashes.

“What’ll it take to make you leave and forget you ever saw me in here?” you asked silkily, pushing up onto your tiptoes so you could murmur in Steve’s ear, your breath ghosting tantalizingly against his bearded jaw. “I promise to make it worth your while, sir.” 

You were pressed so close to Steve that you felt his body go rigid at the honorific, his breath rushing out of him like you’d knocked the air out of his lungs. A pleased smirk teased the corners of your lips and you took his reaction as a sign to press your advantage, brushing your hand lower until your fingertips teased along the hard ridge of his cock in his pants.

But before you could cup his bulge through his clothes, Steve’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it none too gently away from his lap. He yanked so hard on your arm that it put you off balance, and if it wasn’t for Steve’s other hand settling on your hip, his palm a possessive, heated touch, you might’ve tumbled back onto your ass.

“You’re delusional if you thought that would work on me, sweetheart,” Steve growled, the barest hint of teasing in the pet name as it rolled off his tongue.

A shiver skated down your spine, one you weren’t able to temper, and you felt more than saw Steve’s smirk. Using his grip on your wrist and your hip, he drew you closer, and—damn him—your stomach swooped when you felt the hard length of his cock press against your belly. 

It was all you could do to breathe normally and not pant over the hot mafia enforcer like a dog in heat. But that had its downsides, too, because Steve smelled good. Expensive cologne mixed with something dangerous, like gunpowder, and god help you, but you thought you could get high off his scent. 

You were so close to huffing Steve’s scent like a desperate hussy when his hand around your wrist squeezed, making you blink the lust from your gaze and look up at him. A smirk teased around the edges of his mouth and he looked so fucking devastatingly handsome, you wanted to kick him—or kiss him. 

“Tell me what you were doing in here,” Steve rumbled, looming over you once more in a clear attempt to intimidate you into answering. “And who you’re working for. Be honest, be honest—if you’re honest, we might go easy on you.”

At the reference to your employer, your spine went ramrod straight, and panic flooded your mind. You were so distracted by the thought of who’d hired you that you didn’t notice the way Steve’s eyes flicked briefly over your shoulder. Nor did you notice his use of “we” when it was only him in the room. 

As far as you were aware at least.

In the life of a thief, these were the kinds of rookie mistakes that could get you caught, could get you killed. Unfortunately for you, you were too scared of your employer and too off-balance by the closeness of the mafia enforcer, to even realize you’d made such amateur errors. 

You thought you were still in control of the situation, so you huffed an indignant sound and tossed your head, giving the appearance that you were offended by Steve’s words and the implied accusation. 

Tipping your head back, you managed to look down your nose at the taller man as you scrambled for another way out of the room so you could return later for the diamond you’d been hired to steal. It took only a moment for your clever mind to come up with something, even if it wasn’t your best work.

“Your boss told me to meet him here,” you said, latching onto the first excuse you could think of that you hadn’t tried already. It didn’t matter, in your mind, that it probably wouldn’t work. It had to work because you couldn’t disappoint your employer. It wasn’t an option. “He said he wanted to show me something, but I think he just wanted to get me alone.”

It felt stiff and fake, even to you, as you winked at Steve, but using his boss’s attraction to you was your last-ditch effort to get the enforcer to let you go. You just needed his grip to ease up long enough for him to check in with his boss so that you could use the distraction to escape. 

However, you hadn’t accounted for the universe—and the mafia boss and his most trusted enforcer—to be working so expertly against you. 

That time, you did notice when Steve’s gaze moved from your face to something over your shoulder, something deeper in the maze of the mansion’s secret room. Anxiety flooded your body and no matter how much you tried to remain calm, you could feel yourself beginning to panic.

“Is that right?” Steve asked, and despite all your instincts telling you that he wasn’t speaking to you, you opened your mouth to answer him. But he went on before you could. “Did you ask her to meet you here—did you give her your key?”

Your stomach was sinking down to your knees, which were in danger of wobbling as panic consumed your chest, making your heart hammer against your ribs like a bird trying to escape its cage. Your mouth was dry, and for once in your life, you were too stunned to speak. 

You could only watch in horror as Steve’s gaze—cold, blue and knowing—returned to your face, even as he continued speaking to someone else. You had a sneaking suspicion that you already knew who that someone else would turn out to be.

“Or did she pilfer it and sneak in here like the dirty little thief that she is?”

“That depends,” came a voice from behind you—one that was warm and filled with humor, even as it held a dangerous edge. One that you recognized.

It was the voice that belonged to the man of the house, the one you’d spent the past weeks cozying up to so you could steal from him. The one you’d secretly begun to like, along with his loyal enforcer, though that was a secret you planned to take to your grave. Unfortunately, it seemed tha might happen sooner rather than later.

“Does it count as stealing if I let her lift it off me so I could see what she’d do with it?”

Bucky Barnes sauntered into you line of view, shooting you a devastatingly charming grin that made you feel like your panties wanted to melt right off your body. You’d worked hard to ignore your attraction to the Brooklyn mafia boss, but in that moment, you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to him.

With his broad shoulders, bright eyes and towering stature, Bucky was one of the handsomest men you’d ever met. He was hot enough to give Steve a run for his money, and he had the charisma to wield those good looks like a dangerous weapon. You thought you’d been impervious to his hotness and his charms, but in that moment, you realized you weren’t.

Still, it wasn’t until Bucky slid in behind you, curving his big hands possessively around your waist, and caging you in between him and Steve that you realized just how much trouble you were in. Because the whole time you’d been thinking you were conning the head of the Brooklyn mafia and his right-hand man, they had clearly been three steps ahead of you. 

And now you were caught in their trap—literally. You were caught between their big, strong bodies, with nowhere to go and no tricks left up your sleeve. All you had left was to see what they’d do, and hope you could escape with your life, if not with the score that could save you from your employer’s wrath.

The life of a thief wasn’t for the weak, and it was a good thing you were made of stronger stuff than most. You just had to keep your head in the game and not get distracted by Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, and maybe, just maybe, you could still win your freedom.

But too bad for you, that might be easier said than done…

Getting ready is always the best part. Listening to some music with friends while you procure a cute outfit for the occasion is infinitely better than wincing at the too-loud music and voluntarily retreating to the nearest couch with everyone's purses like you always end up doing at parties. At least you get to people watch. It's always nice to see other people having a good time. Or see drama occur. Both are good.

Tonight, your pre-party getting ready ritual had been in the very small, very cozy apartment of one your friends since high school, Amelia. She hadn't had anyone to spend the winter holidays with, so you'd packed up and flew up to Massachusetts to see her for her winter break.

Amelia had been belting out showtunes practically the whole time she'd been doing her makeup as the two of you were getting ready, and you'd joined her in the ones you knew. She's getting her master's in mechanical engineering, genius math wiz she is, but also participates in literally any theatre event Harvard has going on that she's allowed to join, this party being no exception. You can take the girl out of drama class and all that.

She'd promised that this party would be different from the ones you'd been to before. Said it was more of a gathering of her theatre friends than anything else. There'd be no slurring drunk guys grabbing your arm and telling you to dance, some cool people from within the department and non-alcoholic drink options for you. Seemed like a dream.

Now, to give it to Amelia, she hadn't lied about any of of those things. All of the people here are cool, and it is different than any of the other parties you've been to.

It's just very, very loud.

You've also been a theatre kid since high school, but you'd honestly forgotten how loud a big group of you can be at once. And while it is, technically, a gathering of drama students, it feels like it's every last one from the school, and then some. There's also a few outliers here and there that obviously aren't from the main scene, some guys wearing suits with loosened ties or girls with impeccably tight buns, but they seem to be having as good a time as anyone else.

Amelia had disappeared somewhere down a hallway while talking animatedly to a friend with brightly dyed red hair, and you've once again become the harbinger of purses. There's a girl on the couch beside you that's somehow dead asleep in the middle of all of this chaos, and you mentally applaud her, crossing your legs and leaning up against them. One of your hands steadily taps out the beat to a funky song blasting from a speaker somewhere in the room on your couch cushion, and you observe as a long-haired blonde man animatedly chats with a girl with a tattoo sleeve. She places a hand on his arm as she laughs.

A couple of people shuffle over and near where you sit in drunken laughter, breaths wheezy with giggles, and you make the decision to get up and find somewhere else to go. It's okay if you're off to the sidelines and fairly isolated, but when things start getting too crowded, you've gotta move.

Glancing at the girl deep in her REM cycle on the couch, you chew on the inside of your cheek, wondering if it would be weird to put the blanket you'd been sitting by over her. You're getting up anyways, so you might as well. There's a bit more gnawing before you eventually decide to grab the threadbare blanket, gingerly laying it down across the girl. She moves a bit and you wince, praying she doesn't wake up and create an awkward encounter, but she just opens her mouth and starts to drool into the couch cushions.

With a quick adjustment of yours and Amelia's purses, you stand up, stretching your back out and then maneuvering your way through the party. You accidentally bump into a few sweaty bodies, quietly saying excuse me's to them, but are able to get by relatively unscathed. There's a hallway with splintering sections that you tread down, then stop halfway when you see an open doorway that leads into the kitchen.

After walking over a fairly strange step through its threshold, you're thankful to find only one other occupant inside; one of the suits. He retrieves a beer from the fridge, closes it, then stands in front of the sink, holding his beer above it and twisting his palm to get the cap off.

The kitchen muffles the sound of the party raging in the other room quite a decent amount, and you practically levitate with relief as you take his place at the fridge. Upon opening it, you find a slew of beverages within, both alcoholic and non, as promised by Amelia. Your eyes pass by a hearty amount of wine coolers, sparkling water, and Dr. Pepper before landing on a large jug of unsweetened cranberry juice at the back, which you snatch eagerly, grabbing a cup from a stack on the counter and pouring a fair helping. God, this shit is so nasty. It's great.

The song changes through the other side of the wall, a bit slower than the one before, and you nurse another tiny sip of the putrid juice within your cup. The guy in the room does the same, now resting his hips against the sink's counter and staring at the wall ahead. With his face now to you, you see that he's wearing sunglasses. Which is weird.

You look away from him, not wanting to be caught staring, and wonder if he's high. He'd definitely not be the only one here who was.

Over the rim of your cup, you steal another glance at the guy, finding him stretching his legs and tapping out the song's beat on his beer. You smile, taking another sip, and look forward again, taking a nice big inhale and letting it out slowly. Amelia should hopefully be ready to go soon. It's almost midnight, and she'd said she wanted to show you this Greek restaurant she's really into before it closed, which is at two, so she's bound to scoop you up soon.

Seconds tick by in silence, save for the muffled music of the party, and you start to feel mildly uncomfortable. It'd be better if the sunglasses dude weren't here. Then, you could do nothing with the peace of mind that someone isn't in the room with you, equally as untalking. Even if it's probably because he's high.

Another beat of silence passes by, and you've stopped sipping on your drink. It feels like it's rude to not say something. Is it? Because he isn't either, but then again, maybe he also just wants to be alone. He did get here first. You sort of took over his territory, and that makes you the aggressor. Should you make conversation, or just keep quiet?

With another sip of your drink, you decide to just bite the bullet and say something. You swallow, then position yourself in the man's direction, hesitating a moment before you ask, "So, why are you wearing sunglasses?"

Raising his eyebrows, he slowly turns his head in your direction. He thinks for a moment, lips pursing, then grins.

"I'm one of those assholes who thinks it looks cool."

You huff in amusement, shoulders slowly dropping at the dip in tension. Careful not to slosh your juice, you cross your arms, a small smile spreading across your lips.

"What, are you Roy Orbison?"

His grin grows into a smirk, and he sets his beer down on the counter to his left, body also turning to face you now. "Depends. Are you a pretty woman?"

Your cheeks rush with warmth as you process what he said, and you still, fingers stiff against your cup.

"Uh, I…" Say something. You lean against the counter yourself, hoping it makes you look more at ease. "I think I'm more of a Mean Woman Blues type deal. I'll bite'cha."

The guy laughs, a genuine little chuckle that makes your heart flutter, slightly relieved. Giving a lighthearted sigh, he shakes his head, then cocks it to the side. "I take it you're a fan, then?"

You give a quick shake of your own head, waving your hand in dismissal. "Nah, I only know, like, three songs by him. I could've given you one more and then I'd have been done for."

He adjusts the sleeve of his suit jacket, tone a bit teasing. "That's honest."

"Well I would have looked pretty stupid after the third song," you point out, raising your drink to your mouth again, though you don't take your eyes from off of him as you sip. Feels like if you blink, he'll disappear, somehow.

This, because of course it does, leads to you overestimating how much liquid is going to slosh into your mouth, and you spill half of your cup's contents onto your dress.

"Shit! Fuck!" The juice runs down your neck and into the top of your dress, spreading throughout the fabric like the plague, and the guy's mouth falls open. You slam your cup down on the counter, maneuvering past him and to the sink to try and squeeze anything you can from the fabric and into its depths. Barely any juice comes out, and you groan miserably, snatching up several paper towels, forming them into a pile, and grab a few to press against your torso in an attempt to seep what you can out.

The guy turns around, hand landing on the sink's edge as he makes a vague gesture in your direction. "Think that's gonna stain?" He asks, obviously entertained. You scowl, pressing harder with the towel in your hand.

"What do you think?"

He hums, rubbing little circles on his finger with his thumb from the sink. "I think baking soda can help get rid of blood stains. Maybe you could try that."

Tittering, you grab a new towel to apply pressure with. "Are you an axe murderer? Why do you know that?" You ask, making an angry noise at the lack of success from your pressing.

"Axes? No, I prefer knives," he responds, a cheeky little smirk appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. He straightens himself out a bit, thumb stopping. "No, uh… My dad was a boxer."

"Oh? Did he do, like, actual fights, or was it more WWE?"

His voice instantly grows firm. "No. He fought." You pause your movements, fingers stilling against your chest at the change in tone. He exhales, then slides his palm along the counter until it hits the stack of paper towels you'd ripped off, handing you one. "He was good, too."

Was. He's using the past tense a little bit too much to just be referencing an old job. Something must have happened. Trepid waters to tread through, here.

Giving up on your dress, you bunch up the towels in your hands into a wad and set them on the counter. "Gave 'em the old one-two?"

He huffs, looking off towards the window above the sink and sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Some dim light from a street lamp outside outlines bits of his face. "Something like that."

There's a small pause, the song slowly thumping through the walls. It echoes throughout the silence between you both, you not knowing what to say and him not offering anything else in terms of a response. You ultimately decide to change the subject to something less touchy.

"Do you think I can tie-dye this? Or just dye it?"

Stretching out your dress, you look down at the large red stain and wonder if Amelia would let you use her bathtub to dye the thing. The guy turns his head back to you, his tongue running along his teeth as he gives you a small smile.

"What kind of fabric is it?"

"I dunno. Probably polyester or some shit. Cotton's hard to find."

He shrugs, answering with an amused sigh. "Then I don't know."

Rolling your eyes, you try and reach behind your back to grab the dress' tag and see if it has the material labelled. "Thanks for all the help."

"I live to please."

He takes a hand out of his pocket and reaches behind himself on the counter, getting a grip on the beer he'd set down, then takes a sip. Lips slowly forming into a frown, you watch his neck as he swallows, throat bobbing up and down.

"How do you even drink that?" You blurt out, almost instantly wincing at how juvenile it sounds. Instead of giving you a look, however, he pauses, then sets his drink down next to him again, shrugging.

"It sort of… drowns things out, in a way."

Raising an eyebrow, you cross your arms once more, purse straps digging into the skin beneath your shoulders. "What do you have that needs to be drowned out?"

"Mmm, that feels more like a third date question." His lips wrap with a sly smile around his beer again, and he takes another swig. He's evading the question with flirtation, and you know that, but god is it working.

"Third? I didn't know this was the first," you respond, and he cocks his head once again.

"Do you want it to be?"

"I…" He doesn't move. This has got to be a trick question, right? "Do you?"

He inhales, tongue darting over his lip as he thinks over his response, when you hear a loud, energetic voice sound off unexpectedly to your right.

"Matt! There you are, buddy." Your head snaps over to see the voice's source, finding the guy with the long blonde hair from earlier coming in through the kitchen doorway opposite the one you came through. "Jesus, dude, I've been looking everywhere for you! You love to hide, dontcha?"

Turning back to face the man you'd just been talking to, you narrow your eyes, biting back a smile. "Matt?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "Seems like my mysterious allure is gone."

"I don't know if you ever had that, to begin with," you poke, eyeing the blonde as he joins the two of you in the corner. He stares quizzically at the red all over your dress, looks at Matt with obvious confusion, then returns his eyes to you.

"Hello… bloody woman?" The blonde gives a small, hesitant wave, and you snort. He then opens his mouth, looks like he's about to ask you a question, and decides against it, turning to Matt. "Okay, I know it's been more than an hour. But," a huge smile spreads across his face, his eyes lighting up as he claps Matt on the shoulder, "I think she's into me, man! Methinks I've got a chance."

"That's great, Fog!" Matt taps the hand the blonde—Fog, apparently—has on his shoulder encouragingly, holding it as he speaks again. "But can you— can you just give me one second?"

Fog looks momentarily taken aback, then looks between you and Matt for the second time, eyebrows raising higher with every second that passes. Eventually, he puts his hands up, taking a few steps back in the direction he came from.

"…Sure, yeah. I'll be in the hallway."

"Thanks."

Embarrassment flushes through you at the glint of mischief in Fog's eyes, Matt fully focusing his attention on you again once his friend leaves the room. You bounce your gaze on several different things that aren't Matt before you finally work up the courage to look at him, and find him facing you with a lopsided smile.

"Fog's waiting for you," you state, nodding your head towards the doorway.

"Yes, I heard."

"Then aren't you gonna go?"

"I should." Matt sucks in a breath, taking a small step closer, and you practically stop breathing. Someone else enters the room, coming in the way you did, and starts rifling through the fridge at his back. Matt cocks his head again, raising his brow. "It was, uh… It was nice. Talking to you."

Grinning, you mimic him, catching a glimpse of your reflection in his sunglasses. "You're not that bad, either." You motion vaguely around the room, continuing, "So, why are you here in the first place if you're a hider?"

"I could ask the same of you."

You pucker your lips in thought, fiddling with the zipper on your purse. "I dunno. I like the idea of parties? But… then it's just too loud."

Matt snorts. "Oh, I get what you mean." His hand leaves his pocket to run through his hair, then returns. "I'm really just here for Fog."

"That's sweet," you say, actually being honest, though you huff at another thought that crosses your mind. "But it's also— kind of masochistic."

His mouth opens in surprise, but it quickly morphs into a smile. "Masochistic? Helping a friend?"

"Yeah! I mean, we show up somewhere that we know isn't gonna be pleasant for us. There's gotta be a kink in there somewhere."

“Interesting small talk."

"Small talk sucks." Bracing your hands on the counter's ledge, you brave a rock of your heels that tips you closer to Matt, lowering your voice to a very mischievous whisper. "Tell me a secret."

Matt doesn't move away, a strand of hair falling onto his forehead as he lazily angles his face toward you, voice rumbling in his chest at this pitch. "Hm, what do you want to know?"

You motion upward with your chin, forcing yourself to not retreat from the closeness.

"Why are you actually wearing those?" You ask, eyes looking over the glasses. The other person in the room could be on Mars, for all you care. When Matt doesn't answer immediately, you point a finger at him, it lightly poking the middle of his chest. "I don't think you're an asshole. Or that you think they make you look cool. So, why are you wearing them?"

This makes him go still. You watch intently, wondering what would make him hesitate as he thinks over his answer, practically seeing the cogs turn in his head, and then he grins.

"Well, you said you want a secret." He reaches into the pocket on the inside of his coat, then pauses. "…This isn't really a secret—more of an observational error—but I think it'll be good enough."

Matt shuffles within his jacket for a second, then grabs hold of whatever is inside and pulls it out. In his hand is gripped a white pole, maybe a foot long and with several different layers, all the same length. He grabs the first of the layers, a black one with a different texture than the rest, with his other hand, then starts to pull.

"What is that?" You ask, scrunching up your face as you try to decipher what the object is. His only response is slowly unfolding a layer from the pole, then moving onto the next, head still angled at you like he's waiting for you to catch onto something.

He continues to unfold the pole, another foot being added to its length with every layer, and then it catches the light, giving you a glimpse of the red mark at its end. Your eyes stay glued to the spot as Matt undoes the last layer, then holds the fully unfolded pole vertically against the floor, his fingers clutched around the black grip.

Holy shit.

"You're quiet," Matt states softly, making you rip your gaze back to his face. You scoff, throwing your hands in the air.

"Well, pardon me if I'm a little fuckin' surprised! You're blind!"

He shifts his weight a bit, features hardening. "Is that a problem?"

"What? No! I just… looked like a total jackass." You give a sort of nervous laugh, and Matt bares his teeth in a smile.

"I don't think a total jackass. Maybe… fifty percent."

"That's reassuring."

He hums jovially in response, head turning towards the doorway that his friend had come through, then back.

"I should probably get going. Fog might explode if he doesn't tell me about that girl."

"Okay," you extend you arm in his friend’s direction, "go ahead."

Matt doesn't move for a second, practically looking like he's stuck to the ground, then carefully waves his hand around to find the beer he'd left earlier. Once in hand, he slowly starts to take a couple of steps away, trailing his palm along the edge of the counter. After a few paces, however, he backtracks, tracing his steps much quicker than he'd left.

"Am I going to see you again?" He asks, goofy grin still plastered on his face. On instinct, you try to repress the giddy look on yours at the question, then realise that it's not even necessary. He can't see it.

"That… depends. I'll probably be at at least another one of this crowd's parties. My friend loves them."

He nods slowly, thinking. "I hear there's one this Thursday."

”You’re not gonna hide?” You taunt, wanting to get one last jab in. Matt doesn’t falter.

”Don’t think so, no.”

"Then maybe I'll be there."

You watch his grin grow even wider. "Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Then maybe I'll be there, too." There's this sly, almost impish look on Matt's face, and he takes a step backward, levelling out his cane to be at waist height so he can use it properly. Giving a low wave with his free fingers, he turns to make his exit. "I'll see you around."

He then taps his cane against the floor, positioning his body in the direction of the small sound it makes, and walks off, tapping his way to the door that Fog waits at. You can hear Fog make a somewhat surprised noise when he spots Matt leaving the kitchen, and he giggles, saying something to Matt in a hushed whisper. You get a small glimpse of the two of them through the doorway as they walk off through the hall, and notice Matt's hand lightly resting on Fog's arm while they talk to one another as they leave.

When they're officially out of view, you slump against the counter, cheeks almost hurting from how hard you're smiling. Your fingers come up to trace your lips, and you stare off at a random spot on the floor, thinking through everything that just happened. An excited laugh escapes you before you can help it, and you cover your mouth with your hand, snickering at yourself.

Thursday it is, then.

Side note, this fic gave me the inspiration for a kitchen meet-cute! Throwing that out there. I’ve never done a playlist for a story and am kind of nervous about it, so tell me if you actually listened! :) ANYWAYS I am SO excited to write the next chapter!!!! HOO the next party is going to be tasty trust me

The air around you feels damp and raw now in a way that has very little to do with the early summer heat. You force yourself onto your stomach and stuff your face into your pillow.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself. 

