Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The party had started a half hour ago and she still wasn’t there. Bucky was sitting at one of the poker tables that had been set up in the den, along with Steve, Tony, Sam, and Rhodey, all high-ranking members of the mob. He had just lost several hundred dollars and was about to ask Steve to spot him some more to keep him in the game when a guttural shout broke through the pop music playing on the surround-sound speakers.

“Where the hell is she!?”

“Honey, please, she’s just getting changed—just come in here for a little drink.”

Y/N’s parents came through the door of the den. Her mother had delicate hands placed around her husband’s meaty arm, somehow steering him into the den despite their massive size difference. Her father, the formidable Obadiah Stane, was red-faced and shaking with rage.

Tony immediately stood to go placate him, motioning to Jarvis at the bar to make him a stiff drink.

Mrs. Stane looked tired and on the verge of tears as her husband threw obscenities and curses around about their daughter. “I throw her this fucking birthday party and the ungrateful girl doesn’t bother to show her fucking face—I’m this close to marching up there and beating the shit out of her!”

His wife tried to placate him. “Darling, please. She’s just getting changed—she had to change her entire outfit and redo her makeup after you told her she couldn’t wear the gold dress.”

Obadiah only grumbled.

He had a temper at the best of times—of course he couldn’t give his daughter a break just because it was her birthday.

Obadiah was her stepfather, technically, but nobody ever talked about that. Seriously—nobody. One time, a lower member in the mob had merely mentioned Y/N’s biological father, and the next time anyone heard about him, his body had washed up in the Hudson.

So everyone acted like Obadiah was her real father—even Y/N.

Bucky shared a look with Steve. They could only imagine how the argument about the dress went. They had seen the dress, too—a formfitting number with a slit high up the thigh, thin straps on the shoulders, the fabric covered in glitter. It had been hanging up in her room for the better part of a month, and she had been so excited about finding “the perfect dress” for her debut.

Well, Bucky knew the first time he had seen it that her father would never let her wear it. Maybe he should’ve warned her in advance.

Steve hadn’t said anything about it either. Then again, Y/N and Steve still weren’t speaking that much. They hadn’t been for the better part of the year. When Bucky had asked Steve what that was all about, Steve shrugged and said she was mad at him about something.

When Bucky told Y/N what Steve had said and asked what she was mad about, she had huffed and said that she hadn’t been mad about anything, but she sure as hell was now.

Bucky thought they might get over it, but then Steve started dating Peggy and it only seemed to get worse.

As a result, Bucky had seen less of her, too. Now that he and Steve were getting older and more involved in the mob, they didn’t have as much time for her. She had been so busy over the past year with school and extracurricular clubs. They went to her high school graduation ceremony barely a month ago and teased her about all the cords that were draped over her shoulders.

Now it was her eighteenth birthday and her parents had thrown her the most extravagant party. Casino games were set up in the den like some kind of Monte-Carlo replica. There was a dance floor and drinks (non-alcoholic for the kids). The entire backyard of the Brooklyn brownstone was decked out in Christmas lights and flowers.

Not everyone had arrived yet, but it was starting to fill up.

“She’s here!” someone called from the foyer, and all of the high school students started to file into the other part of the house to see Y/N come down the steps.

Her parents went with them. Steve and Bucky wandered over to the bar and Bucky ordered two fingers of scotch. He would need to be drunk for the rest of the night.

There were too many young people around. It made his skin itch.

“It’s like my junior prom all over again,” Tony muttered, echoing his thoughts. “I swear, if she weren’t my goddaughter…”

From where he was counting his winnings at the poker table, Rhodey said, “Well, nothing’s keeping me here like that. As soon Stane’s occupied enough, I’m going to Jasmyne.”

“That new club downtown?” Sam asked, “I’m in. The sooner we get outta here, the better. You guys wanna come?” he asked Steve and Bucky.

Steve shrugged and Bucky said, “I think we have to stay. If we don’t, Y/N’s probably gonna cut our throats.”

Tony snorted. “She wouldn’t do that. But she would cry, and you know how she gets when she cries.”

Bucky cringed. He did know. It wasn’t fun.

They played one more game of poker before Rhodey and Sam headed out. The party was raging on by now and they could hear the teenagers talking excitedly all over the house.

“I’m gonna go have a cigarette,” Bucky muttered to Steve, weaving through the crowd until he reached the outside. Despite the décor, the yard was largely empty. Still, he went to the side of the yard so nobody would complain about the smoke.

As he lit up, he heard the back door open. He watched as Y/N and a few of her girlfriends stepped outside, giggling about something or another.