Or, rather, he can’t keep doing this to you. However excruciating his presence is when your family is around, it’s so much worse when they’re not.

Most of the time you want to throttle him. It had been that way since you were kids. You can still feel the grovelling embarrassment of being somewhere close to ten years old and begging him and your brother to let you tag along with them to do something stupid like peeking through the dirt-grimed windows of a neighbour’s house or sneaking into a derelict, moss-eaten hotel until someone called the cops. In defiance of all stereotypes, your brother never had a problem with it. He has doted on you since you were in the cradle.

Bucky, though. He was never receptive to it. He would let you make your case, watching you humble yourself with calculating, amused eyes that looked slightly wrong on a boy of only twelve years. You can still remember how he would make a big show of deliberating, before simply handing out a ‘no’, and moving away. Your brother would shoot you a remorseful grin but always followed after him without hesitation.

On the rare occasions he did let you trail after them, he made you regret it. He would poke and prod at you, pulling lightly at your hair or making fun of you until big, fat, brutally-resisted tears would well up in your eyes. Oh, you remember how much he used to enjoy that - the mean smile he wore while he called you a crybaby. It always ended with your brother sternly telling him to lay off, before walking you home.

Your parents refused to hear a bad word about him. They still won’t. 

You’re not really sure what is up with Bucky’s family and his home life. You just know that he had always spent more time at your house than his own. Once summer rolled around, it was like he forgot he even had a house of his own to begin with.

Your parents treat him less like a guest and more like a favourite son. The guest bedroom became Bucky’s room when you were eleven. When he tinkers around and puts together your mom’s overly-complicated coffee machine or fixes the hot water or - the very worst - mows the lawn, your parents treat him like a king. They rave in public and private about how they don’t know what they would do without him. When you had tried to tattle as a kid, the most you would get was a patient rub on the back.

It was a push and pull between the two of you. Always had been. Bucky was either acting bothered at your presence, poking and prodding at you cruelly - or irritating you with his own presence and annoying taunts.

And all of that was annoying. Is annoying. But nothing compares to that feeling. The one you’re experiencing right now.

It started when you were pushing sixteen. You had stopped asking to tag along a few years ago but that summer was different. Bucky was told by your brother, firmly and categorically, that you would be hanging out with them whether he liked it or not. He stared at you with odd fixity but made no protests and suddenly you were part of the friend group. Your brother had a crush on your best friend Wanda, who was also hanging around a lot that summer. That played into it. But you took it as a win regardless.

You spent most of your time that summer hanging out in a clearing in the woods by your house. There was nothing else to do and even if there was, you had no money to do it. Most of the details of the day itself now evade you - they’re blurry around the edges. There was a new addition to the group whose name you cannot now remember. A persistent, uncomfortable pass made for you. Your brother distracted by Wanda. A few coarse comments made, before the new guy began to touch.

What you do remember - what you well and truly cannot forget - is what happened after that touch. The way Bucky propelled up from where he sat on tree branches and lichen. How he grabbed the collar of What’s-his-name and flung him to the ground with one heavy, solid punch. The silence afterwards. The crawling shameful pang of excitement in your gut.

You never looked at him the same. 

It’s not for lack of trying.

God - you try. You try so hard. You have tried for so many years. But every fling you had in college ended up wearing his face when you closed your eyes. 

Thoughts of him run through your mind while you fill your pillow up with gasps. You’re sure that if you wrung out the fabric or pressed down hard, those sighs would have to spill back out, surround the room with breathless cries of his name.

But you have graduated now. You’re back home until you find a full-time job and this childhood crush will no longer do. It’s remarkably inconvenient, the way your knees go weak and wobbly when he walks in the room, even while you paint a snarl on. The way a hot, sticky warmth begins to flood the space between your thighs when you watch him work like he is today. 

And you’ve tried everything there is to try. You’ve tried dating other people - it usually ends sour. You made a trip or two to the counsellor on campus. You had even left stop-sign stickers around your dorm room as a reminder to snap out of it when you are thinking about him.

At Wanda’s recommendation, you have started a diary. Every time you think about him or let yourself get stupidly, fantastically turned on by him, you create a new entry. Not all of the entries are about him - some are flimsy little notes to distract yourself - but they all lead back to him one way or another. Once the book is full, you will burn it. You started it just before you left campus three weeks ago and the book is almost half-way full.

You know it’s a stupid idea. It won’t work, which is why you have already sought out a witch on Etsy for when this fails.

The deep, low tingle at the bottom of your stomach hasn’t ceased, because even while deep in thought, the image of Bucky’s strong back and his bold, lopsided smile are still running behind your eyes. You become suddenly aware that you’re lightly sweating. Your underwear is warm and damp.

You glance over at your diary on your bedside table - most recent entry late last night, courtesy of your traitorous imagination. You sigh and pick it up. 

Bucky sees you in the window to your bedroom. You’re just a little floating head above the window sill. He can’t make out an expression very clearly. He waves and forces back a laugh when he sees your bratty eye-roll, the way you flop away dramatically.

You’re back home. For the summer, at least. Until all those fancy graduate jobs in New York or Boston or Philly start opening up.

He doesn’t need to be here, if he’s being honest. Has no reason to be. The lawn has no need for mowing and there’s not a damned thing left in the house to be fixed. His own apartment isn’t exactly a paradise, but it’s not bad either. 

You won’t be here forever, though. He’ll take what he can get in the meantime.

He likes how it feels to annoy you without a buffer. With no parents to be on his best behaviour in front of, no brother to shoot him warning glances when he pokes too hard. 

He regresses slightly every time he floats back into your orbit. Falls out of adulthood and back into the familiar rhythm. The push and pull. 

His childhood crush has matured into something deeper, but his actions haven’t. He still tugs your pigtails in a metaphorical sense. It’s much too late to get you to see him as anything but an annoying, big brother-type figure now, but he can deal with that. He likes watching you get riled up, anyway.

You regress around him too. He takes great satisfaction in that. You walk into the house after months of being away, haughty and put-together, like you had finally done all your growing up in college. A few grating words from him can make you twitch a little bit while you fight the urge to snap, irritation spilling through the cracks. And you eventually do crack. All the way. Every single time.

He mows until the short tufts of grass turn to clippings. He spares no blade, weed or flower and thinks about you, lying up on your bed. Probably doing something dumb. Probably scrolling on your  phone or flipping through some magazine. He remembers when you were thirteen and he found that stash of teen-pop magazines in your room, the pages with boyband members dog-eared, hearts circled around their pictures. He smiles, thinking about the way you screamed when you caught him red-handed. How you told him to “stop being such a pain in my ass”, pushing him out your bedroom door and slamming it shut behind him while he laughed. You were sulky at dinner afterwards.

He rolls the mower back into the shed, ties the padlock and tugs at it twice before walking into the house through the sliding glass doors.

He’s sweating lightly. He takes a quick swallow of water from the glass on the counter - whether it’s yours or his, he can’t remember - and licks a few beads of moisture from his upper lip. He feels good. 

He flops down on the couch, puts on some show indiscriminately and wonders what you’re doing right now. He wonders if you’re on the phone with your college friends. Or with that Matt guy he had heard about through the grapevine. He wonders if you’re wearing the same tight shorts you had on yesterday.

He considers going upstairs to annoy you but thinks better of it. He will wait a while to see if you come downstairs on your own.

He imagines Matt as some football player. He can’t picture a face - just some obscure blur - but he’s probably handsome. Definitely blonde. Social butterfly. Good grades. He can’t see you going for someone without good grades. 

Bucky’s grades were never great, but you were such a little swot. He used to sit alongside you while you did your homework. When you would tell him to get lost, he would shoot back that he had homework to do too. It’s probably the only reason he graduated high school.

Matt is probably biding his time right now until you both have steady jobs so he can propose. He’s probably boring as shit. Fucks you missionary for thirty seconds before rolling over onto his back. He probably asks you whether you came afterwards, and you probably talk to your stupid college friends about how much he cares and how respected you feel. 

But that’s a dangerous avenue to walk down. Because now he’s thinking about how you would look afterwards, naked and unsatisfied. Would you ever think about shooting him a text when Matt drifts off to sleep after getting his rocks off? See if he could sort you out any better than your boring fuck of a boyfriend? 

Obviously not. But it’s a nice thought.

You probably don’t do any of the things that Bucky would want to do with you - and definitely not with Missionary Matt. You’re too fucking prissy. No way in hell are you letting anyone take you the way Bucky wants to.

He doesn’t even understand why his brain has chosen you of all people to be the star of every daydream he has had since he was old enough to know what a crush was. You’re arrogant and spoiled and you think that just because you attract men like flies to shit that you can bat your eyes and get whatever you want. (You absolutely can. Bucky has tried to be the one exception to that rule, but he’s also just a man.) 

Unfortunately, he knows all of this and still desires you desperately. And the want that pours out of him in waves isn’t strictly sexual - in fact, it’s mostly something else - but he’s not sure how to define it. He likes you, except ’like’ doesn’t seem strong enough to cover all he feels. So it’s easier to focus on the sex. Maybe that way he can convince himself it’s all he wants.

He has run out of patience. You still haven’t come downstairs and he can only deny himself for so long.

He takes the stairs two-at-a-time, but paces himself so you don’t hear his footsteps and think he’s eager. Your bedroom is at the very end of the hall. When he approaches your white door - still adorned with stickers and tags from every phase you ever went through - he thinks about knocking. He doesn’t.

He can’t remember the last time that he was in your room, but it is exactly as it always was. Pink wallpaper. A white desk in the corner armed with perfectly positioned sticky notes and neat, alphabetised folders. Stuffed animals perched in a line atop your bed like marching soldiers. Posters on the walls from films you thought made you seem edgy when you were fifteen, in direct opposition to the frilly pink decor of the room. 

The only thing missing is you, but he can hear the shower going in your ensuite.

He goes to sit down on your bed and focuses deeply on not getting a hard-on while he watches the bathroom door. But he lands on something solid.

Reaching underneath his thigh, he picks up a little pink notebook, turns it over in his hands. More little stickers plastered to the front, hearts scribbled onto it with a pink gel pen. He knows instantaneously that he has gold dust in his goddamn hands. He expects to feel at least a little guilt or shame for what he is about to do and is mildly surprised to find he doesn’t.

This is your diary.

The first entry is from three weeks ago.

22 May I just broke up with Matt. It was awful. He kept asking me why. I had to say that I didn’t want to live in Boston like him. He said he would find a different internship and we could go to New York instead, and then I really had no idea what to say. It’s not like I could tell him the real reason. He cried. I’m just glad it’s over.

I think I should feel at least a little bit sad about it, but I don’t. I’m just relieved and feeling awkward. I don’t think I could let him fuck me one more time without going out of my mind. This really is a curse. I hope he moves on quickly. I think Suzy is into him.

Bucky can’t help the stupid grin that breaks out across his face. Looks like Missionary Matt was too boring, even for prim little you. No engagement on the horizon after all. He shifts around slightly on the bed in the guest bedroom and tries not think about what might have been so lacking in the bedroom with Matt for you.

23 May My family are ditching me. They’re all heading off to the south of France for three weeks, but I won’t be home from college early enough. They fucking suck. I wonder if Bucky will still be hanging around. Three weeks of torture incoming.

He laughs, loud and long, at that. What a spoiled little brat. Still, it’s kind of cute.

Bucky was asked to join your family on their holiday and declined. Partially because he still, after all this time, doesn’t quite believe them when they say it’s not a bother. But it was mostly because of a selfish hankering to be able to hang out with you alone. To not have to check himself when his gaze lingers a little too long or when he presses you a bit too hard to be able to convincingly feign disinterest. He reads on.

23 May Now that I have thought about it, I can’t stop. Bucky is going to be hanging around the house. He always hangs around the house, even when nobody else is there. Dad said he’s going to help him with building a new shed outside. I wonder if he will be doing that while they’re gone. I remember that one time he helped Dad with that old vintage car he bought on a whim. I could see him from my window. He was shirtless and working under the car from a skateboard like something out of a goddamn porno. I think I’ll die if I have to see him do something like that again. 

Bucky’s grin is frozen on his face, skin heating up around his bones. The shed would be a good excuse to stick around now that he’s done everything else - he had forgotten about that. 

He wasn’t aware you had been watching him fix up that car from your window. That must have been, what - two? three? - years ago. Old Pontiac runs like new now. His eyes catch on the word ‘porno’, scribbled in your pink, curly writing. He thinks about you watching him from above.

24 May I might be going insane. I shouldn’t have let myself think of the visual of Bucky under that stupid car last night. I think it’s a good thing I dumped Matt. I would have let him fuck me and felt so guilty afterwards for imagining someone else. I handled it myself but I woke up feeling just as riled up. My fingers aren’t big enough. Maybe I should buy a dildo or something. Bucky’s fingers are huge. One time he put his hand over my mouth because he said I was whining too much and it covered more than half of my face.

The blood rushes to his cock so fast it leaves him lightheaded. He has to read the entry twice to make sure he didn’t black out and invent something out of wishful thinking.

25 May This stupid diary isn’t doing shit. It’s making it worse. Every time I write something down, it just makes me think about it more. I spent all of yesterday thinking about Bucky’s stupid fingers. I hate him so much. I want him to bend me over something and fuck me until I’m an inch from passing out. Maybe that’s all I need to get this out of my system.

26 May Today I thought about that time last summer when we were at the bonfire and I made out with that guy in the Bulls jersey and snapback. I forget his name.

Bucky looked so angry. I think that’s why I did it. I think I wished he was jealous, even though I know he was just pretending he’s my fucking brother or something. It made me think of that time he punched that other guy in the clearing in the woods just for touching me. I forget that guy’s name too. 

Bucky hasn’t forgotten either of their names. The bonehead from the bonfire was Jon and the asshole from the woods was Robby. And he was jealous. He was so fucking jealous. His dick is hard as a rock in his jeans, head spinning.

28 May Yesterday was ok. I kept myself busy. Today has been terrible. Mom sent me a group picture of everyone eating dinner out in the back garden and Bucky was wearing a tight, white t-shirt. He looked so big, even bigger than when I last saw him. I just kept wondering if his cock would be big too. I zoomed in and took a screenshot like some fucking pervert. I got myself off so many times and I still feel like I haven’t gotten it out of my system. I literally fingered myself until my sheets were-

“Fuck,” he grunts, strained even to his own ears. His eyes squeeze shut and his dick throbs violently at the idea of your little fingers pushing themselves into your pussy at the thought of him. He’s not sure how much more of this he can read before jizzing in his pants like some kind of virgin.

Who knew? Who fucking knew? His stuck-up little priss isn’t so prissy after all. He’s a bit dizzy with want and some other unidentifiable sensation. Something warm and gooey in his chest.

He almost likes how ashamed you are of it. It makes it that much more satisfying - like he’s won some game that he didn’t even know he was playing. He’s dimly aware of the fact that he lost the very same game himself, but he ignores it. 

You would be so embarrassed to find out he is reading this. You would yell and scream and throw shit around the room in a tantrum like a toddler. You might never speak to him again. Even so, he can’t help himself but flick over the pages to the most recent entry. It feels like a spoiler to a book he hasn’t finished.

14 June He came around with the lawnmower again. It’s getting harder every day not to get myself off to the thought of him-

He clearly missed that part. He wonders how long ago you made that resolution. He will find out soon enough.

-when he looks that good. I could literally see the fucking muscles in his back through his t-shirt and it was black. I’m so fucking wet. I’m going to have a long, cold shower and tonight I’ll cum to the thought of someone else. Literally anyone else.

Then and there, Bucky decides that won’t be happening.

You feel better after your laborious shower but only for a matter of minutes. You walk into your room wrapped in your bathrobe and notice that you can no longer hear the lawnmower. Bucky must have finished the job. He’s probably in the shower now, washing off the pollen and sweat.

And that does it. You sigh at the stickiness forming between your legs and reach over to your bedside table for your diary.

Except it’s not there. 

You open and close the small drawer underneath. Ruffle around in your sheets and pick up your stuffed animals one-by-one to look make sure they’re not sitting on it. Eventually you get up and remove the duvet from the mattress, pull the bed frame away from the wall, crawl to the floor. You even go to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t carry it in with you. It’s not there. It’s not anywhere.

You must have left it lying out somewhere outside. Your stomach lurches into your throat. Except that’s not possible, because your last entry was written right here on this bed just before you went in for your shower. You had left your room to get a towel and steal some of your mother’s hair stuff - maybe you had inadvertently carried it out with you. You had been severely distracted.

You dress as quickly as you can physically manage, ignoring the way your wet hair is soaking through your cotton sweatshirt, but when you leave your room your footsteps are hesitant and careful. The idea of Bucky picking up your diary somewhere and deciding to give it a browse sends a cold sweat of terror up the knobs of your spine. Oh god, don’t let him find it. Please don’t let him find it. 

You tear the linen closet apart. You even pick up the piles of towels that you know you didn’t touch and shake them out. Nothing. You fold them in a way that would make your mother wince and put them back.

Your parents’ room wields no results either. You run your fingers over the wooden bannister faintly while you walk down the stairs. Bucky isn’t there - thankfully - but neither is your diary. You hadn’t even come downstairs between writing your last entry and going for your shower. That, you’re absolutely certain of. But you’re running out of options.

You have one room left to check, but you will have to play your cards carefully. One wrong move, a bit too much information, and you could find yourself on the receiving end of questions that you would really prefer not to be asked. Or of a bit too much curiosity for your liking.

Your fingers linger over the wood of Bucky’s bedroom door for a whole minute before you can bring yourself to commit to a small, tentative knock. Bucky grunts on the other side and it’s untranslatable but you take it to be an in invite.

He’s lounging on his bed, one ankle hooked over the other, head reclined back to rest lazily on the headboard. He doesn’t move his bored gaze from the television, where some reality television documentary about the daily lives of zoo veterinarians is playing. You’re distracted by it momentarily. You didn’t think this would be his sort of thing.

“What’s up?” he asks you, still not looking your way. He didn’t shower. He’s still sweaty and tense, the smell of grass sticking to his clothes and skin. You try not to look.

“Just saying hi,” you say, shifting feet. You look at the door for a brief moment before deciding to close it awkwardly behind you.

He looks at you then, one eyebrow and one side of his lip quirking upwards in tandem. “Just saying hi.”

You nod. His smile breaks free then, but it’s not altogether a nice one. “Well, hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you mumble back. You continue to look at each other while you fidget, stepping forward cautiously until your knees hit his bed. You look at him expectantly and he rolls his eyes before moving his own legs so you can sit.

“What’s got you all buggy?” he asks sardonically, giving you a light tap on the side with his foot. He’s not wearing his boots anymore, but some grass still rubs off on you somehow. You rub your side and shoot him a look as if it hurt, even though it didn’t. 

“I’m not buggy.”

“Yeah y’are. You got bugs.”

“You got bugs,” you snap. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He laughs. “Alright, you don’t got bugs. I have bugs ‘cause I was out there mowing all day. Now what do you want?”

Your stomach gives an odd jerking motion at the memory of him out there mowing the lawn. You try to keep any guilt from showing on your face. “Maybe I just wanna talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t seem convinced. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, picking at a loose thread his bedsheet. “So what have you been up to?”

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?” he chuckles, turning slightly on his side so he can see you. “You know what I’ve been up to. You saw me out there.”

“Duh,” you say. You roll your eyes again and you can feel him laugh more than you can hear it - the minute little vibration through the sheets. His skin is inches away from yours. If you reached out just a little bit, you could touch his hand.

“Duuuhhh,” he mimics you with an exaggerated Valley-girl drawl. “Why’d you ask then, smartass?”

“I meant, like, after that.”

“After I finished the lawn?”

You nod. You are so desperately bad at this.

“Not much. Watched this,” he says, pointing at the TV. He gets distracted by something there and begins to watch it again. “Did a bit of light reading. What about you?”

Your heart is moving up in a slow but steady elevator to the base of your neck. “I’ve been in the shower,” you say casually. “What are you reading?”

“Long shower,” he says.

“Well it was an everything-shower,” you say defensively, forgetting yourself for a moment.

“The hell is an everything shower?”

“Don’t be dense. It’s literally in the name. It’s called an everything shower because you do everything in the shower.”

His gaze flies back to you then, dark and questioning, eyebrows raised slightly. It takes for his lip to twitch into a small smile before you come to your senses.

“A-as in,” you stammer. “You do all your self-care stuff. Like shaving and exfoliating and hair masks. That kind of everything.”

His smile widens and he nods, half sarcastically. “Right. That kind of everything.”

Your face heats up. There’s a brief pause. 

“So what are you reading at the mo-”

“Y’know I think you’d like this,” he says, pointing over to the TV again. You glance over distractedly. A giraffe is giving birth standing up. You can’t help the way your nose twitches slightly as you take in all the blood and goo onscreen.

“Why is that?” you ask.

“There’s this one girl who cries every time an animal dies. She’s been working there five years and she still cries every time. She’s like you.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Yes you are,” he laughs and the sound travels through you. “Remember that one time you cried because your dad asked me to catch and kill that mouse?”

You do. He had been strangely nice about the whole thing. He made a makeshift humane trap and brought it to the old railway line a few miles away instead. 

“I was sixteen-”

“And if you’re tryna tell me you wouldn't react the same way right now, I say you’re full of shit.”

You look at him resentfully. “Like you’re any tougher. You’re the one who saved him.”

“Well you know I can’t help but give you what you want once the waterworks start. You’re a pretty crier, sweetheart.”

You just look at him, feeling a bit dazed and uncomprehending. Saliva floods your mouth and you’re forced to swallow. He just glances over at you for the smallest of instances. You like the handsome, self-satisfied smile he gives himself before turning back to his programme, even though it’s at your expense. You know instinctively that you’ll be failing at your new resolution tonight. 

“Shut up. Don’t be weird,” you say, because you can think of nothing else. He huffs with humour and there’s something in his expression that you don’t like.

“So you said you were reading something?” you say. You’re aiming for a casual tone but you think you might be overselling it.

“Mhm,” he says, nodding once. The programme can’t be that interesting, but he seems absorbed in it.

“I didn’t think you liked reading.”

“I have a newfound appreciation for it.” He smiles at the screen and maybe you’re feeling a little jealous. You snatch the remote out of his hands, careful not to let your fingers brush, and blackness eats the image of a family of monkeys. His eyes snap to you with amused surprise. 

“What are you reading?”

Your heart is pumping while Bucky appraises you for a second, eyes sliding their way around your flustered face. He licks his bottom lip slowly before sucking it into his mouth. He speaks low.

“Don’t worry about it. ’S’too dirty for you, sweetheart.”

You really fucking hope that doesn’t mean what you think it does. He has the book. Oh dear god, don’t let him have the book.

Your voice comes out weak and fractured. “Are you… reading smut?”

He laughs again, face lit up. Eyes still on you. “That what you call it? Sure. Something like that, at least.”

“Bucky,” you say, voice no more than a horrified whisper. There’s a brutal heat curling in your gut - embarrassment and something else. “What are you reading? Please.”

He looks at you for just a second longer before reaching under the blanket beside him. His hand reaches out again, fingers curled around a book that looks incredibly small in his large palm.

You blink at it for just a second, as if concentrating hard enough might make it disappear. Please make it disappear. Please make it nothing at all.

But then you’re rolling forward, hardly aware of what you’re doing until your back is bowed, a low, despairing groan escaping you while your limbs slip away from you. Eventually you’re played across the bottom of the bed, face firmly pressed to the soft memory foam. If you stay here long enough, your face might imprint itself there. A garbled, monotonous litany is spilling from your lips. You’re not even sure what you’re saying.

Your stomach is going haywire. Bucky is laughing like you knew he would - you fucking knew he would be an asshole about this - and you would go running from the room if it didn’t mean that you would have to move your face from the bed and look at him. 

You suppose it’s better that he’s laughing than looking at you with the raw kind of disgust that you had pictured whenever you imagined him finding out about your feelings towards him. Maybe it means that you two can go back to normal at some point, even if the humiliation raging through your body begs to differ.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Bucky says and you hate him. Your face pops up to look at his. Still amused. Still wicked and gleeful. 

“Where did you get that?” you bark.

“Your room,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “Interesting read. You should be a writer with that vivid imagination. What did you call it, smut?”

“Fuck you!” you screech, and Bucky physically recoils at the loud noise, irritation crawling onto his features for the first time in this interaction. “You had no right to go into my room and invade my privacy. What the hell is wrong with you? You are such a piece of shit!”

Bucky rolls his eyes while you make your way up the bed and take a swing for his chest. He catches your wrists in time and your traitorous body pauses at the touch. 

“Like I said,” he says sternly. “Don’t be such a baby. You need me to help you get this out of your system? What was it you said again? Bend you over and fuck you until you’re an inch from passing out?”

You give one last valiant jerk to break free, but he has a death grip with seemingly minimal effort. You go still while the fight leaves you. Hot humiliation and more than a little arousal course through you.

“Fuck you,” you say again with considerably less vitriol.

“I will,” he says, eyes locked on yours punishingly. “If that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters, heat rising up the length of your face. You’re not sure if he’s messing with you, but the words are having the intended effect regardless. Your thighs press together gently to alleviate some of the pressure that his words and his eye-contact are creating. His eyes flicker down quickly, following the movement, before moving back up to meet your own gaze.

“Got nothing to say now? That’s ok, baby. I saw enough in that little book. Let’s look.”

He lets go of your wrists and you immediately lurch forward to grasp the diary, but he gets there first. He opens it at a random page.

“I came home from college today,” he starts to read, voice low. “Everyone else was gone, but Bucky was here. I don’t know how it’s possible but he’s so much hotter since I last saw him. He wears a bit of stubble now and his muscles were almost bursting out of his t-shirt. We bickered a little bit in the evening, but the whole time I was just wondering what he’s like in bed. I don’t think he would be sweet and soft all the time, like Matt. Maybe sometimes but I think he would be so mean and rough most of the time. He seems like he knows how to make a girl cum.”

He looks up at you. You feel tears prickle behind your eyes, shame steamrolling through you. You reach for the book again but he moves it out of your reach effortlessly.

“You’re goddamn right I do,” he says, smiling as if he’s talking about something totally innocent. “You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your brain is scrambled and the only thing escaping your lips is a garbled mess of vowels. You’re still suspicious. It wouldn’t be entirely unlike him to get you to admit to this and then pull the rug out from under you a moment later.

He huffs an impatient sigh. “Don’t go dumb on me already, silly girl.”

He flicks to another page in the book, smiles, and finally hands it over to you. You take it uncertainly.

“Why don’t you read that for me? Out loud. Jog your memory a bit.”

You’re not sure what you’re doing, but at this point it’s easier to follow instructions than to figure out what to do yourself. You look down, take another hesitant glance at an encouraging Bucky and begin to read with a sheepish, shameful tone. Your face is burning.

“I want him so bad. I think I’ll die if I don’t have him. The orgasms I’m giving myself aren’t enough. I need him to fuck me, even just one time. I’ll never ask for anything else again in my life if I can get his cock inside me just once. I’m going so deranged, I actually pictured him choking me yesterday with those huge hands and it made me cum so hard.” 

Your own words have done a number on you. You are stupidly, ridiculously turned on by his eyes on you and your own words echoing around the room. You raise your eyes slowly and sheepishly to meet his and the look on his face is nothing short of starving.

“Fuck it,” he breathes, pulling you forward and into a kiss.

Your unsuspecting mouth meets his with short, stabbing gasps. His right arm moves to the back of your neck, pulling you against him firmly, while the prosthetic arm pulls you onto his lap. His lips move against yours and the only word to describe it is filthy. His lips are still wet from licking them and his tongue is sliding over yours delicately but expertly.

You’re in a state of euphoria. Part of you always wondered whether you had played this up too much in your head. You wondered - if you were given the chance to finally touch him like this, whether it might be a bit disappointing after all you had imagined. 

If possible, it might be the opposite. Your body is shaking with adrenaline. Without thinking too much about it, you grind down on his lap and feel his hard length through his jeans. A bolt shoots up your spine. Has he been hard this whole time?

He grunts at the friction, calloused fingers tightening their hold on you. His hand glides slowly down from your neck, through the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, playing with the waistband of your cotton shorts. You’re already so riled up, it makes you press down on him again, clutching at his shoulders as if you could possibly pull him any closer. You’re high off the feel of him when he pulls away, just a few inches.

“You ready to admit it yet? That you want me?”

“I want you,” you breathe. It’s almost embarrassing how automatic the response is. How little you even have to think about it.

You feel his smile spreading against your own face. “I know, sweetheart. Of course I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Bucky is on the warpath, tearing your sweatshirt and his t-shirt off in quick succession. He takes a second to zero in on your breasts and you feel mildly self-conscious about your plain black bra, but he seems adequately distracted by them.

He slows down. Unclips your bra with languor. You shove away the sick, jealous feeling that creeps up when he doesn’t fumble even remotely with the clasp.

Once you’re bared to him, he seems to move slower. His hands go up to fondle them with uncharacteristic gentleness and you suck in a breath. His eyes darken to black, shiny knobs at your reaction and he maintains eye-contact with you while he presses a gentle kiss over your nipple, pulling it into his mouth.

A moan slips out at the sensation. So that’s what that should feel like.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs between kissing and sucking, moving over to your other breast. You nod, uncertain whether or not he can see you. 

“Want you too. Wanted you since we were kids.”

You look down at him. He is seemingly avoiding your eyes. Your brain is a little hazy but still operational for the most part.

“Since when?”

“Just fuckin’ told you,” he says, moving a warm hand up your thigh. It’s a distraction tactic.

“No but when? What age?” Your voice is coming out breathy with the way his thumb is creeping underneath your shorts, stroking the sensitive crease between your thigh and the hem of your underwear. You wonder with some apprehension if his fingers can sense the warmth radiation from you. You’re soaked through.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, moving back up to kiss you. His thumb strokes over your panties now and you gasp into his mouth.

“Yes it does. Tell me,” you say. Because you’re muddled and jittery and incredibly fucking worked up, but more than all of that - you’re stubborn.

He gives you a hard look for a second, likely deciding whether he will be able to get you to let this go. You’re not.

“Was sweet on you when I was ten,” he says, rubbing you over your underwear harder now. Stars are exploding in your eyes, but the heavy, sluggish machinery that is your brain in its current state still chugs along at its steady, slow rhythm.

“Isn’t that when we first-”

“Yes.”

The shock almost overrides the sensation of his thumb slipping under the waistband of your underwear. But not quite. A loud, whining moan makes Bucky smile, but you still haven’t lost your head completely.

“You’ve liked me since we first met as little kids?”

He makes a loud, frustrated noise that vibrates through you and flips you over so you’re on your back. It happens so quick that it makes you dizzy. He folds himself over you and presses a vigorous kiss to your lips.

“Can you shut the hell up for two seconds?” he grunts, yanking your cotton shorts and underwear over your legs until you’re completely bare underneath him. “Tryna do something here.”

You laugh at him, but it doesn’t last long. He palms your breast briefly before trailing his fingers down, down, down. His fingers just barely graze over your clit and you buck up with a moan. All the humour is gone - you’re struggling to remember what you even found funny in the first place.

He brings his fingers up then to show them to you, glistening with your wetness. “You see how fucking desperate you are?” he asks. “Barely touched you and look how you’re reacting. Nobody’s ever touched you right, have they?”

You shake your head unthinkingly and his smile widens. It’s almost predatory.

“Poor thing,” he says with a smirk, lowering his hand once again to stroke over your clit. “I can tell. All jerky and twitchy. Just wait ‘till I get my cock in you.”

The whine you emit at his words slowly turns itself into a moan as he dips a finger into you. Slow, just feeling. He adds another when he sees how easily you accept the first. You had been right in everything you had ever thought about his fingers and how good they would feel inside you, how much they would stretch you out. Except it didn’t quite cover it.

None of the other college boys you had fucked had fingers like this. Calloused and big and rough. You clench around him when he begins to stroke, expertly curling into the perfect angle to hit that spongey spot inside you. Where the fuck did he learn to do this?

He presses you down with his other hand splayed over your stomach, stopping your hips which are moving down, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers. The pressure it puts on your lower stomach makes you clench around him.

“Y’feel so fucking tight,” he grunts, eyes on your lips. “This what you wanted, huh? This what you touched yourself thinking about?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. He pauses his ministrations and raises his eyebrows for an answer.

“Yes, I- fuck, yes keep going - I thought about this when I got myself off.”

“For how long?” he demands.

“I- what?” you ask, feeling a bit dumb. His lip twitches impatiently.

“How long have you been thinking about me like this? With my fingers stuffing your tight little pussy?”

Your face heats up with shame, but you know if you don’t answer him, he will stop again. And that’s a lousy deal. 

“A long time,” you say, hoping he will accept it as an answer. Thankfully, he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Should’ve told me. Wouldn’t have let you go unsatisfied like all these other assholes. Would’ve kept this pussy so busy, you wouldn’t have had the time to write in that silly little book. Would’ve put you in your place.”

“Put me in my place?” you spit, dragged out of the floaty headspace you had been in. Unfortunately you can’t concentrate too much on your anger and indignation. The pleasure he’s giving you is too much to hold on to anything else but him. It does nothing to stave off your incoming orgasm - if it wasn’t so fucked up, you might admit that it probably brings you closer to the edge. His fingers push into you smooth and hard. He grinds his palm against your clit.

“Yeah, put you in your place. Such a fucking spoiled brat, always throwing tantrums and bitching. Whole time you just needed a good fuck. Well I’ll give you plenty, baby. Sort you right out. Your family can thank me for your good behaviour when they’re home.”

There’s something fucked up about the way his mean - and undoubtedly problematic - words push you over the edge. You clench down and all but explode over his fingers, bright spots in your eyes. You’re not sure if you’ve ever come so fast before, or so intensely. Your head is still spinning while you come down, twitching around his fingers until he draws them back out.

Your vision is still slightly blurred, but you see Bucky sliding his fingers into his mouth. He doesn’t even make a show of it - he’s not even trying to make you watch him. He’s just tasting you for the pleasure of it. Your pussy jumps.

When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. You should be spent by now, or at least somewhat less horny but you’re not. Your brain and body have clearly made a pact to make the most of your time with the man who has been driving you crazy for years. You begin to gush again when he bites your bottom lip. He releases a smoky chuckle against your mouth when your hips twitch against him.

He pulls up, standing over the bed to unbutton his jeans.

You’re still a little mad at him over that boorish ‘putting you in your place’ comment, but it does not stop you from getting dizzy when his cock is bared to you.

He’s the biggest you’ve ever seen and it’s not even close. Part of you knew he would be, but you didn’t think it would be this pretty. You didn’t even know a cock could be pretty.

It’s huge and rock hard where it presses up on his stomach. It’s very slightly curved with veins running up the flushed, heavy length. Your arm raises upwards unconsciously just to see how it would look in your hand, but you think better of it and quickly tuck it away again.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks and you realise he has been watching your reaction the whole time. Your face burns. “Feelin’ shy?” 

Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t know how much…” you trail off, uncharacteristically nervous. You’ve never had a problem butting heads with Bucky before. Why is he so intimidating like this?

“Y’don’t know if it’ll fit?” he asks. You nod lightly and watch his cock give a small, light twitch. He takes it in his hand and gives it one slow pump. It makes your mouth hang open.

“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll take it slow. Don’t want to break you. Not this time, anyway.”

Feeling brave, you reach forward and take his warm, heavy cock in your fingers. It looks so much bigger in your hand than it does in his own and the sight makes your gut curl in both dread and excitement. He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

You give him one small pump and he grabs your wrist, shaking his head at you. You glare up at him.

“What the hell, Bucky? Don’t-”

He leans forward, grabbing your jaw in his hand roughly. “I know you wanna play with it so bad, sweetheart, but you can do that later. I’ll let you play with it as much as you want. But I’ve waited long enough and I’m not wasting another second. Gonna fill that tight cunt now. You hear me?”

You’re back in that floaty headspace, body feeling light, head feeling dreamy. You nod.

He smiles, using his leverage on your jaw to bring you in for a kiss while he climbs on top of you. You can feel the head of his hard cock pressing against your stomach.

“Good girl,” he says, moving away to lather kisses over your neck. His hips move to press the tip of his cock against your clit and you gasp. “My good girl You’re so sweet when you’re doing what I tell you to. Wish I’d known I could shut you up like this.”

You’re trying to be pissed off. You really are. But if you can be completely honest with yourself, it’s just turning you on more.

Your brain is almost gone, but you have one last spark of sentience. “Condom,” you gasp. “In my room.”

Bucky laughs against your neck. “You think I’m wearin’ a rubber with you?”

“Wha- yes?” 

“Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart, I know you’re on the pill. Seen it in your bathroom.”

“What were you doing in my-”

“I’m clean, just got checked. And I’m willing to bet you’ve never let anyone use this prissy little pussy without a condom before.”

You take a second, trying to assess how you feel about this. He really is such a douchebag, but he’s a douchebag you know incredibly well - he wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’re sure you could talk him into wearing a condom, but it might take a lot of back-and-forth. And his cock is teasing your hole now, and you’re squeezing around nothing, trying to suck him in. His cock is fully lubricated, all from the wetness between your thighs. You don’t say anything, but your body goes a bit limp.

“Yeah?” he says, celebrating his victory with a smile. You feel it against your collarbone. “You gonna let me skip the rubber?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just stop fucking around Bucky. Please.”

He laughs lightly and begins to press in, the tight ring of muscle protesting against his size. You seize up while he stretches you out. It’s leaving a tight and uncomfortable sensation in your abdomen and you let out a quiet yelp.

“Such a good girl,” he says, reaching down to stroke your clit. He’s thrusting in slow, giving you just a little bit more with every press. His voice is low, as if he’s trying to comfort you, but it’s still coming across slightly patronising. “Letting me fuck you raw. Gonna take my cum like the good girl you are.”

You’re loosening up with the help of his dirty words and his fingers on your clit, drawing tight circles. It’s starting to feel good - more than good. But he’s still not in all the way. You have no idea how you’re going to take him.

His cock is insistent inside you, pressing in further and further while he whispers filthy praises and encouragements on your sweat-glistening skin. You brain is becoming jumbled with pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

“This what you pictured when those other limp-dick assholes used to fuck you?” he grunts, bottoming out. You yelp at the angle he hits, body squirming around him. You thought you knew what getting fucked deep felt like, but you had never felt this. 

He pulls out and presses another punishing thrust into you. You gasp. “Answer.”

“Yes,” you say and you might be on the verge of tears. You can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Everything feels a little blurry and his finger on your clit is still drawing tight circles. You just know that you need him to move. “Pictured you every time.”

He rewards you by beginning to slowly pull out and in, gently getting you used to his size. You’re filled to the brim with him. “I know. Read all about it in that dirty little book. Made them take you doggy so you could pretend it was me. So fucking desperate.”

Shame and pleasure are amalgamating in your stomach. It’s creating something more powerful than just the feeling of him moving inside you. It’s all becoming a bit too much, but in a way that you can’t help but love.

“It’s okay, angel. I’m no better than you. You turn me into such a fucking creep. Picking up girls who look like you. Leaving the dinner table to jerk it in the bathroom when you get all bratty and whiny.”

Just the thought of that makes you startle, pussy clenching around him. He looks so pretty, blue eyes dark with want, pink lips crushed between his teeth, gaze zeroed in on where you’re taking him, the light imprint in your tummy. The pleasure of it - the culmination of all your want - has you gasping, tears leaking from your eyes and trickling down your cheeks.

He sees it and startles. You can read it all on his face now - the awe and adoration.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooes, thumb reaching up to brush a fat tear from the corner of your eye. “Always been such a crybaby. You’re so pretty like this, such a pretty crier.”

It makes the tears puddle faster, the pleasure bordering on too much.

“I know, baby. It’s so much, isn’t it? I know,” he soothes you, while his hips work in direct opposition - fucking into you with brutality. It’s not just the pleasure, but the overwhelming emotion. You can’t work out exactly what you’re feeling, and you know that now isn’t the time to figure it out anyway.

Instead, you just let yourself feel it. The way his hips grind against yours, the feeling of him stretching you out, the crescendo of all that pent-up want finally bursting into song. You can’t stop looking at him, how pretty and fucked-out he is above you, even when he’s still pretending he hasn’t lost an ounce of control. 

“Stop with those fuckin’ eyes,” he grunts, catching your gaze. You’re still teary-eyed and pouty. “Gonna make me lose it early.”

The thought of him spilling inside you does nothing to curb the feeling. Your eyes widen and he grunts, pulling out of you and sitting up with his eyes squeezed shut. He takes a deep, dogged breath.

“Turn around,” he bites out.

With the way his face is pinched, eyes squeezed tight, he might be greatly suffering or experiencing a euphoria of pleasure. You don’t disobey a man at either point.

You spin around, face-down on the bed. You can hear him shuffle around, but seconds pass where you don’t feel his skin on yours. The anticipation makes you shiver.

When you finally do feel his touch, it’s his two hands slowly stroking down your hips. You lean backwards into his touch, whimpering just a little.

“What you whining for now?” he asks from behind you. You hear the smile in his voice.

“Put it back in,” you moan, pushing back on him until you feel his cock prod against your ass. You’re no longer feeling any shame at your desperation. You’re too far gone.

He takes your hip firmly with his prosthetic hand, the other moving down to give your ass a loving pat. “You need it that bad?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

He laughs low. “Still so fucking bratty. Think I can fuck it outta you?”

You can do nothing but nod, head rolling forward while the thick tip prods your entrance, sliding in slowly once more.

“That’s it,” he groans. He feels so much deeper like this. You can feel him all the way up your stomach to your throat. “Knew you’d take my cock like this. Knew you’d feel this good, just didn’t think you’d be this fucking dirty.”

“Fuck, Bucky, I need you,” you moan. You’re obscurely aware of the fact that you’ll probably be cringing at the memory of saying those words later, but it matters very little to you in this moment. “Needed you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “Why don’t you tell me what you needed so bad?”

Your brain is moving like slow, heavy machinery again - too slow to come up with anything. “I- no, Bucky, I can’t-”

“Let me help you out.”

His arm reaches out in front of you, pulling out the godforsaken book that started this entire mess in the first place. You’re still a bit dumb, watching him pull open the book and flick to a page he has ear-marked - like a significant page in his favourite book. He slams it in front of you palm pressing it open until you take it from him cautiously. You look down at the book uncomprehending, body still jostling with the force of his thrusts.

“Read.”

Your head spins back, even though you can’t see him from this angle. He can’t be serious. 

One firm pinch to your ass confirms that he is.

Face burning and stomach clawing with shame and arousal, you clear your throat. Your voice comes out breathy and high.

“Matt always wore a condom but I think Bucky would be such a jerk about it. I wouldn't even mind. The thought of him coming inside me turns me on so- ooh!”-

Bucky’s hand reaches down below you, stroking at your clit.

“- so much. I really want him to fill me up. I wonder if he - fuck, Bucky - cums a lot. Whenever I think about him fucking me, I picture him filling me up to the brim until I’m dripping with his…”

You can’t go on any more. It just gets filthier from then on and you’re already on the verge of coming again. Thankfully, that seems to do enough for him.

“Jesus, you have a thing for this shit? That’s real fucking dirty, sweetheart. I promise I got a big fucking load for you. You’re the only one who is gonna take it from now on.”

You want to snap that he clearly has a thing for it too, judging by how riled up he is. He’s panting behind you, losing his rhythm. But you can’t do any such thing. All you can do is moan unintelligibly. You feel the familiar prickle behind your eyes, tears spilling out while you sniffle.

“Aw angel, you know what those tears do to me. Can’t help but give you what you want. You want my cum?”

You nod enthusiastically, spasming around him. You just wish you could see his face right now, but you can picture it.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he growls. “Such a good girl for me. My good girl, all mine. Gonna give you my cum now, never gonna let you go empty from now on.”

With a firm hand between your neck and shoulder, he drags you upright against him. Your hands reach out to balance yourself against the headboard and he moves your jaw back until your mouth meets his. The kiss is brutal and sloppy, the angle not-quite-right, but just the feeling of his lips on yours and the movement of your tongues against each other makes you tumble off the edge.

A surge of unbridled want courses through you. You cry into his mouth, tears spilling between your lips until you can taste the salt. It’s either the taste of your tears or the sensation of your walls fluttering around him that causes Bucky to grunt, dick twitching once before spilling deep inside.

You had thought about this almost obsessively since you were old enough to understand the possibility. Somehow, you underestimated what it would do to you.

You might be floating or flying or drifting out of consciousness, but you are very conscious of the fact that you had never really known what it means to experience true pleasure until this moment. The noises he makes are filthy while he pumps you full of him, but you’re sure you’re likely giving as good as you’re getting. Not that you have the faintest awareness of what you’re saying.

Bucky wasn’t lying. You can feel his heavy load dripping out of you you, messing your thighs and the sheets. He continues to bounce you on his cock slowly and gently even after you have both come down from your highs. You’re sensitive and sore, but there’s something comforting about small, shallow thrusts, even if the squelching noises it’s making are obscene.

Eventually, he slides himself out of you and wraps himself around you instead. He envelopes you in a sort of gentle tackle, pulling your exhausted body with him deeper into the sheets.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You can feel his stubble against your temples, his breath on your skin.

“Uh huh” you try. It comes out as more of a garble. He laughs, light and airy.

You open your eyes, take in his tired, happy grin. His blue eyes have gone bright again.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna break me,” you say sardonically. 

He plays with your hair, twirls it around a finger. “Might have gotten carried away.”

You roll your eyes. He does a poor imitation of you, rolling his eyes all the way back into his skull in mockery. You try to glare but it doesn’t work against your smile. You settle back down against his chest. Feel it vibrate while he laughs.