Y/N’s hair was pinned up into a fancy twist on the back of her head, and she was twisting a loose curl around her painted nails. She wasn’t wearing the gold dress, of course, but the one she wore was nice, too. It was long, emerald, and made of satin, with a sweetheart neckline and a flared skirt.

Bucky thought she looked beautiful. He had realized in the past year or so how attractive Y/N was, but of course he had never acted on his thoughts because she was underage and he was also terrified of her father. The distance that resulted from whatever happened with Steve was welcome—it kept Bucky’s thoughts of her at bay.

Three of her friends were with her, and one of them took out a cigarette and lit it up. Bucky stiffened—he knew her father would not be okay with his daughter being friends with a girl who smoked. Obadiah was far too protective.

The girl, who Bucky recognized as Wanda Maximoff, said, “Too bad about the gold dress. It was so sexy!”

“I know,” Y/N huffed, “But you know my dad.”

“He’s such a hard ass,” another girl said, taking a drag from Wanda’s cigarette.

“Ugh, I know,” Y/N groaned, “I wish he’d just leave me alone.”

“Well, he’s not out here now,” one of the girls smirked and dug through her clutch before pulling out a small rose gold flask. “I have Bacardi!”

The girls squealed and giggled. Wanda said, “Birthday girl gets the first drink!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and huffed. He had just wanted to have one cigarette, and now these girls were out here and now he had to step in before Y/N got into big trouble with her father.

He cleared his throat, stepping out of the shadows and into the light of the Christmas bulbs.

Y/N’s eyes widened, while the other girls looked over at him with expressions of intrigue. Her friends tended to hit on him and Steve whenever they had the chance. It was annoying.

“You girls shouldn’t be drinking out here,” he said with an air of finality. “Go back inside.” He thought about taking away the flask but he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and the temper tantrum the girls would undoubtedly throw.

Y/N looked at her friends and said, “You go back inside, I’ll be right in.”

The girls grumbled, but went inside, leaving the two of them outside in the low lights, surrounded by fragrant red roses and white hydrangeas and verdant green foliage. She was looking at him with a small unsure smile.

He leveled her with a blank stare, taking a drag of his cigarette. Usually Steve was there to be the bad cop, but for the past year, Bucky had to wrangle Y/N and her bad behavior himself whenever he had to. Usually it wasn’t too often. She tended to be more bratty than delinquent, but he didn’t have the knack Steve had for fixing her attitude with a few sharp words and a well-placed glare.

“You shouldn’t have been out here with them,” he told her, but his tone was not as harsh as he wanted it to be. He couldn’t help it—she was his soft spot. “Your father doesn’t want you smoking and drinking.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer to him. Bucky was the lesser of two evils when it came to her “guard dogs”, as he and Steve were often referred to, and she was plenty aware of this. She knew she could get away with a lot more around him, and she knew he wouldn’t yell at her tonight. “Well, I didn’t do either of those things.”

“But you were going to.”

Her pout drew his attention to those perfect pink-painted lips. “Please don’t scold me, not on my birthday.” She looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, and Bucky relented—of course. She knew how to play him just right.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

She twirled around in front of him, showing him her dress. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he said honestly. His breath caught in his chest when she came to a standstill right in front of him. He could smell her perfume, see the slight redness under her eyes—no doubt she was crying earlier after her father yelled at her.

“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, eyes wide, pretty eyelashes fluttering, and her question was so earnest it made his heart clench. A blush rose on her face and Bucky found himself enraptured.

He nodded. “Yeah, of course I do, doll.”

Her blush spread down her neck and chest; she ducked her head and smiled. Bucky had the urge to run his lips over her cheek, her throat, the swell of her breast, everywhere he saw that delightful redness spread.

Bucky stepped back from her before his mind got away from him. “Go back inside, Y/N,” he said, turning away before he could see her sad pout. “If your dad sees you and you smell like cigarette smoke, he’ll kill me.”

“I don’t know why you’re so afraid of him,” she scoffed, but he could heard her footsteps retreating towards the door. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

The door clicked shut as she went inside. Bucky sighed. Y/N didn’t know the half of what her dad could do.

For the rest of the night, Bucky nursed several drinks, stepping away as often as he could to smoke. Peggy had come and Steve spent the night with her on his arm, dancing amongst the hoard of teens.

Bucky tried to stay out of the way. He usually liked parties, but not ones with so many underage people. He felt like an old man amongst the partygoers, which primarily consisted of Y/N’s entire graduating class. Steve and he were only four years older, but it felt like a lot more than that.