“You really meant that?” you ask after a moment. You cough away a scratch in your voice. “About wanting me since we were kids?”

“Hell yeah,” he chuckles. Your head bounces against his chest lightly. “I was so crazy about you when we were kids. Can’t believe you didn’t know.”

“How could I know? You were always so mean to me.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means in kid-language.”

“You still are. Sometimes.”

He raises his head to look down at you, searching your face. “Old habits.”

You nod, but you’re still working through everything in your head. Your post-orgasmic brain is working no faster than it was ten minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry for reading your diary,” he says after a few seconds and you swear you might see the raw edge of panic sitting somewhere there on his face. “It was a shitty thing to do. I don’t regret it, because I don’t know that I would have ever had the balls to make a move otherwise, but I am sorry.”

It’s so bizarre, so completely unexpected, you can only stare. He’s looking back at you with an uncharacteristic nervousness that makes you slightly uncomfortable. Truthfully, you had forgotten you were even mad about the privacy violation in the first place. Maybe it’s the two orgasms.

You still don’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Bucky - that might be pushing things a bit too far, a bit too early. Instead you lean forward to give him a small, chaste kiss. He smiles.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, pressing small kisses to your lips, moving down your cheek and on to your neck. “Just wait ‘till I get my tongue on you.”

You tense up, resolutely ignoring the heat pooling low in your stomach. There is no way in hell you can endure another round right now. Your limbs are still shaking.

Whatever expression is on your face makes Bucky laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll give you a couple hours. We got two long weeks in this house by ourselves.”

a/n: the diary entries are basically just my dms with my moots lmao

🏷 everything taglist: @buckysbbydoll @donuelle @angelryex @kombuchaaaaa @dollfaceglow @vip-hs

🏷 bucky taglist: @dolcesaints @marina468 @avgdestitute @tw1sters @dxnsgrl @thegirlwhowaited5everok @pjo4life1939 @otheliesstuff @domitaylorsversion @simplemind-simplematter @love-stucky @queen-acdc @epiphanyrogers @monicasposh @daddysbitchybaby @yearninglustfully @starr-jazz @las-galletas @thatesqcrush @mathcat345 @openlyluckyartisan @buckmybarnes @atsumubabe @annoyingrebelsoul

You lifted your head briefly, intent on giving Steve a disinterested look that would hopefully be cold enough to send him packing back to his room. But then you got a look at your brother’s best friend wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks and the sight of so much bare, golden skin on display had your belly clenching and your mind short-circuiting.

As quick as you could, you let your head fall back to the lip of the hot tub, arranging your face in an expressionless mask as you stared up into the dark night sky. Your mind raced with only one thought—it was indecent how good Steve looked in a pair of simple black swim trunks.

"If you must," you said, barely paying attention to the words as you offered him a careless wave of your hand.

You tried not to notice the way the water swished and swirled as Steve climbed gracefully into the hot tub. And you refused to acknowledge the way your body warmed further with his presence. The water was simply hotter because there was another person in the hot tub. That was all.

But in the deepest corners of your own mind, even you had to admit it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore the crush you had on Steve Rogers. Especially after so many days in such close proximity to the man.

Your crush had taken such deep root in your heart so long ago that it felt like a part of you. And no matter how many years you’d spent denying it, acting out against Steve to make sure no one—especially not him—knew your true feelings, you couldn’t hide the truth from yourself. 

All you could do was bury it deep in your heart and hope no one ever discovered the truth of how you really felt about your brother’s best friend.

"Fuck, that feels good," Steve groaned as he relaxed into the opposite corner of the hot tub from where you sat.

The sound of his pleasure did obscene things to your body. Your skin tingled with sparks of lust as heat gathered low in your belly, while a thrumming ache bloomed in your core that had you pressing your thighs together. It was all you could do to bite back a needy whimper and stop yourself from squirming beneath the water.

To distract yourself, you lifted your head again and glanced at Steve. For the briefest of moments, you were both relieved and disappointed to find so much of his glorious chest obscured by water, the surface of which bubbled and foamed from the jets in the hot tub.

"I don't think I've ever heard the golden boy swear before," you taunted, using the mocking nickname you’d given him a long time ago. You were trying to needle him, to get under his skin in the way that his mere presence did to you, so you shot him your most infuriating smirk.

But Steve didn't rise to the bait. He only chuckled good-naturedly, though there was a slight edge to it that had you holding your breath and waiting for what he'd say next.

"Y'know, I'm not as much of a goody two-shoes as you might think." 

It was damn near traitorous the way your body reacted to Steve's declaration, every part of you sitting up at attention—your nipples perking up so much, you were thankful they were hidden beneath the water. Even your pussy gave a dull throb like she thought she might be getting some prime dick that night, and you had squeeze your thighs to stave off the ache.

While your body rioted in response, outwardly you did your best to give Steve the coolest look you could muster, making a show of rolling your eyes.

"Sure you're not, golden boy," you drawled, sarcasm dripping from your voice like icicles melting in the bright sun. 

You were rewarded by a flash of emotion in Steve's eyes—something like glee, but darker—but you were quickly distracted when he stood up, water sluicing obscenely down his chiseled chest. You tracked its descent like it was the most riveting thing you'd ever seen, and you only realized your mistake when Steve gave an amused snort. 

"Have you had sex in a hot tub, sunshine?" Steve asked, prowling slowly toward you, an evil, knowing smirk on his stupid, handsome face.

You hated the way your body lit up at the way the mocking pet name rolled off his tongue—the one he'd given you because you had such a sunny disposition around him. You hated how much you loved that Steve had a special nickname for you, but you stuffed those feelings down deep and tilted your chin at him in a challenge.

"Because I have."

Your brain short-circuited at that declaration, not noticing that Steve had gotten close enough to plant his hands on the edge of the hot tub on either side of your body. He leaned over you, caging you in with his body, but his closeness barely registered. 

You were too consumed by the jealousy blooming hot and bright, lodging deep in your ribcage like a burning knife, to notice his proximity. Your mind raced as you thought through all the other girls on the trip who Steve could've had sex with in the hot tub, and you saw red.

"Who did you fuck in a hot tub, Steve?" you demanded, glaring up at the man who occupied so much of your heart and mind, your voice little more than a possessive snarl.

He had the audacity to chuckle, looming over you with a smirk twisting his perfect mouth. "Are you jealous, sunshine?" he asked lightly, the tone of his voice daring you to deny it even though you both knew you were.

His question finally slapped some sense into you and you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to regain some of your emotional distance by sniffing haughtily and looking away. Steve’s eyes were too sharp, they saw too much, and you were suddenly terrified that not only did they see right through you, he’d been seeing right through you for years. 

"Of course not," you snapped, refusing to look at him as you scrambled for some other explanation for your question. "I'm just curious,” you said, giving a one-shouldered shrug like you couldn’t care less. “Whoever they are, they must lead a pretty boring life if they think fucking a golden boy like you in a hot tub is a good time."

At that, Steve growled, sounding furious as he leaned down, making the cage of his body smaller as he crowded you into the corner of the hot tub. Inexplicably, you weren’t scared of him. No matter how much you riled him up, you knew Steve would never hurt you. You…trusted him.

So you weren’t worried by his posturing. In fact, you were practically tickled by it, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning triumphantly at getting a rise out of him. 

"I assure you, sunshine,” Steve bit out through gritted teeth. “Fucking me would be anything but boring, no matter where we do it."

Steve was trying to provoke you, and you knew you shouldn’t rise to the bait, but you couldn’t pretend you were unaffected by his words, by the way he made it sound like fucking him wasn’t just a possibility, but an inevitability. And, for a brief moment, you wanted it so badly, you could practically taste your desire in the cold, wintry night.

“Prove it, golden boy,” you snarled, trying to keep up the front that you didn’t want him, but it was a losing battle.

Despite your best efforts to remain calm, a shiver skated down your spine as you imagined Steve fucking you right there in that hot tub. You knew it would be good—if you knew nothing else, you knew that—and you couldn’t help but tremble at the thought, your body weak under the weight of your lust.

A rough, pleased sound came from Steve's throat, startling you out of your thoughts. Before you could figure out what it meant, he was grabbing your chin and turning you to face him, your head craned back while he loomed over you, still caging you in with his broad form and delicious heat.

Suddenly, his nearness wasn’t enough. You wanted him closer, you wanted every inch of his hard body pressed against your softer one. You wanted your paltry swimsuits to dissolve so you could feel his bare skin against yours, so there’d be nothing hindering him from lining himself up with your body and sinking inside until you begged for relief.

In that charged moment, your need was so exquisite, you nearly whined, but you bit it back at the last second, refusing to give Steve the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d gotten to you. Still, his blue eyes flashed like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—that your challenge for him to prove he could fuck you good was more than a furious rejoinder.

But before he could get to that, his expression softened, and his grip on your face became more affectionate. There was something he wanted to clear up before you continued your conversation, and it derailed you entirely.

“Don't worry, baby, I haven't fucked anyone else on this trip," Steve said, stroking his thumb along your lower lip. His voice was gentler than it had been, and you hated how his words soothed the jagged edges of your jealousy. "I was talking about a trip I took with Sharon back when we were together."

A snarl gathered at the base of your throat. You hated being reminded of Steve's ex-girlfriend, the one he’d been dating when you first met him and was a big reason why you didn’t want him knowing how you truly felt. 

But it was only you and Steve in that hot tub, and you felt laid bare beneath the intensity of his gaze. Before you could think better of it, a question fell from your lips.

"Was she good?" you asked, hating how small your voice sounded. 

It became immediately clear that you weren’t fooling Steve with your question—he knew what you were really asking: Was she better than you? It was a ridiculous question, since you and Steve had never fucked, but it revealed too much of your insecurity when it came to him. 

You tried to pull away from Steve's grip and turn your cheek to him as tears threatened to fall, but he gathered your face in both hands, his thumbs stroking softly over your cheeks. He held you reverently, grounding you back in the moment, and you found the strength to roll your eyes in an attempt to save face. 

"The hot tub sex, I mean,” you clarified, your voice only wavering a little. “Was it fun?"

Steve closed more of the meager space between your bodies, until his stomach was nearly brushing your chest, and tipped your head all the way back. He leaned down over you so there was no possible escape from the way his shoulders were bunched like a predator ready to pounce, his eyes darkened with desire. 

"If you promise to be a good girl, sunshine, I could show you just how good it can be to fuck in a hot tub."

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes, your answer spurred by the way your pulse was throbbing insistently between your thighs. But at the last second, you remembered yourself, and you remembered you couldn't give in so easily to your brother's best friend. 

Somewhere deep inside your heart, you wanted Steve to earn you—and he could only do that if you continued pushing him. So that’s what you did.

"Why don't you show me what ya got, golden boy, and then I'll be the judge of how good it is," you taunted, hoping you weren’t pushing Steve too far.

You got a brief glimpse of bright delight and deeply buried affection flashing in Steve's eyes before he was moving. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was blisteringly hot from the moment it began, stealing all the air from your lungs and making you gasp from the sheer heat of it.

Steve kissed you like a feral beast that had finally been unleashed on the prey he'd been stalking for years, and you met his fervor with all the pent-up lust you'd been hiding since you'd first started crushing on your brother's best friend. 

The kiss was brutal, all clashing lips and nipping teeth, your desire finally unbound and untethered. Steve’s teeth sank deep into your lower lip, biting you hard enough to nearly draw blood, and in retaliation, you grabbed his face, pulling him closer and licking into his mouth like you were daring him to consume you.

With a bitten off growl, Steve crouched down and hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you around with him as he turned and sat down heavily on the bench of the hot tub. He manhandled your body so easily into the position he wanted, with you straddling his lap, it made you dizzy with desire. 

Once you were settled on his lap, you kept right on kissing him, your hands braced on his shoulders. Steve let out a muffled moan, his hand cupping the back of your head and kissing you deeper until you went wild. 

When he plunged his tongue into your mouth, seeking to claim the air straight from your lungs, you wrapped your lips around it and sucked on him obscenely, pulling him deeper into your hot mouth. You were rewarded by Steve’s low, tortured groan, and his hips kicking up between your thighs like he was overcome.

In answer, you spread your knees wide on the bench seat, grinding your pussy down on the hard ridge of his cock through your thin bathing suits. It felt so good—the hot, hard length of him pressing between your folds and rubbing so perfectly against your clit—that you finally pulled away from his kiss with a reckless moan.

"Oh, does that feel good, sunshine?" Steve asked, his voice teasing and mocking even through the huskiness of his own lust. While you gasped for air, he pressed heated kisses to the underside of your jaw and down the line of your neck. "Do you think my cock will feel even better when it's inside you?"

A needy, ravenous shiver skated down your spine and you let out an impatient snarl as you carded your fingers in the hair at the back of Steve's head, pulling him back from your neck so you could glare directly into his infuriating, gorgeous eyes.

"Shut up and fuck me already, golden boy," you bit out through snapping teeth, refusing to acknowledge just how desperate you were for him already, your pussy slippery and throbbing with need. "Or are you gonna make me do all the work myself?"

Something dangerous and hot flashed in Steve's eyes, his mouth twisting into a feral smirk, but he didn't move right away like you expected him to after your vicious provocation. Instead, he let you languish in the breathless moment, waiting to see what he would do.

"Oh sunshine, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he rumbled, but didn't stop to let you answer before continuing, his eyes growing impossibly dark as his pupils blew wide, eclipsing the blue of his irises. "If you did, you wouldn't keep pushing me the way you do."

You didn’t know what he was talking about, so you resorted to taunting him. Rolling your eyes, you only had enough time to scoff out an "Oh please," before, suddenly, Steve was moving. 

You let out a startled little yelp as he stood, maneuvering your body deftly as he pried you away from his chest and spun you around beneath the churning water of the hot tub.

In a matter of seconds, Steve had you bent over, your knees planted on the bench, upper body hanging over the edge. It felt like you were about to topple out of the warm water entirely, and you were so off-balance that you might’ve, if not for the tight way Steve held onto your hips. 

You pushed yourself up, not fighting against Steve’s hold but wanting to sink further into him. Your shoulders collided with Steve’s chest, and he held you tightly against him, one arm banding around your waist. His other hand trailed up the center of your body, tugging the top of your bathing suit down until your tits popped free. 

You gasped as the cold air and icy snowflakes brushed over your heated skin. It was such a contrast from the warm water swirling around your thighs that your nipples peaked immediately. Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you arched your spine, offering yourself up to Steve’s touch—and he happily took everything you had to give.

He groped you brazenly on the deck of the chalet, and you were thankful that there wasn't any chance of the two of you being caught. You both faced the mountains, only the snow and darkness a witness to the obscene way your body shuddered beneath Steve’s rough handling of your tits.

His big hands kneaded your soft flesh, deft fingers pinching and plucking your nipples until you were moaning wantonly and grinding your ass back against his cock. As much as you enjoyed feeling him play with your tits, you hoped to urge him along until he was sliding himself inside you.

"God, I've dreamed of these tits for years, sunshine," Steve groaned in your ear, hanging his head over your shoulder so he could watch himself play with your nipples. "Knew I shouldn’t…You're my best friend's little sister, you should be off limits, but I couldn't fucking help myself."

"Steve," you cried, as much from his confession as the zings of pleasure tingling down your spine at the way he teased your tightened peaks so ruthlessly. 

The possibility that Steve had yearned for you just as long as you’d ached for him was too much to comprehend in that moment. It hurt just as much as it made you happy, and you didn’t have the capacity for the conflicting emotions. You just wanted more sensation—you wanted more of him. 

"Please, Steve,” you whimpered, squirming more insistently against his cock. You tried to reach between your bodies, to skate your palm down the firm line of his cock, but he batted your hand away and laughed as he redoubled his efforts on torturing your tits.

"Do you need something, baby?" he cooed mockingly against your cheek, his laugh ghosting over your skin and making you shudder hard in his arms. "Do you need my cock, huh? Need me to pound your tight, hot pussy like you’re my own personal fuck toy and make you cum all over my dick?"

Something in your brain broke hearing your brother’s best friend murmur such filthy things in your ear, and you let out a low, helpless moan as you melted into his strong arms and hard body. It was too fucking hot hearing Steve talk to you like that, and you finally gave in to him, unable to make it difficult for him any longer.

"Yes!" you cried, driven to desperation by your need for him. Your pussy was throbbing insistently between your thighs, and your nipples ached from his attention—and you still needed more. You needed him inside you so badly, you couldn’t think, could only beg. "Please, Steve,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me." 

Gentler than you expected, Steve kissed the tears spilling onto your cheeks, one hand collaring your throat just beneath your jaw so he could keep your face turned to the side for him. With the other, he shoved his swim trunks down and pulled the gusset of your bathing suit to the side. 

Before he could slide inside and put you out of your misery, though, Steve paused. Staring deep into your eyes, his voice turned serious as he spoke.

"I've been tested, I'm all good—are you on birth control, baby?" 

Steve's question swam in your mind for a moment before you could make sense of the words. When you did, a glimmer of gratefulness took root in your ribs, but you were too far gone to appreciate his thoughtfulness. Not when you were so close to getting what you most desperately wanted. So all you did was nod frantically.

"I'm on birth control, I got tested, I’m clear. I want to feel you bare, Steve, please," you babbled, your words tripping over each other in your haste to get them out, making you sound almost incoherent. "Fuck me raw, please, please, please, please.”

“That’s my good girl,” Steve groaned, his praise washing over you and warming you from the inside out. “Such a good fuck toy, telling me what you want and that you’re safe.” He pressed a kiss to your ravaged lips and you took it as the reward it was.

A pleased smile bloomed on your face even as your pussy clenched at the degrading name he called you. You never would’ve expected Steve to have such a filthy mouth, but you fucking loved it. And you were about to tease him for it, but then he was notching the head of his cock at your entrance and starting to push inside. 

"Oh fuck, baby,” he swore when your tight heat enveloped the tip of his cock. Burying his face against your neck, his hot mouth pressed to your thrumming pulse so you could feel his words burrow beneath your skin and fizzle through your bloodstream. “You feel better than I ever imagined. So tight you’re choking my dick, and so fucking warm—”

Steve cut himself off on a strangled grunt as he pushed deeper, your slick cunt clasping his hard shaft, enticing him further into your body. You sucked in a sharp breath, reveling in the way his hot, hard length was stretching you open, making room for himself in the most intimate part of your body.

“Ya like that, sunshine?” Steve rumbled against your ear, pausing long enough to bite the corner of your jaw and drag another pleasured cry from your lips. “You like the feel of my dick splitting you open, huh? Claiming this cunt like I fucking own it?” 

Steve’s voice was so rough and furious, you barely recognized it, but it was so hot—what he was saying and the tenor of his lust reverberating through your chest—that you never wanted him to stop. You didn’t have the breath to tell him to keep going, but somehow he knew, and he even upped the ante of the filthy things he was saying.

“Tell me how good it feels, sunshine,” Steve growled in your ear. “Tell me my cock feels better than anything you’ve ever had—tell me this pussy is all mine because no one’ll ever feel as good as I do inside you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that your brain was broken from how good Steve’s dick felt inside you, pushing deeper and deeper into your tight heat, until your entire being was focused on the feel of him, you might’ve bitten out some scathing reply about his possessiveness. But instead, it just ratcheted your need higher than you’d ever felt.

"Yuh huh, yuh huh," you babbled, your lips forming words before you could think them through—because Steve had already fucked you dumb on his cock and he hadn’t even started fucking you yet. “Feels sooo good, Steve. Feels like I was made for you—I was made to be fucked by you.”

“That’s fucking right,” Steve seethed, surging forward until he was almost entirely buried in your body. “You were made to be mine. My good girl, my fuck toy, mine—all fucking mine. Fuck, oh god, fuck." 

A litany of curses and obscene sounds of pleasure poured from Steve's mouth unbidden, and it was all you could do to join him, even as the air was knocked from your lungs by the exquisite feeling of his cock shoving into your cunt. He was almost there…just a little more.

When Steve finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against your ass, you felt overcome with relief, like you’d been waiting for years and finally—finally—you were right where you were supposed to be. You sucked in a deep breath of air and melted into Steve’s embrace as you exhaled. 

Your body sagged forward until you were hanging over the lip of the hot tub, and Steve followed you down. His hand stayed collared around your throat and his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as his chest heaved and heavy breaths puffed against your spine. 

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, basking in the feeling of being joined together so intimately and wrapped up in each other. Then Steve’s hand gripped your neck firmly, his other palm skimming down your side to anchor in the curve of your waist. 

"You ready, baby?" he asked in a voice so rough, it sounded like the growl of a snow plow on an icy road. 

"Just fuck me already, Steve," you whined weakly, putting up a fight with words even as your body fully submitted to Steve’s domination. But you weren’t paying as close attention to what you were saying as you should’ve, letting your true feelings for him slip through. "How many times do I have to beg—I want this, I've wanted you for years. Please!”

Steve’s reaction to your confession was instantaneous, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat, holding you tight enough to cut off any other provoking words you might utter. He growled a wordless, desperate vibration in your ear, sounding like he was unraveling—and yet he still held you like you were something precious.

Then, Steve's strong arms and powerful body shoved you forward, so your hips were pinned against the lip of the hot tub. The movement pushed your ass up out of the water and Steve lifted one of his feet onto the bench, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. 

"You've done it now, sunshine," Steve rumbled in your ear, pulling back until only the tip of him remained inside your grasping channel before surging forward and pounding into you hard.

All you could do was sit there and take it, a sound of pleasure bursting from your lips as your hot breath puffed into the midnight mountain air. You were pinned completely by Steve, unable to move—and you’d never been happier. You clung to the arm wedged between your tits, holding him tight while he lightly choked you and thrust into you again.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll be feeling me in your cunt for fucking days, sunshine,” Steve seethed, his bared teeth pressed to your cheek so you could feel his feverish lust and desire on your skin. “And you're gonna take everything I give you with a smile and a 'thank you, sir.' Do you hear me?"

He punctuated his question with another rough slam of his hips, the sharp smacking sound of his skin against yours sounding loud in the quiet night. Thankfully, the snow blanketing the chalet muffled the obscene sounds of your fucking, swallowing them up in the darkness.

So you didn’t worry about staying quiet when your mouth fell open, intending to respond, only to discover you couldn't. Your breath was stolen by the delicious ruination Steve was delivering unto your body, and all the words you might've said fled from your lips.

"I said, ‘Do you fucking hear me,’ baby?” Steve demanded, slowing his thrusts and loosening the tight grip he held on your throat enough for you to answer. You’d never been more eager to give him what he wanted.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir—thank you so much, sir," you babbled, unable to say anything else.

Steve huffed an all-too-self-satisfied chuckle, murmuring a patronizing, "Good girl," before his fingers tightened around your throat again and he resumed his brutal, punishing strokes. 

He choked you tenderly as he fucked you hard and fast, pounding into you until you were nothing but sensation—pleasure and pain riding you so hard you went cross-eyed staring out into the snowy mountain night. His cock was thick and hot, thrusting so deep it felt like he reached the very end of you, claiming your body as his territory. 

And your body was only too happy to be his, your pussy making the most indecent sounds as your inner walls gripped tight around his hardness. You could hear the obscene wet slaps of Steve’s cock hammering your cunt, and it only made you hotter, made you gush with more desire, until the sounds of your sopping pussy being fucked were loud in your ears.

Your pleasure ratcheted higher, until it was almost too much. Then, when you were teetering on the edge, Steve’s hand slipped from your hip to between your thighs. He rubbed your clit with a merciless determination you didn't know he possessed, shoving you right over the cliff of your pleasure. 

You let out a shattered, muffled scream as you came apart at the seams. Your entire vision went white and your throat went dry as all your muscles seized. All you knew, all you were, was blistering pleasure. And you came harder than you ever had in your entire life.

"That's it, baby, cum all over my cock,” Steve rumbled in your ear, tethering you back to earth as he fucked you through your release. “Be a good girl and give it to me, milk my dick with that tight cunt, suck my cock deeper into that greedy pussy.”

All you could do was exactly as he said, your body shaking, your pussy pulsing around his hard length. You were so far gone, it took you a moment to realize you were letting out desperate little gasps and whines, his hand having loosened on your throat so your sounds of pleasure could spill freely from your lips.

Steve pressed his feral grin against your cheek, thrusts falling out of rhythm as he chased his release in your body. “You want my cum, sunshine?” he muttered against your skin. “Want me to fill you up so deep that you'll be dripping my cum down your thighs for days, huh?"

"Yes, please, sir," you rasped, your voice ragged from pleasure. You didn’t think, just answered him honestly, baring your soul for him in a way you never would have before. "Mark me, claim me—my pussy is yours, Steve. I’m all yours.”

"Oh fuck—fuck, baby," Steve groaned like he was overcome by your admission. He thrust hard into your cunt and began grinding deep, enjoying the way your inner walls rippled and sucked his hard length like your body was trying to pull him deeper. "Who do you belong to—say it again, sunshine."

"You, sir," you gasped, and when he bit out an unhappy sound through clenched teeth, you went on, babbling, "My body, my heart, my soul belongs to Steven Grant Rogers."

"Fucking right—that’s my fucking girl,” Steve growled, the words so righteous and satisfied that your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re all mine, just like I’m all yours, sunshine,” he rumbled right before sinking his teeth into the skin of your shoulder and exploding inside you. 

Steve's big body shuddered and pinned you hard to the edge of the hot tub, his hand around your throat bracing you against his chest while he fucked you full of his cum, his hips grinding so deep in your cunt that it set off another, smaller release in your body. 

You moaned as you came right along with him, dizzy from his confession that had so quickly followed yours. You were his—a truth you’d known a long time—but he was yours too. It almost seemed too good to be true, but then Steve repeated it.

“You own me, body and soul, baby,” Steve murmured, pressing kisses to your cheek, your chin, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach. “You hold my heart in the palm of your hands, sunshine. Be gentle with me.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your heart and you smiled, a true, joyful smile before turning your head and capturing Steve’s mouth in a kiss. It was so much softer and sweeter than the first one you’d shared. 

The battle between you was over. You’d laid yourselves bare and been accepted, flaws and all, and all that was left was to rejoice. So you reveled in Steve’s kiss, in the simple pleasure of being open and honest together.

For long, languid moments, you hung suspended in time, your body so disgustingly sated that all you could do was let out a contented sigh and keep kissing Steve, the corners of your mouth curling up with a smile. He huffed a soft laugh against your lips, winding down the kiss until he pulled away.

Steve looked so deliciously wrecked, his blond hair mussed, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink and his mouth looking so plump from your kisses that it made you want to ruin him more. At that thought, your pussy throbbed with renewed lust around Steve’s softening cock, and you had to hide a smile in your shoulder when his dick gave an answering twitch.

"You gonna take me back to your room so we can do that again, golden boy?" you tried to snark at Steve, but your voice was too breathless for the comment to have much of heat. Instead, you came off sounding desperate, though it was worth it from the way his eyes sharpened on your face.

Steve captured your mouth in a searing, conquering kiss, only pulling away when you’d melted back into submission—though you both knew it wouldn't last for long. Even if you were done hiding your feelings from Steve, that didn’t mean you were going to stop provoking him, especially when it led to such delicious consequences.

"First, tell me one thing, sunshine—admit it was good."

Steve looked so serious, like your answer really meant something to him, that you knew you couldn’t lie. But you could still play with him, just a little bit, right?

So you heaved a beleaguered sigh, making a show of thinking about it, drawing out the moment to annoy him. But when you caught Steve's eye over your shoulder and found a little furrow of unease forming between his brows, you knocked it off and gave him a shy smile. 

"It was better than good," you confessed in a whisper, so only Steve and the cold, mountain night were witness to your admission.

The uncertainty cleared from Steve’s face immediately, and his mouth broke out in a broad, self-satisfied grin. You couldn't help yourself, your smile turning impish, the only warning of what was to come out of your mouth. 

"It was a spectacular performance, golden boy,” you teased, delight sparking in your belly when Steve’s eyes darkened with lust at the nickname. “But I think I need a repeat before I can determine whether it was a one-off or not."

Steve's laugh was loud and incredulous, bouncing off the mountains and filling your heart with joy. He shook his head at you as he helped you up off the lip of the hot tub.

“You’re a menace, sunshine,” he growled, but there was no heat to his words, only the warmth of affection. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist to keep your bodies connected, his cock staying nice and warm in the heat of your cunt, Steve sat down on the bench of the hot tub, gathering you up in his lap and holding you close. 

Before he could kiss you, you giggled, your hands cupping his handsome face. “But I’m your menace.” 

“Damn, right,” Steve muttered moments before kissing you. 

It was slower and sweeter than ever before and you let a soft moan slip from your lips as you melted into Steve’s arms, savoring his kiss and the warmth of the hot tub.

When he finally pulled away, Steve stared deep into your eyes, all his affection for you etched into every line of his face. You stared at him with your own expression open, so he could see how much you adored him right back. 

"Don't you worry, sunshine,” Steve murmured, his thumb stroking reverently over the curves of your face, like he was committing it to memory. “I’ll give you as many repeat performances as it'll take for you to understand just how good I am for you.”

Although his words sounded like a dare, Steve said them so sweetly, they sounded like a promise—one that had your heart thudding harder in your chest. Unable to stop yourself, you beamed at him.

"Prove it, golden boy," you challenged, your voice husky with need, as you began grinding your ass on his lap and clenching your cunt around his cock. 

Steve went a little cross-eyed and he let out a tortured groan. You used his distraction to give him one more kiss, then slipped off his cock—feeling more than a little bereft without the hot, hard length of him inside you—and clamored out of the hot tub. 

On trembling legs, you darted toward the chalet, intent on your next time with Steve being in a bed. Just as you were flinging open the sliding door of the deck, you heard water sloshing as Steve launched himself into pursuit.

In seconds, Steve was hot on your heels, chasing you through the chalet and up to his room, where the two of you fell into bed. You were still slick with his cum and your renewed desire, and he buried his dick deep in your cunt with one stroke, setting a brutal pace as he murmured sweet words in your ear about how good you felt on his cock.

For the rest of the night, he proved to you just how perfect he was and by the time dawn broke over the mountains, you were utterly and irrevocably gone for him. You fell asleep entwined together, Steve’s cock still buried in your pussy, right where he was always meant to be.

From that night on, your heart belonged to the golden boy you’d antagonized for so many years, and he went to great lengths to keep it safe and prove he was deserving of your devotion. As if that wasn’t enough, he gave you his heart in return.

Steve Rogers was all yours—and you cherished him for the rest of your life.

“What do you mean?” you glanced down at the red dress you wore, flowy enough to hit the floor, with long sleeves and a high neck, perfectly embodying Buttercup from Princess Bride, “this is cute.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t be dressed like that if you wanna be at this party,” he stated as if it was obvious, “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, sis.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed, a pit swiftly forming in your stomach, “but I don’t just have another costume.”

“That’s alright,” he simply uttered in return, “because I have something you can slip into,” he stated with a smirk, before dragging you up to his own room.

It turned out to be a bunny costume, but not just any old bunny costume.

Handing you a headband with ears and a puff ball of a tail to clip on, he then tossed you a pair of fishnets made up of large holes, before not only the tiniest mini skirt you’d ever seen landed in your arms, but also a corset top so revealing that your tits would surely spill out of the skimpy neckline.

“You know, it was between this and your old uniform,” he smirked as your eyes widened, “I kinda stole it the last time I went back home, might have gotten a few alterations to make it less up to school code.”

“You went through my stuff?” you gasped, remembering just how deep that uniform had been buried in the back of your closet.

“Of course I did,” he shrugged as he then put the cherry on top, slipping a leather collar, with a leash already attached, around your neck and purposefully fastening it tight enough to leave behind bruises in its wake, the quality of it seeming as if it had actually been purchased at some bougie pet store, “now, get dressed.”

As you begrudgingly put it on, your eyes flickered to the tall mirror hanging on the wall to spot the nametag that dangled from the choking collar, the word ‘bunny’ glinting on the one side, while on the other, the phrase ‘property of Kappa Alpha Nu’ was inscribed upon it.

As he interfered and made sure that you didn’t wear any panties beneath the revealing fishnet stockings, your stepbrother also took a moment to inspect your pretty little holes before he finally let you skip back downstairs to enjoy the tricks and the treats of this year’s All Hallows Eve festivities.

Burning off your initial buzzing energy on the dancefloor, Marc soon found you, his hands twisting you around to face him in his Gomez Addams garb, before Scott, decked out in a Where’s Waldo costume, eventually slipped in behind you. At first, it was just nice to have someone to dance with, as most of the other students around had partners as well, but eventually, as they sandwiched around you, their arms curled around you, and their touch travelled up underneath your skirt. To others, in the low fluorescent light that dazzled the dancefloor, it merely looked as if you were just swaying with the two frat boys, when in reality, your moans were swallowed by the booming bass of the music as they fingered you.

Your feet wobbled afterwards as the pair had stopped before you could have reached your peak, causing you to crash straight into Ransom, which unfortunately only opened the door to an apology that he claimed you now owed him. Though he did drag you into the pantry in the fraternity’s kitchen instead of just making you flash him in the middle of the party, the guy dressed up as Hugh Hefner couldn’t just look and not touch when such a cute little bunny stood before him, your tits exposed and heaving with every breath, your heart only began to hammer harder when he swiftly dipped down to suck on them till he was throbbing in beneath his silky robe.

Catching you in the hallway a little later, Andy, clad in a sinful priest outfit, dragged you further into the shadows. Holding you close, to others passing by, it might have just looked like two drunk party goers making out in the corner of the dim corridor. What they couldn’t see was how the vice president of the frat soon freed his hard length and let it slip in between your thighs to feel his cock press up against your edged cunt, leaking through the large holes in the fishnets. His hands dug into your frame as he slowly rocked against you, grinding his dick against your soft pussy, as he stuck his tongue far enough down your throat that none of your whimpers could escape.

Stumbling out into the backyard in desperate need of some air as your entire body buzzed for the release that everyone kept on denying you of, both firefighter-clad Frank and Patrick Bateman-costumed Billy found you. Dragging you behind a tall bush, they each eventually sank down to their knees, one behind you, and one to your front. They barely had to flip up your silly excuse of a skirt for them to be able to eat you out, Frank sloppily indulging himself on your pussy, while Billy made out with your tight little ass.

And as your frustration grew out of control, you snuck upstairs to take matters into your own hands and make yourself finally tumble over that agonising edge.

However, when you slipped into Ari’s empty room, you didn’t manage to make your dreams come true as the frat’s president promptly appeared in the doorway and caught you red-handed. Though it started inside of his room, he soon hauled you out onto the private balcony that discreetly overlooked the party that still rumbled below. At first, the Zeus-clad man had told you that if you dipped down and kissed his boot, then he would maybe consider letting you cum, but as you then kneeled and complied, he only chuckled darkly down at you and freed his cock, before yanking at your leash to get you back up and stuff your mouth full of him. Grinding pathetically against his boot as he fucked your throat, your eyes soon went wide as Ari clipped your leather collar against the belt that stretched across his toga-adorned hips, trapping you in place with the entirety of his length rammed down your throat. Panicking with every gag, Ari only fixed your crooked bunny ears and petted your head as your gulps and whines massaged his fat cock, waiting patiently for your eyes to go glassy.

And as you wiped the last droplets of the load away from the corner of your mouth and Ari tapped your ass for you to pop back downstairs unsatisfied, you ceased to notice as he stole the cotton ball of a tail that had been pinned onto the back of your skirt.

You didn’t notice the missing piece to your costume before two of the other Greek gods, Curtis and Bucky, found you and pointed it out for you.

Though thankfully, they soothed your worries by telling you that they had another one lying around that you could borrow, a solution that your edged mind didn’t give a second thought before they had dragged you into a bathroom and shown you a very different kind of tail than the one you had lost. This bunny tail didn’t have a little safety pin at the end of it, but instead, a bulbous butt plug flared out on the other side.

You didn’t even connect the dots as to how you were supposed to wear it till Bucky had pinned you against the sink, his palm shutting up your whines, while Curtis spread your ass cheeks wide for your tight little hole to clench up at him through the wide and gaping holes of your tights.

But unfortunately, when they had your ass all plugged up with a white little cotton ball poking out between your cheeks, their bullying didn’t just stop at that. You didn’t even notice the roll of tape that they had conjured, as you gasped to get used to the sensation of the toy inside of you, it wasn’t till they ripped a piece of it off that your wide eyes landed upon it. Apparently, your poor pussy didn’t deserve any attention at all this Halloween, as they swiftly took the thick band and taped it over your edged cunt, covering the needy puff perfectly, letting you drool against the adhesion instead of leaking down your legs any further.

As the hours grew late, so did your energy dwindle, as the many drinks and the loud music couldn’t keep your exhausted headache at bay.

“Hey, are you alright?” you eventually heard Johnny ask when you passed a few of the members of the rival fraternity outside by the keg stand.

“I–, uhm,” you hesitated a moment as you glanced around for the possessive eyes of your stepbrother, “yeah, I’m fine,” you quietly continued when you thankfully didn’t spot Steve, “my head just kinda hurts,” you told the Gamma Sigma Zeta president, half of his astronaut costume missing from the wild night he’d already had, “I tried to look for a painkiller upstairs, but I can’t find any, so I think I might just call it a night soon…”

The guy dressed up like a burly viking beside Johnny then perked up, “oh, no, you can’t leave now,” Nick pleaded, “we’ve barely even seen you at all. Come on, at least come inside and dance with us once before you head back to your dorm.”

“Well, I don’t think my stepbrother would like that very much,” you tensely began to shift backwards, nearing the steps back up to the house, “he wouldn’t even like the fact that I’m just talking to you guys, so I’m sorry, but I–”

“Wait!” Johnny swiftly reached out for your arm, catching you before you could slip away, “you said you have a headache, right? Well, I always carry some painkillers with me, just in case I need them.”

Glancing down at the small pill that he swiftly conjured from his pocket and placed in your palm, your brows knitted gently as you peered down at it, “uh… this doesn’t look like an aspirin…”

“Oh, well, it’s just a different brand, that’s why it’s a different colour,” he tried to reassure you with a charming smile, gazing back at you intently as he waited for you to swallow the medicine.

Little did you know that it wasn’t a painkiller at all, and instead, the first step in their master plan to drag your drugged body back to their own fraternity, kidnapping their rivals' favourite little chew toy.

You were so confused as to why your headache didn’t disappear… as well as why you were starting to feel all weird and loopy, almost as if you’d had lots more to drink even though you hadn’t…

It was the dirty cop clad moustachioed fraternity member, Lloyd, who eventually found you. With your pupils blown and drool gently dripping from your desperate tongue, it didn’t take him long to figure out that you were high as a fucking kite.

It was all a blur, you could barely keep up when he helped you back to your stepbrother before the rest of Kappa Alpha Nu got into it with their rivals.

After the entirety of the Gamma Sigma Zeta fraternity had finally scurried off and into the night, Steve dipped down to get a closer look at you, “fucking hell…” he groaned as he checked each of your eyes.

But then, as Lloyd, off to the side, noticed how you clawed against your stepbrother’s frame, the hazy drugs nearly making you feral as you helplessly tried to rub yourself against him, his chuckle slithered through your haze, “oh, poor bunny… did those scary pills turn you into a brainless little cocksleeve, huh?”

“Hm?” you foggily blinked away from Steve as you barely heard Lloyd’s words.

“Well,” Steve exhaled, still towering above you as your gaze fluttered to reconnect with his own, “guess we’ve only got one option now,” he uttered softly as he then decided to use this to his own advantage, “better not waste good drugs, right?” as it would make it so much easier for him to get you to do all the things you still remained very hesitant towards.

So, with a chill trickling down your spine, your stepbrother snapped at a few of his pals before dragging you by the leash down into the frat’s dark basement, the Halloween party still ever rumbling upstairs.

Propping you against the rigidity bar down there, your stepbrother then suddenly let go of you and turned on his heel, instead crossing the cellar and sinking down into the leather cushions of the beat-up couch opposing your wobblily frame.

“Alright guys,” he murmured as both Ari and Curtis came to your side, “you know what to do,” he smirked as he simply leaned back in his seat as if he was the conductor of the symphony, Bucky too sinking down next him after he’d kicked the basement door shut behind him, virtually getting some popcorn out as well.

As the president and the boxer spun you around and bent you over, your intoxicated and malleable frame naturally melted against the bar top as they swiftly flipped up your tiny skirt and ripped a huge hole in your fishnet stockings, nearly splitting the flimsy material in two. Catching onto the fluffy end of the plug that stuffed you up, Ari tugged on it teasingly before slipping it out.

And though you’d usually complain about that part of you being played with, the drugs that ravaged your system had turned you so dizzily desperate that you were trembling for any touch at all, mortifying moans tumbling out past your lips when a dick finally filled up your body, even if it wasn’t the edged hole that still drooled for attention behind a strip of duct tape.

You’d never behaved with such depraved eagerness before, no matter how much you’d had to drink, you’d never begged for it the way you incoherently did now, fucking back onto Ari’s fat cock like you’d never dared to do before, all because of the little pill that hadn’t taken away your headache.

And as you needily rutted back against him, grinding the curve of your ass against his steadfast hips as his fist tangled up your leash, Ari soon seized your frame and nearly folded you in half as he plucked you up off the ground, his thick dick ever stuffing you full as he did so.

“Aw, are you finally starting to like having your little ass fucked, huh?” Curtis chuckled at the way that you moaned, his fingers tightly engulfed around his own cock as he pinched your chin, your entire frame now bobbing from how Ari was bouncing you in his hold, using you like a mere fleshlight to get himself off with.

“Or maybe she’s just finally been trained enough to begin to endure it like the good little anal slut she ought to be,” Ari grunted in your ear.

And though you wanted to toss in your two cents, correct them and state how it still wasn’t your cup of tea, you simply couldn’t form any coherent words as the warm and fuzzy, nearly numbing sensation only seemed to spread with each harsh roll of Ari’s hips, dunking you deeper into the dreamlike desperation.

“C-can I cum?” you eventually blubbered, your eyes barely open at this point as your entire body shook in Ari’s arms in need of release.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Curtis smirked as he tweaked your sensitive nipples through your shirt and cast a glance to your stepbrother on the couch, “can she, Steve?”

And as he, as well as his best friend beside him, stroked their lengths to the Halloween spectacular that played out before them, Steve only let out a cruel chuckle and uttered, “fuck no.”

The pained pout that promptly formed on your lips dissipated in seconds as the Poseidon adorn Curtis then began to slap your taped up cunt, making it that much harder to stray away from the edge as he repeatedly smacked your covered puff.

At one point, your dripping pussy got so wet that the tape began to come loose, weakly peeling off from one corner to reveal your poor cunt, unimaginably sticky behind the ruined adhesive.

“Fuck… I think the only thing that’d keep that pussy in check would be a freaking chastity belt,” Bucky chuckled off to the side as he cocked his head to see how your hole quivered and throbbed each time Ari filled up your ass, leaking pathetically onto the cold basement floor below, “might need to get you one of those, baby, since tape clearly isn’t hardcore enough for your princess parts.”

Leaning back in his seat, Steve momentarily smirked at his friend’s idea before he nodded to the dangling tape and ordered, “take it off, dude,” before Curtis ripped it off, and you let out a strangled sob.

With your eyes screwed shut tight, each time Ari’s hefty balls smacked against your needy and drooling hole each time he bottomed out in your ass, the fact that there now wasn’t a layer of tape to shield you from the sloppy taps caused you to lose what little control you remained as you finally came undone, your edged pussy gushing around nothing as an actual scream ripped from your lungs.

“The fuck was that?” Ari halted his rhythm as you trembled violently in his arms, nearly blacking out from the high, his tone washing over you as if you were underwater, “who told you that you were allowed to cum, huh?”

“What a pathetic little cockslut…” Curtis kneeled down to be at eye level with your still dripping cunt, “can’t even take a little bit of mild edging without making a fucking mess everywhere…” he briefly flicked your swollen clit rudely, making your entire frame jolt, before he rose back up.

As your heavy lids fought to stay open, you barely noticed as Steve shifted away from the couch, his fingers still silkily stroking his cock as his other hand grasped the side of your face, “does that little pussy wanna be fucked?” he forced your dizzy eyes to meet his stare, “huh, baby sis?”

“P-please,” a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Yeah? Do you really think you deserve that? Because I’m not sure if your pretty pussy deserves the attention… you need to learn to be grateful for what you’re given, even if it’s not what you want.”

“Stevie…” a pleading sob pouted your lips and caused the gang to chuckle around you.

Sharing a look with his friends, your stepbrother’s head then tilted in a nod before he uttered, “alright,” making your eyes widen in unexpected hope, “Buck, move out of the way. You guys take the couch,” he ordered them all.

But as Ari pulled out of you and they manhandled you onto the sofa, slumping you back and down against Curtis, presumably just for them to all the better manipulate your frame, a foggy smile found your features as Ari settled in between your thighs that the other fratbro cracked open, and the president briefly began to rub the length, that he’d just had stuffed all the way up in your ass, against your poor and throbbing pussy, slickening himself up even more with your desperate cream.

Though the hazy grin on your lips promptly faded when Curtis then reached down under you and filled up your butt once more, making you gasp just as Ari, mere seconds later, slowly began to sink into your leaky cunt.

“W-what are you d-doing–,” you scrambled between them, eyes wide as both of your holes struggled to stretch for the pair of them at the same time.

“Only one of the things that is about fucking time you feel,” Steve’s voice found your ears as you blinked down at the two cocks slowly splitting you apart and stuffing you more full than you ever thought possible, “I mean, let’s be honest, you should probably be grateful that you are high out of your mind the first time you’re experiencing having both of your little holes fucked. You should be grateful for us taking advantage of the mess you got yourself into and making it easier for your innocent little body to comprehend… so, do it. Say thank you, sis.”

“I–…” you tried to fulfil his command, though it turned out to be an impossible task as all you could focus on was how overwhelmingly full you felt as both of the cocks in your holes finally bottomed out inside of you, “it’s too much–”

“Oh my god,” Steve then rolled his eyes before grumbling, “Buck, shut her up, would you?” to which his friend swiftly did, slipping in next to you and grabbing your face, before muffling your whines on his monstrous cock.

Though just as you didn’t think you could get any more stuffed than you already were, Bucky fucked his fat dick all the way down your throat and the tight collar that strained around your neck popped simply because of how his insane size bulged against it.

“That’s a good little bunny…” Bucky groaned as your spit bubbled against his balls each time you gagged around his girth.

Steve even stepped up eventually, both he and his best friend attempting together to fit both of their cocks inside of your mouth at once, making the corners of your lips burn at the stretch as they only managed to stuff the very tips of themselves inside and against your silky tongue.

When they finally let you breathe once more, your tongue stuck out lazily, drool dripping from it, as you were so high, as well as cockdrunk at this point, that your eyes nearly began to cross.

“Oh, look at you…” Steve chuckled when you once again tumbled over the edge and squirted all over Ari’s cock, “big brother’s little bitch just can’t stop making a stupid fucking mess…” he peeked down at how your juices soaked both of the men you were trapped between.

Yanking down your neckline to finally let your boobs spill out, the Zeus-dressed fraternity president then let his broad palm slap your soft boobs, making them jiggle even more than what just his and Curtis’ pace caused.

As Ari then briefly leaned down to suck on your tits, his fat cock slipped out of your pussy, a swift remark about you simply being too wet promptly left his lips. Though as he then notched the bulbous tip of himself back against your leaky entrance, he paused as a cock found his brow, and he instead shifted the dick in his hand down to the little rosebud that was already stretched open around Curtis’ girth. And even when you complained at the unsuccessful attempt he then made to try and bully his cock inside of your ass as well, the two of them didn’t quit before they’d also had a go with your poor little cunt, their tips fruitlessly nudging against your quivering opening as you just couldn’t open up enough yet to take two of them at once inside of either of your holes.

And when eventually both your pussy and your ass were finally leaking with cum, your face and breathless chest too decorated with sticky loads, Steve picked up the piece of tape that had previously been stuck to your cunt and pressed it over your panting lips.

“Happy Halloween, stepsis.”

Stepping aside, the blonde mechanic held out an arm in the direction of the room, shepherding you inside. The fella who had been relaying everything to the boss slipped past as you entered, before he shut the door behind you.

And as the tatted-up man behind the desk finally glanced up to look at you, the tone of your voice trembled slightly as you then spoke, “…are you Mr. Barnes?”

Chuckling lightly at your formality, “Mr.–, well, yeah. I’m Bucky,” he eyed you a moment, making you shift timidly under the brashness of his stare, “you wanted to speak to me? No offence, sweetheart, but you don’t look like the type to jump on a bike, but I mean, if that’s why you’re here, I’ve got a few in the back that could be yours for the right price.”

“Oh, that’s not why I’m here,” you shook your head.

“A car then?”

“No, no, this is about–…” you tilted your head, “well… it’s about Thomas.”

Sitting back a bit more in his seat, Bucky puffed out, “well, fuck me. I didn’t know he had a wife.” 

“What? No!” you swiftly screeched, eyes growing huge at his assumption, “I’m his sister.”

“Ah…” the older man breathed as he once again let his eyes wander, “so you’re the famous little sister… I thought you were away at some fancy university.”

“Ever heard of a little thing called summer break?” you scoffed, though instantly regretted the attitude as it surely wouldn’t help your case.

But thankfully, your comment only made the intimidating man chuckle, “okay, uh, so, why the urge to come chat to me instead of going off to the beach with your friends or something?”

After you took a second to gather up the courage, you then stated, “I don’t want him coming around here anymore. You can’t have him.”

Unfazed, the man behind the desk muttered, “and why not, if I might ask?”

“You know why,” you shifted slightly, your eyes narrowing in Bucky’s direction.

“And just what are you implying here?” he leaned forward, planting his inked and burly forearms on the table between you both, “I simply gave him a job as a perfectly respectable mechanic.”

“You know damn well that’s not what you did… I know you’re not just the boss of some auto shop…” you uttered quietly, “…a year ago, he had a bright future ahead of him, a good job lined up, a good head on his shoulders, and then you came into the picture and poisoned him.”

“Poisoned him, huh? That’s cute…” he chuckled chillingly at your accusation, “he’s a free man, sweetheart. He can do whatever he wants to do. If he wants to ride a bike, then he’ll ride a fucking bike.”

“You know damn well that’s not all that you and your kind does,” you snapped, your fist clenching into a fist nearly hard enough for your nails to break the skin.

“And just what were you thinking I was supposed to do about it, huh?”

“I know he’s not a full-fledged member yet of your gang.”

But that phrasing finally made a crack in his charismatic façade, “don’t call it a gang, it’s a motorcycle club.”

“I know he’s not a full-fledged member of your mob yet,” you blindly repeated heatedly, “a prospect, or whatever you call it. You can still kick him out without any fuss,” you stated before your voice then shrunk once more, cracking under the pressure as you went on, “please, just–… I’m scared of what’ll happen, who he will become if he doesn’t quit now. I’ve already lost both of my parents, I can’t lose him too.”

For a moment, Bucky simply sat back in his chair and stared at you. But then, when his eyes finally settled, his mind had cooked up a solution.

“…you know, one of the beauties of living in a small town like this is that everyone’s business spreads like wildfire… you just can’t help what you hear through the grapevine…” he slowly told you, “let’s see… rocky childhood, your brother basically raised you, yet somehow you still managed to walk the straight and narrow, become the valedictorian of your class in high school, get a scholarship to some college that otherwise would have never even looked twice at a girl like you from a shithole of a town like this… history major, right?” you then promptly nodded, utterly stunned by all of the details the criminal knew about you, “yeah… a real good girl, just as I suspected… but just how good are you really?”

“What?” your brows only knit together further, “if you’re trying to make me take his place, I–”

“Jesus fuck, calm down, kid,” Bucky scoffed, “I’m not putting a smoking gun in your hand. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“I–, uh…” a shiver ran down your spine, “sir, I’m just here to help my brother.”

“And how far would you go to do so?”

“Well–…” you thought about it for a second, “what do you want? Money? I don’t have much, but I could try and scrounge up something–”

“No, I’m not interested in your money,” his eyes then dipped.

“Then what do you want?” you pleaded, trying to ignore his bold gaze, “I’ll do pretty much anything, as long as it’s legal.”

“Are you still a virgin?” he then casually asked you, completely out of the blue.

“Excuse me?” your vision promptly widened.

“I mean, you sure fucking squirm like one,” he smirked, continuing to stare.

“I-I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you crossed your arms, half in an attempt at covering yourself up more.

“So you are, alright,” he concluded from your dismissiveness, “well, then I do think there’s a way here for us to strike a deal.”

“I–…” you blinked hard, “I’m sorry, what does my romantic life have to do with that?”

“Oh, you really are innocent, aren’t you?” he then laughed, “how old did you say you were again?”

“I didn’t,” you shifted before you then told him, “I’m twenty.”

“Twenty…” he echoed, tasting it on his tongue as if he’d just gone down on you, “damn…”

“How old are you?” you shrugged, not understanding how this basic information had anything to do with how you were gonna help your brother.

“Well, over double your age…” he cocked his head and you caught sight of some of the grey that dusted his beard.

“Okay…” you breathed, blinking back at him with furrowed brows, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit lost. Are you gonna help me out or not? Are you gonna kick Thomas out?”

“I am,” he pursed his lips.

“Really?” a relieved gasp swiftly filled your lungs.

“Yeah,” he nodded, averting his gaze before he then filled you in on the rest of the proposition, “that is if you let me pop your cherry.”

Utterly stunned, the glints of celebration promptly vanished from your face, “y-you want to–”

“Be the first person to fuck that sweet pussy of yours,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“I-I–…” you stammered a moment before stating in a firm tone, “no,” glaring back at him as if the biker had just grown a second head.

“You sure?” his tone didn’t waver, as if your apprehension didn’t faze him one bit, “I thought you were desperate to get your dear brother to turn his life back around, but I guess if it’s really not that important to you, then maybe I could move his final initiation test up–”

“No, wait!” you cried out, nearly scurrying over the table right then and there, “don’t! I–…”

Tilting his head, the tinge of repulsion that flickered across your features only egged him on, “yes?”

“Fuck, I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this…” you murmured to yourself before huffing, “fine, I’ll do it. If it means you’ll leave my brother alone, then alright.”

“Great,” the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk that made your stomach churn, “swing around Nick’s bar tonight. Have a drink with me.”

“Here,” Bucky handed you a drink, tearing your wide eyes away from the seedy biker bar you now found yourself in.

“Thanks…” you stared down at the amber liquid inside. Raising the stout glass up to your lips, you then naively took a sip that was way too big, causing you to instantly cough as it burned down your throat.

Peering over at you as you lowered the glass again, the biker let out a cruel chuckle, “don’t tell me you’ve never had a drink before either.”

“No, I have,” you shot back defensively, your throat still on fire, “just not one this strong.”

“Hm,” he twisted slightly in his seat to face you more, “well, it’s your choice. It’ll help your nerves, but then again, I don’t mind if you’re shaking so much that I’ll have to wrestle you,” he stated calmly, making you go bug-eyed and swiftly choose to pick up your drink once more.

It didn’t take very long at all for you to get drunk, although it probably helped that each time you finished off your glass, someone would swoop in and refill it before you could protest.

The place was buzzing around you with rough-looking individuals, all of their backs adorned with patches, though you were too scared to meet any of their eyes. A few even tried to walk up and shoot their shot with you, though as you shrivelled up in hopes of turning invisible before them, the bikers would catch Bucky’s eye and hastily turn on their heel again. 

When your wandering eyes eventually spotted the dingy restroom in the corner of the bar, you figured that it might be able to grant you enough of a break to catch your breath and let you muster up the courage for what came next.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you murmured, spotting out of the corner of your eye as he offered you a slight nod of approval, before you then jumped off the barstool, only to discover on your short trek across the room just how dizzy the alcohol had now rendered you.

The lavatory was grimy and mucked up with layers of old posters and flies on the walls, but it still turned out to be a safe enough space for you to freak out a little bit in.

Though once you’d dried your tears and gathered yourself once more, someone was standing directly on the other side of the door as you began to creak it open.

And before you could even react, Bucky had pushed his way inside, shoving you back in as well before you could slip past, and his inked fingers swiftly locked the door behind him.

“Mr. Barnes, what are you–, mmhpf–,” your words were promptly muffled as the biker suddenly grabbed your face and held it tight as he pressed his lips to your own. A yelp vibrated against his mouth as you willed your trembling hands not to shove him away, “I thought–, you wanted–,” you squeaked in between stolen kisses, “to go–, somewhere–, else–”

“And I thought you wanted to get this over with,” he muttered, tilting back a moment to gaze down into your wide eyes, “don’t you?”

“Well…” you then just bashfully nodded as you couldn’t get yourself to actually say it out loud, “…but I–, I’m sorry… could we maybe just slow down a little bit?” 

“Slow down?” he echoed, as if you’re speaking some alien language.

“Yeah, I just–…” you averted your gaze, “…I don’t really know what to do…”

“Really?” he raised a brow before you offered a nod, “well, alright. Help me out here for a second. Tell me, how much exactly have you done before?”

“I–… nothing…” you timidly shared.

“Nothing? Not even fooled around with a boyfriend?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, so no…” you nearly whispered, before then catching his eye and letting out a desperate cry, “I’m sorry, please, I can still do it, you just gotta guide me a bit! Please don’t back out of the deal!”

“Oh, no, honey, I’m not,” his stare traced your helpless expression as a few of his knuckles drifted up to trace the edges of it, “I’m very much not…”

“Oh, good!” you gasped, before swiftly regretting how enthusiastic it had sounded, “I mean, not–, just–, you know what I mean…”

Letting you squirm under his gaze a moment longer, he then uttered in a strange tone, almost as if you’d given him the most wicked of ideas, “you wanna go slow? We can go slow… I think I can live with that arrangement,” a wolfish grin bloomed upon his gruff face, “so why don’t you start by kissing me again?”

Nervously, heart hammering in your chest, you raised yourself up onto your tiptoes and planted a swift peck upon his lips.

“Hmm…” he hummed, before his pointer finger then drifted up into the space between you to do a come-hither motion, “you can do better than that, kiddo…” he lowered himself down a tad to be closer to your height.

When you then kissed him once more, one of his palms slid up to the back of your head just as you were about to break it, keeping you from fleeing as he then deepened the kiss.

As he began to make out with you, his tongue greedily flickering out to taste your own, your body initially locked up, though soon, as he selfishly kept it going, you horrifyingly felt yourself begin to relax into it.

Reminding yourself that it would all be over before you knew it, you tried your best to calm yourself, let go and try to find a way to enjoy it.

As his feet soon shuffled against the dirty floors, you bumped against the sink and squeaked against his devilish tongue.

His hands greedily began to wander down your body, his bold and scorching touch made ripples and waves in the short dress that you wore. At first, the touch made you draw in a sharp breath, but then as his lips strayed from your own and began to dance down the length of your neck, smothering the sensitive skin in sloppy pecks, your brows promptly knitted together in confusion as the way his fingers traced down your frame, grabbing your ass before then sweeping up to grope your tits, actually felt good.

As the older man’s broad hands then harshly coasted down to your bottom once again, he scooped you up to sit on the edge of the sink, making you let out a startled gasp at the sudden and unexpected move, although that only made the biker chuckle in return.

Now that his ravenous lips were no longer glued to your skin, his dark eyes drifted down to ogle the short hem of your dress before he then slowly hiked it further up to reveal your underwear below, which, to your horror, was completely and utterly soaked, making the poor cotton nearly translucent as it clung to your core.

“Fuck…” he let out an exhale as he slowly sank down to crouch before you. Getting a bit too close for your comfort, you tried to shift and close your thighs more, but his rough palms just shot out to catch each of your knees, “a-ah,” he didn’t even raise his gaze as he ordered, “keep them spread.”

“Mhm,” you hesitantly hummed as you blinked down at him between your legs.

“Good girl,” one of his hands then slid all the way up your inner thigh till it met the edge of your panties. Gasping at the contact, you then dared to peep down as he let his fingertips ghost over your covered core and tickle you, “so sensitive…” he noticed your body trembling at his touch and the way your brows knit together above your wild eyes, “what, are you scared, sweetheart? That’s okay, you can be scared… I know, you’ve probably been told all of your life that no one is supposed to touch your pretty princess parts, especially not someone like me, so it’s alright to be scared.”

Leaning in, he then pressed a kiss upon your covered clit, already puffy and throbbing beneath the drenched cotton.

“Oh my god…” he groaned as your scent tempted him even closer, his nose tickling you as he inhaled deeply, “I gotta get these off,” he hazily then grunted before ripping your panties off, down your legs and swiftly tossed them over his broad leather jacket-clad shoulder to the dark corner of the dirty bathroom.

He immediately let his fingers find your folds, first pinching your pussylips teasingly together, before he spread you apart for his marvelling stare.

“Look at that…” he inspected your untouched hole, grinning at the way you already cried out for him, “oh fuck…”

And without any further ado, the biker dove straight in, his calloused grasp holding you steady as he began to eat you out.

When his famished mouth soon sucked down on your clit, an uncontrollable moan tumbled out past your lips, one that you wished and hoped he didn’t notice, though he promptly groaned against your cunt, “yeah, you like that?” he glanced up at you as he smirked against your pussy.

“Y-yeah, it actually feels good…” you hesitantly admitted, forcing yourself to let go and give in to it since it would only be this one time, “…really good…”

Sloppily flicking down to taste your entrance, he soon began to fuck you with his wicked tongue, though only long enough to make you gasp before he then withdrew and licked his way back up your slit, only to sweep back down to plug you up, settling into the teasing pattern till a tingling knot began to form in the pit of your belly.

And even though you cried out at the high that soon crashed into you, your thighs clamping shut around his skull, he still didn’t cease as his mouth kept on devouring you whole, his nose all the while bumping your puffy pearl, “stop, stop!” you tried to push the biker away, “no more, it’s too much!”

“Yeah, I know,” he uttered condescendingly as he rose back up, your juices staining his salt and pepper beard, “stop complaining,” he then undid his trousers, his eyes still glued to your cunt as he got out his cock. As he jerked it slowly a couple of times before you, your lips parted in a silent gasp at his size, although it was when he swiftly inched in closer that your eyes truly grew in horror. Letting a dollop of spit drop from his mouth, first to your inner thighs, before it cascaded down to glisten up your pussy even more, he then tapped the heft weight of himself crudely against your throbbing and tender clit, making you jolt atop the sink, before he then momentarily rested his length down against your pussy, smirking fiendishly at just how deep his cock would burry itself in your body, “this isn’t about you. Your pleasure is frankly irrelevant in our deal,” he grunted as he soon drew your thighs together to envelop his dick and let him fuck them, “all you gotta do is spread your little legs and let me deflower you however the fuck I want.”

Soon the thighjob deteriorated, the leaking tip of him pressing and bumping rudely against your overly sensitive clit each time he thrust his hips forward, so it didn’t take too long before his bruising grip let go of your legs and he instead began to dedicate all of his attention to your cunt. With a few sharp taps of his hard length against the glistening softness of your puffy pussy, your frame jerked so sharply that your thighs couldn’t help but shakily part for him.

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, his pearly precum slicked up your pussy to the dripping degree that mortifying, sloppy sounds echoed through the small bathroom each time he’d callously smear his cock against your quivering entrance and through your folds.

Though when you found the courage to finally glance down and watch as the biker repeatedly parted your petals around his fat girth, you nearly tried to escape from under him as you noticed, “o-oh my god, wait, where’s the condom?”

Although, the older man only rolled his eyes and sighed as if you were an annoying little child, here to spoil all of his fun, “oh my god…”

“B-but I’m not on the pill or anything,” you squirmed as he continued to rub his hardness against your cunt, “y-you can’t–”

“Relax, I’ll just pull out,” he huffed, “this just feels so much better, trust me…”

As he kept on going, rutting against your softness like an animal in heat, you then curiously let your hand wander down your frame till your fingertips brushed against his slick dick, crudely gliding against your pussy, your stare intense as you blinked down at it.

And as you were in uncharted waters, why he hadn’t stuffed it inside yet remained a mystery, as your clenching hole was already winking and making out with his fat tip. Perhaps he was just waiting for you to pop it in yourself, seeing as it was your very first time.

Although, when your touch tried to direct his cock down to sink inside your warmth, Bucky’s palm appeared from out of nowhere and smacked your fingers away, “hey! Behave! Keep your hands to your fucking self! You don’t get to control this, I’m the one who decides how this goes down, and you sure as fuck aren’t allowed to touch anything without my permission, you got that?”

Blinking up at him with wide eyes, your voice quivered, “y-yes, sir.”

“Fucking brat…” he mumbled before his efforts then grew rougher.

Soon he had you cumming once again, your body jerking harshly at the overwhelming high and your eyes squeezing shut, rendering you to nearly miss as he soon shot his load all over your pussy and belly, painting your skin white for you to discover as you woke back up from your haze.

“I–…” your dizzy vision narrowed to a squint as you peered down at the mess he’d made, “…was that it?”

“Oh wow,” he swiftly huffed as he met your confused gaze, “no, please, tell me how you really feel.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just thought you were gonna put it inside…”

“I changed my mind, this isn’t how I wanna do it,” a smirk twitched at his lips as he casually tugged his dick away.

“What?”

“Come again tomorrow,” he met your eye once more, “you can try again.”

“And just how do you know I’ll come again?” you pushed your skirt back down to somewhat cover yourself.

“You will,” he uttered with a level of cockiness you didn’t even think was possible.

“No, I won’t,” you shifted to sit up straight as you continued to balance on the edge of the sink, “I let you touch me, I did my part of the deal, now it’s your turn.”

“The deal was to let me pop your cherry, however, I may wish,” he scoffed, “you, little miss virgin, still haven’t had a cock split that pussy open yet. And don’t fucking come at me with your generation’s ideas about how complex and broad the term of virginity actually is, fuck that shit. You’re fucking mine till I break your hymen,” he growled, sending shivers down your spine, “mine to–, how did you put it? Take it slow with?” his tongue briefly flickered out to wet his lips as it remembered moments earlier, how it had dove inside of you and felt you clamber around it.

“Y-you can’t be serious,” you gasped.

“Do I not fucking look serious?” he let your eyes dart across his stern features, “honey, if you don’t do as I say and let me do this exactly how I wanna do it, then I’ll just keep your brother on, and I won’t fucking hesitate to make the rest of his life short and like hell.”

“I-I’m sorry! How should I have known that?”

“Because I fucking told you,” Bucky’s inked palm came down upon your ass once more. His black leather belt constricted your wrists at the small of your back as he held you balanced over his lap. Your panties hanging down around your ankles, the cotton still stained from your morning activities, “I said you weren’t allowed to touch anything without my permission, that includes this little pussy of yours.”

The people in the mechanic shop still buzzed around on the other side of the office’s thin walls, making you nervous about someone potentially wandering in to see your whole world on display.

Briefly pausing his spanks to inspect your pussy, he swiftly groaned, “fucking slut…” he spread you apart crudely, “you thought you could sneak this past me and I wouldn’t notice?” he then smacked his palm against your core, his fingertips colliding harshly with your throbbing clit and making your hole clench around nothing, “that you could get this little cunt off and just think that I wouldn’t see how soaked your panties still are?” he kept on whacking, “even your fucking fingers still smell of pussy.”

“I’m s-sorry,” a murmured moan slipped through your fog as you felt your toes curl in the inevitable end that crept nearer with every slap he dealt to your aching cunt.

But unfortunately, the biker noticed and swiftly said, “are you really about to fucking cum right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed back and dug your nails into his thick thigh. However, when he then stopped his hand mid-air, denying you of the bliss, you promptly twisted to glance up at him with your hazy eyes, “w-wait–”

“One crucial lesson that you clearly need to get beaten into that young brain of yours,” he yanked his belt from your bound wrists and then bent it in half as he uttered, “is that bad girls don’t get to fucking cum,” before he began to crack the leather down upon your already sore bottom, truly marking it up with bruises.

“Ah!” you cried out as the sharp stings.

“Let me hear,” he croaked as he kept on whipping your butt.

“B-bad girls–”

“They what?”

“D-don’t get to cum–”

“That’s right,” he emphasised his words with the belt in his hand, “don’t even try and pull that stunt again. That’s two fucking strikes already… the fuck am I gonna do with you…”

Bucky had you balanced on a short tower of wide beer cases in the storage room of Nick’s bar, as he had made you hold back your legs to crack you mortifyingly open for him.

“There we go,” he murmured when, after an entire hour of edging and teasing you, the butt plug in his grasp finally sank into your little hole, “you did it,” his thumb rubbed the flared base of the metal toy.

You still didn’t understand his new obsession with your ass lately, moving entirely away from your virgin pussy to play with your other untouched hole, teasing it and stretching it out at any chance that he got. It was almost like he’d forgotten that it was your cunt that he was supposed to fuck to get this whole ordeal over with.

“C-can I come now?” you trembled as you peered down at him with hooded eyes, his face still lingering near your aching core, “I did it, I let you put that thingy in me, so can I? Please, sir?”

“How sweet of you to ask,” he chuckled lightly, “but no.”

“No?” you pouted as your throbbing cunt continued to drip before his very eyes.

“No, we don’t have time for that shit,” he straightened back up, “we gotta head out.”

“What? Where?”

“Thought it was about time you came riding with us,” you watched as he wiped off his soaked fingers on his jacket.

“Why? I don’t know how to.”

“Well, you don’t need to know in order to sit with me on my bike,” he stated, “come on, we all leave in less than five.”

“What, now?” your eyes grew even wider.

“Yeah, now,” he then grabbed your frame and hauled you over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Ah! Wait! B-Bucky!” you yelped as he kicked the door to the back room open again, “you didn’t take the toy out!” you tried to reach back to do it yourself, but he promptly smacked your fingers away, “and my underwear–, I don’t–”

“Quit your whining, you’ll survive without your panties for a bit,” he grumbled as he walked out through the bar, making you blush as he past numerous bikers, flashing everyone your parts as your short dress rid up so far that it no longer covered anything, “and the plug stays right there, you got that? Don’t you dare so much as touch it after the work I just put in to finally fit it inside of you,” he smacked your ass, “you got that?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you murmured as he exited the bar and neared the clustered motorbikes all lined up out front. At the very least, you could find a drop of solace in the fact that your brother didn’t seem to be present today.

“Good,” he then sat you down on the ground, directly next to his own shiny bike, “now, hop on.”

Glancing nervously to the intimidating motorcycle, you then uttered, “…what about a helmet?”

But instead, he just repeated more firmly this time, “hop on.”

The gang of bikers, all on their vehicles, were so loud that you nearly couldn’t hear yourself think. It was almost like you were trapped in the centre of a swarm of bees.

Slotted behind the leader on the long leather seat of his motorcycle, your arms were tightly tangled around his waist as you watched the landscape zoom by around you.

The roar of the engine beneath you was so strong that the vibrations ended up teasing you, making your bare and drippy cunt, beneath your tiny dress that flowed in the wind, leak even more and stain the seat below with your desperation. Each agonising hum of the bike even made your little ass clench around the plug, whimpers slipping from your lips when you lost the battle and couldn’t ignore it any longer.

But then, suddenly on the ride, Bucky strayed and took a detour from where the rest of the group was headed, and though you tried to ask him about it, the biker didn’t bother offering you the satisfaction.

When he finally rolled to a stop, you’d reached an outlook point at the top of a hill, without a single other person in sight.

Plucking you off of the bike once he had dismounted as well, he didn’t waver before then manhandling you and bending you over the bike like a ragdoll in his grasp.

“Bucky–, a-ah!” you squealed as he then suddenly took the steely plug out.

“Shh…” he smacked your ass in return before stuffing the slick toy into his pocket.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you watched as he freed his fat cock, “w-what are you doing?”

“What does it fucking look like I’m doing?” he crudely tapped his bulbous tip against your asshole, briefly flicking against both it, as well as straying further south to gather up some one the cream that was leaking out of your cunt, using your juices as lube to slicken up his dick, “finally filling up your little hole,” he pointed out plainly before doing just that.

“Ah!” you cried out as he sank just the tip in, “bu-but, not there!” you then felt as he withdrew once more, only to instantly dip back in and make you gasp, “that’s the wrong–, you’re supposed to–”

“Oh, I know, honey, I know…” he cooed condescendingly, “but why put a stop to our fun already when I can just fuck your ass instead?”

As he buried himself another inch, you cried out at the aching stretch, seeing as even though the biker had teased you profusely, didn’t mean that your ass was ready to be split open in such a manner in order to take his girth.

“Fuck, you’re so tiny…” he groaned from behind you as he gazed down at your trembling frame beneath him, “tight little virgin ass just doesn’t wanna let me in, huh?” his touch drifted down to trace the tight ring of your hole around his cock, struggling to open up for him, “is this princess too high and mighty to take such a big, mean biker dick?”

“P-please–,” you choked on a sob as your nails dug into the motorcycle’s seat below you.

“Please, what? Do you not like it, huh? Does it hurt?” he mocked before you offered him a shaky nod, “how about this, does this hurt?” he then suddenly snapped his hips with such ferocity that his heavy balls tapped against your neglected pussy as he buried himself inside of you completely, “just you wait…” he moaned as your little hole choked his cock, “by the time that I’m done with you, you’ll be the most perfect little anal whore…”

As you felt his palms scoop below you to rip down your neckline and spill out your tits for his touch to play with, your eyes flickered down as well, although it was something other than his rough hands that caused your vision to widen.

As one of his hands crumbled your short dress, gathering the fabric in his calloused grasp, you spotted the prominent bulge that appeared in your lower stomach, the jarring imprint shifting to the rhythm of his ruthless pace.

There was no way you would be able to cum from simply the sensation of him fucking your ass, but it did manage to keep you agonisingly close to the edge, frying your brain completely as you dizzily blinked down at how your pussy defencelessly drooled about it, begging for attention.

“Shit, you feel so good, baby…” his wide palm cracked down against the curve of your ass, “maybe I should just keep fucking you like this and never stretch out that pretty little cunt of yours…” he considered with a fiendishly smirk upon his lip, “keep you pure… only fuck your ass so that I can keep you forever…”

When he soon filled up your poor ass with his hot load and he finally pulled back out, he instead popped the plug back in, before you could even catch your breath, keeping his cum stuffed inside of you.

Sitting next to the leader of the biker gang in a booth at the bar, Bucky didn’t offer you even one single glance as he spoke with his comrades and lit up yet another cigarette.

Although, that wasn’t all he was doing that night, as below the table, his devious hand set some other plans into motion.

With his fingers buried so far up your skirt that all you could do was sit there and concentrate on breathing, all of the bustling voices around you flying over your foggy head, it didn’t take long before the older man just pulled you into his lap.

Bucky simply carried on his conversations as normal, not caring one bit if other folks thought that you were just a pretty girl merely sitting on him, or if they knew what he was actually doing, that he was in fact making you warm his cock, on his selfish detour of a mission to stretch out your ass.

Maybe the dazed look on your face gave it away, or perhaps the way that his palm, that rested on your core to keep you steady and keep you in his lap, how it occasionally offered your wet pussy a slap loud enough to echo out through the entire bar. But even so, no one seemed to care, as it was only your heated cheeks that acknowledged the embarrassment.

But eventually, when he had downed his drink, he dragged your cockdrunk being out of the establishment, through the back and into the alley behind the bar. For a moment, you thought that he was gonna take you home to his own place, somewhere that you had practically begun to live in yourself, but instead of storming towards his bike, he didn’t get further than that passageway as he instead shoved you up against the rough brick wall and kissed you.

Spinning you around so that your front collided with the wall, he then stuffed your ass once again, a strange sensation that you had begun to get used to, though still wasn’t too fond of. But even so, you had still learned by now that complaining was of no use and would only egg the criminal on further, so if you wanted a shot at being able to still walk afterwards, then you’d learned to simply keep your mouth shut.

Smacking your puffy pussy once again, his grunts melted against your ear as you felt two of his fingertips sinking into your cunt, just barely slipping in at all, only hooking them to keep you in place as he railed your butt.

And though you tried not to orgasm, as the biker had repeatedly told you for the entirety of the night that you weren’t allowed such privileges, when the root of his rough palm grinded down against your throbbing clit, you were so edged that you helplessly squirted all over his palm.

Pulling out, he promptly growled, “the fuck did I tell you?” as he slapped your cheek with the hand that was still soaked from your cunt.

“I-I’m sorry, I was trying, I swear–”

“What’ll it take for you to get that this isn’t about you?” he spun you around to face him once more, “you’re not supposed to like it, you’re supposed to be a good little slut and make me feel good, you got it? Focus on me, not what that pussy wants. She’s a dumb little virgin anyways, doesn’t know what she really wants, so just shut up and take it,” your brows knit together at the sensitivity as he then reached down to drag his throbbing cock through your dripping folds, “you begged for it,” gathering your juices on his way to fill your ass back up, “begged for me to let your dear brother go. You got yourself into this mess, so be a good little fuck toy and just do as I say…”

“…been shut down since the sixties, even since people caught wind of all of the nefarious things the headmasters let slide for generations,” Bucky uttered as you walked by his side down one of the long and dusty hallways of the abandoned boarding school that he had wanted to show you.

Though the biker had claimed that the reason for dragging you there was purely because he thought you’d love the local lore, try as he might to make it seem that way, in reality, it was all just a ruse.

“How do you know about all of this?” you asked as you slowed your step to peek inside of other rooms you passed.

“Well,” he tilted his head as he then shared, “believe it or not, once upon a time, I was also a history major.”

“Really?” you whipped your head around to look at the older man, “you went to college?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as you followed his stride, “or well, for a few months,” he added, “I loved every second of it though…”

“Then why did you drop out?” you blinked back at him.

“I didn’t drop out,” he met your eye, as if the truth was too obvious to even point out, “I was locked up.”

“Oh,” your puzzled expression promptly dropped, “oh…”

Slipping out of the corridor, the pair of you then entered a grand room that a rusty plaque by the door stated was the old headmaster’s office. The glass was cracked in the huge bay window that stood behind the dust-cloaked mahogany desk in the middle of the room.

Your slow steps caused the dirty floorboards below to creak and groan as you let your eyes dance around the spines of the numerous books that still littered the dark bookcases.

Curving around the desk, you then cracked open the large ledger, that lied hidden among the other knick-knacks, and began to skim the list of names, presumably of the children who had lived here.

“This is wild…” you couldn’t help but whisper as you let a finger ghost down the page.

“Yeah…” Bucky’s voice tickled your ear as he crept up behind you, “just imagine if you’d been alive back then… I mean, this is where you’d have ended up…” he stated before letting his lips dip down and kiss your neck as you kept on reading, “and being the troublemaker I know you to be, you’d probably have ended up in here all of the time…” he smirked against your skin before you felt his palm smack your ass, “getting fucking reprimanded, probably getting on everyone’s nerve enough for them to just drop you off at the local whorehouse to get you out of their hair…”

Fingers coasting up your front, the older man then caught your jaw and twisted it enough for him to catch your lips. Turning you around to face him completely, the kiss then swiftly grew sloppy as he drew you closer.

Soon, one of his arms extended behind you to carelessly clear the desk, sweeping every item to the ground, before he then scooped you up to sit on the edge.  

The biker had gotten into a habit at this point of not letting you wear any panties, in addition to preferring things like skirts and dresses that granted him easy access. Today had been one of those days, rendering the mild breeze that seeped through the cracked windows flowed in and kissed your cunt directly, sending shivers down your spine as the older man spread your thighs to slot himself in between them.

“Give me your hands,” he soon murmured against the kiss, though when you then held them out in the sliver of space between you both, Bucky reached into his back pocket and conjured a zip tie, which he then swiftly fastened around your wrists.

His kisses then suddenly ceased before he backed up a few steps, taking a moment to admire as you panted up at him, slightly sloped back on top of the desk, legs trembling to stay parted for him after the loss of contact, and with your bound hands resting against the swell of your tits. Undoing his dark pants, he then freed his cock simply because the sight of you made him throb too hard not to offer himself a few strokes. His consuming stare flickered momentarily in deliberation, before he then finally shifted back into your orbit.

As he tapped his heavy cock against your cunt, you couldn’t help but blink down at how huge he looked pressed up against your softness. Your stare only widened when he then humoured himself and lined his fat length up against your belly to see just how far inside of you that his cock would reach, “look at that… that’s how fucking deep I’ll get…” he groaned as he drew his dick back down, the details of him dragging against your aching clit, “rearrange your guts just to make room for me…”

You naturally assumed that this was all talk, as it usually was, that he would once again ignore your virgin pussy and opt for your well-trained ass instead. But when his pussyjob then grew sloppier and he actually did push against your untouched opening, not simply in a cruel and teasing nudge, but one that persisted till the bulbous tip of him eventually popped inside, just a tad, making you gasp loudly, “oh my god…” all you could focus on was the burning stretch of him splitting you open, before you then blinked down and realised what he was finally doing, “oh my god!”

“That’s right… I’m your fucking god now…” he groaned as you clambered around him, struggling to take him as he had purposely not given your pussy any attention at all up till now, “holy shit… look at that tight little cunt opening up for me…”

Soon, on his slow and bullying journey inside, his hardness was met with some resistance. But instead of fretting, the older man simply dragged his fat cock back out, slowly withdrawing it till he barely remained inside of you at all, before he then thrust forward once more, carving his way back in before he reached it again, only to initiate that pattern and repeat it, knocking on the thin wall again and again with steadily growing harshness till he broke it.

Though an outright scream left your form at the painful sting, the biker let out a moan just as rumbling as he sank in a bit further before then sliding back out to just the tip and grinning down at the crimson now decorating the half of his monstrous length that he had fit inside of you so far.

“Well, would you fucking look at that…” he then reached down, his touch briefly skimming over your clit before his fingers drifted down to part and pull on either side of his thick cock, spreading your pussy open even more to let him see how he broke you open. Smearing some blood on his digits, he then brought them up to his own mouth for a taste. His eyes rolled shut as he sucked them clean, groaning against his fingers as your eyes widened in horror. But when he then reached down for more, he instead uttered, “here, taste your fucking virginity,” and before you could try and twist away, not giving you a choice in the matter, he shoved his crimson digits into your mouth.

It tasted like iron and sin.

Crudely fucking his fingers in and out of your mouth, he didn’t let you breathe again before he’d reached far enough down your throat to make you gag on them.

Briefly dipping down, he dragged his tongue against the corner of your lips, licking up the little bit of blood that had smeared against your skin, “so, how does it fucking feel to finally have a cock all up in this little cunnie of yours, huh?” his deep voice vibrated against your hot cheek.

“F-feels–,” you panted, “weird–,” your eyes squeezed shut tightly as you tried to comprehend the staggering sensation, “nghh…h-hurts.”

“Oh, that’s so good, baby,” he only grinned before he placed a peck upon your brow, “that’s just perfect…”

Snapping into your cunt with more force, his pace increased as he attempted to stuff the remainder of his length inside of you.  

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh…” your gasps bubbled out of you to the rhythm of his harsh hips.

“I want you to cum on my cock,” you then heard him growl.

“I-I don’t know if I can–,” you swiftly shook your head as it felt as if he was splitting you in two, “it’s too much–”

“I don’t fucking care, you will do it,” he reached down and began to rub your poor clit, making you choke on a strangled moan, “come on, let me feel it,” he begged as his tight circles pressed down harder, “just let go, you can do it. Cream all over my cock, kiddo…”

Tears were streaming down your face by the time that a dangerous sense of warmth formed in the pit of your belly, and your entire body soon contracted painfully as he forced the agonising orgasm out of you.

“Fuck, that’s it, goddamn… that’s what I’m fucking talking about,” he grunted as your cunt clambered so tightly around him that his selfishness became even more agonising, “uh, do that again and you’ll make me nut so hard inside of you,” he muttered, though you barely heard his voice through your haze.

“Y-you, what–, ah!” you cried out as he then ignored your blubbering and suddenly buried himself completely, finally cramming the last few inches inside of your warmth, “t-too deep!” you struggled to suck in a breath as the tip of him nudged against your cervix as if it was threatening to burst through and fuck directly into your womb.

“No, I’m not too deep, this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Your little fuckhole is supposed to take every single inch of me,” he chuckled down at the imprint of himself that bulged through your belly, “look at that… you see me right there, baby?” he pressed his palm down against it, making you squirm, “you see me all up in your guts?”

“Holy fuck…” you blinked down at it, mouth agape as it was so much more jarringly prominent when it was your pussy that he was wrecking and not just your poor ass.

“Oh, babygirl…” he kept his strokes long and rough, repeatedly withdrawing to the tip before slamming back in till his heavy sack smacked against the mess that had soaked your skin, “that’s right… that’s my fucking hole…” his eyes stayed glued between your trembling legs, “fucking split open and crying all over me… christ…”

Your strangled moans soon withered away as his inked fingers found your throat and didn’t stop squeezing till black dots began to dance around your dizzy vision.

The desk rattled beneath you when he eventually groaned, “fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

“P-pull–, o-out–,” you panicked in a squeak that he swiftly silenced completely when his grip only tightened, cutting off your air supply even more as he continued to brutally fuck you.

Even after he had pumped your pussy full of his load, the biker still didn’t stop completely, as his pace only slowed as he continued to rut his sensitive cock inside of you in a possessive attempt at fucking his load even deeper, although all his fat girth truly did was to force the sticky mess to gush back out.

“O-oh my god,” you blinked down his cum gradually leaking out around him, “did you just–”

“Doll, if I haven’t knocked you up already,” he panted, making you remember the countless of things he had done. From the times that he had filled up your ass with his load and droplets had dripped down to your needy pussy, or when he’d cum in your panties and forced you to wear them for the remainder of the day, or even the few times when the biker had cum on your cunt and rubbed the mess against your skin before stuffing as much of it inside of your hole as he could manage, “then I just gotta make sure that I do it now…” he continued to roll his hips, “this way you’re stuck with me…” he caught your eye just as his painfully slow pace began to bloom horrifying tingles deep within your belly once more, “this way you get to be mine forever…”

So yes, you knew exactly what you were doing when you laid out by the pool in your backyard wearing the skimpiest bikinis you could find, the kind that barely covered your tits and ass—all in perfect view of Andy Barber’s kitchen window. 

If you’d wanted to justify your actions to yourself, you certainly could’ve. 

It was late summer in Massachusetts, and between the unforgiving sun and the sweltering humidity, the August heat was high already by eight o’clock in the morning. It made sense that you sat out by the pool so early since it would be unbearable by nine. 

But that’s not why you really did it. 

You did it to put on a show for your neighbor, the hot, single lawyer with the soft brown hair and piercing blue eyes—the man who was so handsome, he had you acting thirstier than a desperate housewife (despite you being single and unmarried). 

Really, you did it because you got a thrill out of the idea that Andy Barber could see you laying there in your barely there bikini. And you kept doing it because you knew he did, in fact, watch you.

A movement in the corner of your eye had you biting back a smirk because you knew your neighbor had finally joined you for the morning. You kept your gaze focused on the e-reader in your lap, pretending you didn’t know that Andy was standing in his kitchen window, watching you while he sipped his morning coffee. 

This had become something of a routine for the two of you. 

Every morning during the week, you’d drag yourself out of bed at an ungodly hour, throw on a fresh bikini—the skimpier the better—and make yourself a coffee that you drank while sitting by the pool and “reading.” 

Truthfully, you didn’t get much reading done anymore, not since you’d noticed you had an audience. Before Andy showed, you were too hyperaware of the Barber house and its sole resident, waiting for him to appear in his normal spot. And after, you were too distracted by having his eyes on you to focus on your book. 

Each morning, you’d wait with eager anticipation for Andy to appear at the window of his kitchen. He was little more than a smudge of shadow, almost entirely hidden behind the glare of the sun. But you could see he was there, mug in hand, as he stood looking out over his backyard—and yours.

Every morning, Monday through Friday, you’d bask in the feeling of his eyes raking appreciatively over your body for as long as it took him to drink his coffee. Your skin would warm from more than the summer sun, and arousal would spark to life between your thighs, excitement zinging through your blood as Andy watched you “read.”

Once he was done with his coffee, he’d set his mug in the sink and disappear from the window. A little while later, you’d hear the sound of the side door opening and closing, then Andy getting in his car and leaving for work. 

At that point, you’d go inside to start your own day, sitting down to work from home in the small office in your house. More often than not, you’d still be simmering with pent-up desire, wishing the divorced lawyer next door would do something about the little shows you put on for him, but suspecting he never would.

Despite how often you were left feeling frustrated, your mornings with Andy Barber had become your favorite part of your daily routine. You liked the feeling of his eyes on you, the slight taboo nature of him looking at your scantily clad body from the relative privacy of his home. 

You also just liked…him. Andy was friendly every time you crossed paths, asking questions about the vegetable garden you’d started in you backyard, and offering to mow your lawn when your grass had grown too long and you risked the HOA’s wrath. 

You liked that he was nice and attentive—and that he had a secret dark side only you knew about. 

Because, while you knew that you enjoyed your little morning shows for Andy, you suspected he liked them just as much. Otherwise he would’ve said something to you or, barring that, stopped appearing at his kitchen window when you were laying almost naked by your pool. 

If he’d stopped showing up to watch you in the mornings, you would’ve taken that as a sign it made him uncomfortable and stopped laying out in your skimpiest bikinis. But he kept showing up every morning, so you did as well. 

Still, as summer neared its end, a restless frustration had been building in your blood, and it worsened every day Andy didn’t do or say anything. You knew your morning routine would have to come to an end when the weather turned cold, and you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to lay out in the mornings. 

If whatever this thing was between you and Andy was going to continue after summer ended, someone was going to have to make a move, and you were determined for it to be him. After all, you’d taken the first step of putting yourself out there. It was his turn. 

But the lawyer seemed determined to let things continue as they were. So, you continued to grow increasingly frustrated.

Maybe you’d have to do something about it, give Andy a little nudge and let him know you were ready for more…

Keeping your eyes fixed on your e-reader, you sat up, arching your spine to stick out your tits, then rolled over onto your front. You settled onto your stomach on the sun lounger, wiggling your ass much more than was necessary to get comfortable, making sure to give Andy a good show of how little your bikini covered.

Unable to stop yourself, you risked a look over your shoulder under the guise of grabbing your coffee and taking a sip. Your eyes were hidden behind your sunglasses as you glanced toward the Barber house’s kitchen window, finding the broad-shouldered outline of Andy in the sunlit glass.

Desire licked down your spine, settling heavily between your thighs, and you squirmed a little. Pretending to shift and get comfortable, you arched your spine and lifted your ass up off the lounger, spreading your thighs just enough that Andy would be able to see how your bottoms barely covered your pussy. 

You held the position as long as you thought you could get away with it, then settled down on the cushions of the sun lounger with a sigh, your eyes back on the e-reader. A quick glance at the Barber house told you Andy was still standing at his window, raising his mug of coffee to his mouth as he watched you. 

Frustration surged through your body and you had to bite back a growl. Was he just going to watch you forever without saying anything? Did you have to shove your hand between your thighs and fuck yourself with your fingers to get him to do something? 

Would that finally make him snap? 

You pictured it—the sight of Andy storming across his backyard and into yours, his stupid mug forgotten in his kitchen so his hands were free to grab you and flip you over, spreading your thighs and pushing your bikini aside so he could sink his fingers into your slick cunt. 

You’d bet anything Andy Barber knew exactly what to do with fingers, that he’d pump them perfectly into your tight hole, curling them just enough to brush against that spot inside you. He’d work your body like he owned it, fucking you with his long, thick fingers until you were arching up off the lounger and coming apart with a sharp cry. 

With a soft sigh, you pushed the fantasy from your mind. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t really think the buttoned-up lawyer had it in him to do something so bold, especially not out in the open in your backyard, where any of the neighbors could hear you. 

Every time you’d spoken to Andy, he was so calm and composed. It seemed impossible to ruffle his feathers, so it was difficult to imagine him actually snapping like that just because you fingered yourself in front of him. 

But you’d never know if you didn’t try…

Lifting your head, you looked around your yard, reassuring yourself that the tall leafy oaks and branching pines bordering your property did fully block the view from the other houses. It was only Andy who could see anything—and from where he stood in his kitchen window, he could see everything you wanted to show him.

So you decided to show him something new, something you’d never dared do while he watched you from his house, even though it wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it. You were so frustrated and turned on, you couldn’t get the idea out of your head, so you decided to go with it. 

If Andy didn’t enjoy the show, he’d leave or say something—and either would be better than his persistent silence.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you propped yourself up on one elbow and slipped your other hand under your body. You pushed beneath the fabric of your bikini, and the first brush of your fingers against your eager slit was so good, the arm holding you up began to shake. 

Lowering yourself back down to the lounger, you pushed your ass into the air. The position gave your hand more room to move as you played with your pussy beneath your bikini, your knuckles pressing against the fabric in a way that made it unmistakable what you were doing.

Your breaths came in sharp pants as your fingertips circled your hole, teasing your drippy slit before pressing just barely inside, gathering your wetness and using it to make a mess of your folds. It was so hot, touching yourself out in the open, that it wasn’t long before you were soaking your fingers.

As you played with yourself, your cheek was pressed to the cushion of the sun lounger, and you let a soft moan slip from your lips while you worked your fingers between your thighs. By the time you pushed a finger into your pussy, you were so wet, you could hear the sloppy sounds your slit made over the ambient noises of the neighborhood. 

While you added a second finger to your greedy hole, stretching yourself slightly and making you moan again, your eyes drifted to the kitchen window of the Barber house. A thrill shot down your spine when you saw Andy still stood there. 

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t think he was holding his coffee mug anymore. It looked like his hands were braced on the counter, his body leaning forward like he was trying to get a better look at you through his window.

Your pussy gushed with even more wetness at the idea of him staring at you while you played with yourself, your neighbor transfixed by the show you were giving him. It was unbelievably hot to know that you were touching yourself while Andy watched, ratcheting up the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You conjured a clearer picture of the lawyer in your mind’s eye, imagining the way Andy had looked the last time you’d seen him as you added a third finger to your weeping, desperate cunt. It had been a brief interaction, he’d waved to you from his driveway when you were outside getting the mail.

He was so fucking handsome, with his bright, intelligent blue eyes, soft fluffy brown hair, and that perfect pink mouth framed by his dark beard. He’d been smiling when you saw him, the expression almost reluctant, like even his face was unsure about shifting out of its serious mask. 

At the time, it had sent your heart trilling in your chest and, as you remembered it, the building tension in your body tightened, the image of Andy smiling at you turning you on even more. 

You wanted to drag another reaction out of the stoic lawyer—god, you would’ve given anything to be able to see him better in that moment, to see how your show was making him react. 

Were his eyes dark and intense with lust? Was his cock hard in the slacks of his suit? Was he barely holding himself back from taking his hard cock in hand and jerking off to you?

Your thoughts were fixed entirely on the lawyer next door, but all you could see was a smudge of rigid shoulders and braced arms behind the glare of the sun on Andy Barber’s kitchen window.

Still, you stared at it—at him—as you played with your pussy. You fucked yourself while your neighbor watched, pushing yourself closer and closer to your release with every pump of your fingers inside your tight hole. 

You were getting close to reaching your peak when the limits of your position became too frustrating to ignore. You couldn’t move your arm enough, with the way it was trapped beneath your body, and you needed more—you needed to really fuck yourself. 

So you flipped over onto your back, your e-reader clattering to the concrete pool deck. You didn’t spare it a second thought as you settled onto your back on the cushions of the sun lounger and got comfortable with your body facing Andy’s window.

Long past caring about maintaining any sense of propriety, you spread your legs wide and shoved your hand back into your bikini, plunging three fingers into your wet, aching hole.

Your spine arched up off the lounger at the sudden, delicious intrusion, and you threw your head back, a breathy whimper falling from your lips. You could only hope that it carried across to Andy’s window and not through the trees to your other neighbors, but you were too far gone to care if anyone else heard you.

Opening your eyes just enough to make sure the lawyer was still watching you, you found Andy standing in the window of his kitchen. A grin teased at the corners of your lips when you found you still had a rapt audience, and you decided to give him even more of a show.

The fingers of your free hand hooked around the neckline of your bikini, and you pulled the fabric down until your tits popped out. Your nipples, hard and peaked and begging for attention, were bared to the sweltering summer heat, and you arched your back, shoving them toward Andy’s window as if in offer. 

For a moment, you left your tits on display, giving your neighbor a chance to look his fill, then you began to play with them. You teased and plucked your nipples, dragging them away from your body so your soft flesh bounced back. Your chest heaved and you gasped for breath as sparks of pleasure went straight to your clit. 

Groping one of your soft breasts, you pinched your nipple roughly enough that you felt your pussy pulse around your fingers, more desire dripping into your palm. It felt so good, you had to bite your lip to keep quiet and not draw the attention of anyone else, but that only made you hotter, knowing you were putting on a show for Andy only. 

Spreading your thighs wider and hiking your knees up toward your chest, you focused again on fucking your needy pussy. Your fingers and slit were still mostly hidden by your bikini, but it was obvious what you were doing, your hand moving beneath the fabric as you pumped your fingers into your greedy hole.

You fucked yourself so fast and hard, your body was writhing uncontrollably on the sun lounger, your other hand playing mindlessly with your nipples. Your pleasure ratcheted higher and higher, and still, Andy’s shadow lurked in his kitchen window. You could feel his eyes watching your every move.

You stared right back at him from behind your tinted sunglasses, working yourself up to the edge of your release. For one long, desperate moment you hung suspended in your pleasure. 

Your lips, swollen from biting them to stay quiet, formed a single word: Andrew.

And then you rubbed your thumb over you clit and made yourself cum. 

Your mouth fell open on a silent scream as every muscle in your body pulled taut. Pleasure burst through your core and radiated out in blissful waves, your arms and legs beginning to tremble under the sheer force of your release. Your shoulders squirmed and your hips bucked against your hand, your thighs quivering as you succumbed to the pleasure.

When the last overwhelming waves of your release ebbed, you sucked in a deep breath and relaxed back onto your lounger. Your fingers were still idly stroking your clit and making your limbs jerk and shudder from the overstimulation while a dazed smile curved your lips. 

Lazily, you dragged your eyes back to the kitchen window of the Barber house. You watched the smudge of shadow standing there drain his coffee mug and set it into the sink. Then he disappeared. 

A few minutes later, his side door opened and closed, and you heard his car. It was just like every other morning, and you had to blink a few times, as you heard his car drive away through the neighborhood, before it dawned on you that he really left.

Andy had left for work—he’d left you, with your hand still shoved between your thighs after you’d given him a show unlike any other. Despite the sated, loose feeling in your body, your stomach sank with disappointment.

You’d tried not to get your hopes up that your latest show would finally prompt a response from the serious lawyer next door, but it was still disheartening to realize he hadn’t been swayed to act. You couldn’t possibly have made it clearer that you wanted him, and he’d just…gone to work like it was any other morning.

Hot frustration and burning anger flared in your belly, chasing away the remnants of your pleasure until all that was left was a sour, used feeling. You didn’t like it, so you shoved yourself up from the lounger, tottering for a moment on weak legs. Before you could fall back down, you locked your knees and stood tall. 

You’d had enough of Andy Barber and his passive participation in whatever this was between the two of you. 

Righting your bikini, you dove into the pool and let the cool water block out the rest of the world while you fumed to yourself. You wanted more from Andy than him being a passive audience while you put on a show for him, but since neither of you had spoken about your morning peep shows, you didn’t know how else to tell him.

You’d thought that escalating from laying out in your skimpiest bikinis to getting yourself off in front of him, and mouthing his name while you came, might’ve prompted him to do something. But no. Apparently Andy was happy with just watching—and, unfortunately, you were not. Not anymore. You wanted more.

So you decided you were done. You were done giving your neighbor a free peep show every morning. No matter how much you liked him and wanted him to make the next move, it wasn’t worth it if you were just going to end up feeling used. 

Instead, you were going to go back to the way things were before the summer had changed everything. You’d act as if he were any of your other neighbors. You knew how to be a good neighbor, so you’d be friendly, of course, but that was all.

Resolved, you emerged from the pool and quickly dried off, attempting to push all thoughts of Andy from your mind.

So you’d wanted him more than he’d wanted you, big deal. You told yourself you’d get over it as you cleaned up your things from the pool deck and headed inside, assured that your decision to back off was the right one. 

If Andy Barber wanted something from you—whether it was another show, a cup of sugar, or anything else—he was going to have to ask. Nicely.

part 1 ☀️ part 2 (coming soon!) ☀️ part 3 (coming soon!)

When he finally let go of your wrist, you settled timidly against the wall and watched as he sat down his gym bag and began to change.

“I don’t wanna hear any complaining, alright?” your stepbrother muttered as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the bag, “I didn’t bring you along tonight just so you could be a brat,” he then began to switch his pants out with some dark shorts, “come on, let me hear it. Say that you won’t be a brat.”

Blinking down at your shoes, you echoed quietly, “I won’t be a brat…”

Sitting down on the bench to swap out his shoes, he cast you a fleeting glare, “and you’ll do as I say?”

“Okay…” you nodded in return.

“No being lame,” he went on, bending over to tie off his sneakers, “and certainly no talking to any of the other folks here. You come to me or Curtis, that’s it, but only if you’re not gonna run your mouth, if so, then just don’t speak at all,” he grumbled, making you scared to open your mouth at all, causing him to misunderstand your silence, “hey! You listening?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry,” you flinched as he momentarily raised his tone.

“Okay,” he sloped back down to finish fastening his shoelaces, “good.”

Soon thereafter, Curtis impatiently poked his head in through the door to the changing room.

“Hey, you ready?” the man with a buzzcut swivelled his head till his eyes landed on his friend, “come on, dude. I thought you were gonna help me train for my next match.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, calm down,” Steve exhaled as he rose from the bench.

“Well, good,” Curtis leaned his weight against the doorframe, “here I thought you were trying to chicken out of our little sparring match.”

“As if,” your stepbrother chuckled cockily at the playful jab.

“So, you ready?” the fratbro furrowed his brows as he watched his friend head towards his gym bag instead of the exit.

“Almost,” Steve croaked as he opened up a compartment on the side before shooting you a glance, “bend over,” he murmured the command.

“W-what?” you briefly looked between the two Kappa Alpha Nu members.

“Didn’t you just agree to do as I say?” his eyes promptly narrowed to a squint before he repeated harshly, “bend the fuck over, right now.”

“But, someone could walk in,” you continued to stand still.

“Do I have to make you or are you gonna do it yourself?” he warned before you then finally fulfilled his demand and nervously strayed to the nearby sink and leaned down against it, “there you go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

In the rusty mirror behind the sink, you saw the reflection of both of the older students, briefly leaning in to whisper something in each other’s ears, causing the air in the locker room to shift, before your stepbrother then fished a small item out of his bag.

Walking up behind you as you pondered what the little thing in his palm could be, Steve then snatched your panties off, down your legs and stole them, “I’ll just take these.”

“But–”

Curtis then swiftly saddled up next to you and grabbed your face before you could whine anymore, “don’t worry, you won’t be needing them,” he then pinched your cheeks together, making your lips pucker, before he smothered them with his own.  

As he kissed you, Steve behind you, flipped up your skirt, and without another word, began to eat you out.

“Oh my–,” you promptly began to squeal and withdrew from the peck as your stepbrother instantly began by lapping his brash tongue against your tiny asshole instead of your pussy.

Tickling your little rosebud, his voice then vibrated against your skin, making your eyes flutter slightly, “you know, for someone so shy, you sure are loud. It’s like you want an audience.”

“Steve,” you whined as he kept on licking to your despair.

“He’ll be done in a second, don’t worry, sweetpea,” Curtis’ tone tickled the shell of your ear as you tried to peek back at your stepbrother, “he’s just gotta do something to get you prepped for tonight.”

“Tonight?” your head whipped around, “what do you mean? What’s tonight?” you asked before glancing to the kneeling man behind you once again, “I thought you were dropping me off at my dorm after this.”

“Of course I’m not. You’re sleeping over,” Steve chuckled condescendingly before a sharp sigh suddenly broke up his merriment and made him shoot you a look, “would you quit wiggling? Stand still, sis,” before he then glanced to his friend and asked, “Curt, would you mind?” to which the other boxer’s brawny arms swiftly grabbed your frame to lock you in place.

You then felt something nudge against your little hole, although it didn’t feel like a finger.

“What’s that?” you tried to peek over your shoulder, but Curtis held you in place.

“Just a little something I want you to hold onto for me,” Steve tried to push it inside, but your little ass was still too tight, “damn it…” he then rose up and met your eye in the mirror, “open your mouth for me.”

“Wha–, oomph–,” your words were promptly muffled as he then stuffed the pair of anal beads in his grasp into your mouth, “there you go…” he hummed as you began to suck on the purple silicone, “get it nice and wet…” he then pulled it back out, one bulb at a time popping out from your lips.

Sinking back down to his knees on the ground behind you, he then began to stuff the toy inside of you, while Curtis’ cheek pressed against your own, intently watching your reaction in the mirror. Holding you still, he soon captured your lips in a sloppy make-out, simply in order to keep your whines to a minimum.

Your face scrunched up as Steve made your ass swallow the toy up, one glistening bead at a time, since you hadn’t yet gotten used to, or grown fond of, the strange sensation of having that part of you played with, although, the fact that they hadn’t bothered to warm you up enough also didn’t make it easier for you.

When it was finally all the way inside, with just the flared loop at the base poking out, your stepbrother flipped your skirt back down before offering your ass a swift smack, hard enough to make you jump slightly as your little hole clenched around the beads.

“Alright, now I’m ready to go train,” he unceremoniously announced as he rose back up, briefly clapping his pal on his shoulder, “let’s fucking go, dude.”  

Nightfall had come, and the gym had grown empty as the only souls remaining were the two men up in one of the rings, finally wrapping up their final sparring match, as well as yourself, still glued to the bench you had been planted on, your eyelids heavy as you tried to stay awake.

Though you’d previously peeped on Steve back home when he’d throw punches at a bag, it was something else entirely to see him, as well as everyone else in the space, exhibiting such violence that both scared you to your core, but also bloomed a different sensation that you didn’t quite comprehend, some twisted part of you that your stepbrother had finally broken in his favour.

As Curtis grinned back at your stepbrother victoriously, Steve swiftly snapped his fingers at you while he caught his breath, ordering you to go grab them their stuff that was resting on the bench beside you.

A soft hiss slipped from your lungs when you finally moved out of your frozen position and the toy inside of you shifted. Fetching their towels and bottles of water, you then carefully crawled into the ring, cautious not to move too severely. You’d finally kinda gotten used to the sensation of the anal beads when you were merely sitting down, but now that you were finally moving again, it was suddenly something different entirely. Naturally, the guys noticed the faces you tried to keep at bay and just chuckled mockingly at you, sharing a look at the way you were waddling.

Raising his fist, Curtis ripped open the velcro on his boxing glove with his teeth, revealing his inked hand beneath before he tore the other one off. Handing him his stuff, you then scrambled to set down the rest of the items in your grasp as you saw your stepbrother simply extending both of his gloves hands in your direction, making you remove them for him like the princess that he was.

“Come on, hurry up,” he muttered, still out of breath as you hurried to take them off.

The both of them then downed half of the contents in their water bottles and wiped the sweat from their brows as they high-fived a moment and joked about the session.

“So, what do I get?” Curtis soon asked, flashing you his gleaming pride.

“Huh?”

“I won, didn’t I?” he took a single step closer to the side where you stood, “so, what’s my prize, sweetheart?”

Throwing Steve a glance, he then just uttered expectantly, “go on, give him a kiss.”

And so, you then slowly closed the distance and raised yourself up onto your tiptoes to give him a peck. Except, when your lips brushed against his own, the boxer grabbed onto you, and didn’t just draw it out unnecessarily longer, but also turned up the heat, unravelling it so much that by the time that it finally stopped, you were pressed up against the ropes and panting as a string of saliva snapped back against your heated skin.

Breathlessly, you blink back at your stepbrother as a sting of nerves crept up your spine, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to have any objections.

“Well, don’t I get something as well?” Steve’s lips twisted into a smirk, “I think I deserve a kiss to cheer me up. I am your big stepbrother after all, so it’s the very least you can do.”  

Walking over to his side, you then pressed a soft kiss against the bruise that was steadily blooming on his cheekbone.

“Aw, that’s cute,” he swiftly chuckled as you withdrew, “but that’s not where I want you to kiss me…” though as his words only confused you, he then gestured for you to kneel before him. As you sank down to be at eye level with the tent in his shorts, he then uttered, “that’s it, good girl…” smirking down at you as your bright eyes found his own, “now, take it out.”

Though when you didn’t shift your hands in the slightest and instead just glanced around the vacant gym, you heard as Curtis pointed out, “we’re the last ones here.”

“But what if someone else comes in?” you looked to the front door and the sidewalk visible on the other side of the façade’s windows.

“Well then that someone will get to see what a little slut you are,” Steve muttered before snapping his fingers, “come on, if you don’t wanna get caught, then fucking get to it. Chop, chop!”

Tugging down the elastic waistband, his hardness was already straining against the fabric of his shorts before it sprang free and smacked him in his abs.

Pressing a peck to the precum leaking tip of him, “that’s it, baby…” Steve’s fingers swiftly enveloped the base of him, tilting his fat cock up and out of your mouth’s reach, “don’t forget about the nuts,” he made you worship his heavy balls that he then granted you better access to. The salty musk of his sweat was the first thing that dripped down upon your tongue, though unexpectedly, it weirdly made your cunt begin to throb, “there you go… attagirl…”

Though, he didn’t let you drool on his sack for too long before he buried his grasp in your hair, claiming all of the control for himself as he shifted you, swiftly letting himself fuck your face like a fleshlight.

Curtis soon began to palm himself through his shorts as he watched for a bit, though it wasn’t till you noticed the flash of the camera on his phone that you glanced over to notice him snapping a quick picture to share with the rest of the frat.  

Joining in, the man with a buzzcut grabbed your hand as you gurgled around your stepbrother’s dick, guiding your touch to envelop his own girth and jerk him off to the pace he set for you.

But soon, Steve’s hands hooked underneath your arms and pulled you up to your feet, “come here,” he grunted as Curtis shifted in closer, sandwiching you in between both of their brawny figures, “aw, your cute little cunt is already so wet,” your stepbrother reached down to smack your pussy before he brashly stuffed two of his thick fingers inside, “is that all from choking on my cock or are you actually beginning to like this?” his other hand curved around to cruelly flick flared loop on base of the anal beads.

“Mhh,” you squirmed against them both, “don’t–”

“Oh, so it was the face fucking. Good to know,” Steve’s voice tickled the shell of your ear as his digits reached even deeper, “if your oral fixation is really that bad, then maybe we should just get you a lollipop or something to nurse on whenever we want you ready and dripping,” he suggested, though you couldn’t believe his fantasy would actually work, but the image was still jarring none the less.

Fingering you till you nearly came, your stepbrother’s digits promptly withdrew as he felt your cunt begin to flutter around him, denying you of the sweet high.

Whirling you around, Steve then suddenly plucked you up into his arms, your spine melting back against his burly chest, as he cracked you open and presented you to his fraternity brother.

“Here you go, champ,” he winked at Curtis over your shoulder.

As he lined himself up, briefly parting your glistening petals with his girth, the boxer then suddenly punched all of the air out of your lungs as he showed no mercy and abruptly thrust his cock balls deep inside of you.

“O-oh, shit!” you promptly gasped shakily.

“What, angel?” he slowly withdrew to just the tip before snapping back in, making you leak crudely around him, “oh, I’m sorry, was that too much?” he mocked, “was that too much dick all at once?” his thumb and forefinger caught your chin to tilt up your pout from the way that he rearranged your guts, to instead look him in the eyes, “god… one would think your big stepbrother would have trained you better,” he playfully uttered and he threw Steve a glance as he held you still and let his friend buck up into you and use your sweet little pussy.

“Alright, alright, I’m doing what I can,” Steve then began to move you, lifting you up and down like a ragdoll in his grasp, fucking you onto Curtis’ cock as his hips locked up, “it’s not my fault she’s such a little baby.”

Helpless between them, as they’d already pushed you so dangerously close, it didn’t take long for you to tumble over the edge, your loud cry echoing throughout the gym.

“Oh my god, look at that! Fucking creaming all over my cock already!” Curtis groaned as he lowered his gaze, “I think you like having your pussy fucking beaten up,” your milky desperation coated his thick dick and created a sloppy ring at the base of him, “a little one, two, quick jab right there to that spot that makes your toes curl…” he snapped his hips roughly to emphasize his point, “yeah… she fucking loves it…”

Eyes fluttering shut in your daze, you nearly missed it as they soon plopped you back down to stand on your wobbly legs, before tossing you against the ropes and bending you over them.

Sinking down behind you, they spread you apart and worked together as they then pulled the toy out of you. Gasps bubbled out of you like hiccups each time one of the bulbs on the strand of beads popped out, making you jolt as your tight hole stretched open to let them back out, although your whimpering only made each of the fratbros laugh behind you.

“Wait! No–, you said that was gonna be later!” you soon yelped when Steve rose back up and began to replace the toy with his cock, slowly attempting to push himself inside, although the beads hadn’t quite warmed you up enough to make the task easy for him, “I thought–”

“You thought what, huh?” he finally sank just the tip of himself inside, “that you’d get out of this the easy way, and I’d train your little hole while you slept?” he let out a dark chuckle before he then snapped at his friend as he kept on burying himself inside of you, “Curt, fucking shut this brat up.”

Silencing your whines with his cock, “there you go, ughh…” Curtis groaned as he reached down to envelop his inked fingers around your throat, feeling his fat girth bulge through to bump against his touch as he swiftly began to ruthlessly fuck your throat as if it was just any other hole.

Picking up the pace, Steve began to snap into you hard enough for you to jolt forward, shoving Curtis’ cock that much deeper down your throat, your nose pressing against his pelvis each time you were shoved forward, and trapping you completely between them as they stuffed you from both ends.

“Look,” Steve eventually grunted as he watched how you kept on squirming, “I can respect that you don’t like anal,” his broad thumb came down to trace where you struggled to take him, “that’s okay, you don’t have to like it, I don’t fucking care,” he stated coldly, “but eventually, with enough training, you’ll get used to it and you will learn to love it,” he uttered before adding, “that or you’ll simply learn to endure it like the slutty little toy that you are.”