At least Y/N was having a good time. She was lavished with attention from her classmates as they reminisced about memories from swim practice and student council. They squealed over their college plans, chatting about possible majors and the prospect of joining Greek life. She slow-danced with every boy at the party, giving them polite smiles and laughing with them; after that, she danced with her girlfriends to pop music, jumping around and laughing so hard she cried.

Her mother brought out a huge birthday cake for her, decorated with intricately piped flowers and glittering sparklers. They sang a rousing “Happy Birthday” to her before she managed to blow out all of the candles on her first try, grinning up at Bucky when he cheered her on.

As the night wrapped up and people started to leave closer to midnight, Y/N got into an argument with her father about something or another. He had pulled her into the kitchen and yelled at her. The guests couldn’t hear everything, but they got the gist of it—she was hanging out with too many boys, her friends were too rowdy, and she shouldn’t have asked if her girlfriends could spend the night for a sleepover.

Obadiah stormed out of the kitchen and went up to his office, Tony following with a grimace. Y/N’s mother came out and quietly suggested that everyone remaining should go home.

Y/N came out next, brushing past everybody with a watery frown and making a beeline for the doors to the backyard.

“That’s just awful,” Peggy said sadly, holding a hand over her heart. “How could her father—”

Steve hushed her with a stern glare. Peggy wasn’t part of the gang, and she didn’t understand the life they lived or the reason Steve and Bucky said nothing about some of the awful behavior exhibited by the senior members. It annoyed Bucky, the fact that they constantly had to explain things to her without revealing too much, and he resented Steve a little bit for continuing to date her. It was more of a hassle than it was worth.

Still, Steve seemed happy with her, and she was nice enough.

Steve said, “I’ll take you home, Pegs. Buck,” he turned to his friend, “Are you gonna stay and pick up the pieces?”

“Do I have a choice?” Bucky grumbled. He said his goodbyes before grabbing another glass of whiskey—he was going to need it—and following Y/N onto the back porch.

 She was curled up on the porch swing, legs tucked under herself, high heels abandoned on the ground. Her face was buried in her arms and he could hear her sniffling.

His heart broke for her.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, moving closer to her. She didn’t acknowledge him. He sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him. She curled around him, tucking her face into his chest and let out a sob.

Bucky stroked her shoulder with one hand and took a long drink with his other. With the whiskey burning a path down his throat and to his stomach, he tried to console her again with a gentle tone. “Hey, doll, don’t cry. C’mon, don’t cry on your birthday.”

She cried for several more minutes as Bucky rubbed her back before her sobs started to settle down. Eventually, she pulled away and he handed her his pocket square to wipe her tears.

Once her face was cleaned up, she sniffled a few more times before muttering, “Why does he have to be so cruel?”

He sighed heavily, unable to answer her question. Obadiah Stane was one of the most unkind and unforgiving members of their gang. He wondered how his daughter had turned out so sweet and innocent when her father could be downright evil at times.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he whispered, kissing her hair as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I really am sorry…”

“Do you think he’ll let me go to NYU?” she asked. She had gotten a swimming scholarship to the university and had already accepted the offer. Obadiah hadn’t said anything against it—yet.

“I dunno, doll,” he said, “I guess we’ll see.”

The most likely scenario Bucky could see happening was Obadiah telling her she couldn’t go right before the semester was set to start. He had done it multiple times before, allowing her to get excited for something before pulling the rug out from under her at the last moment. Trips to Europe for spring break, concerts in Manhattan, parties her friends threw. He was randomly controlling when it fit his mood, and typically nasty and punishing alongside it.

“All my friends are going…” she mumbled, “I just really want to go with them… I want to be normal, you know?”

He did know. Years ago, he had felt the same way right before his father had started pulling him into the mob business.

Bucky pulled back to light a cigarette. She sat back and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “What happened to my father killing me if he smelled smoke on me?”

“I don’t think you’re gonna be seeing your daddy for the rest of the night, sugar.”

She sighed and rested her head in her hand. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Can I have a drag?”

He sent her a look like she was crazy. “No. You shouldn’t smoke.”

“I never have before,” she replied, “I just want to see what it’s like.”

Her expression was so innocent as she batted her eyelashes at him, and Bucky sighed before handing over his cigarette. “You’re not gonna like it,” he warned her.

He didn’t know what compelled him to let her try it—her father would torture him and cut up his body into at least 30 different pieces if he ever found out. But he figured if he let her try it, she wouldn’t try it with her friends and feel peer pressure to keep smoking.

She took the cigarette delicately between two fingers and held it to her lips. The first drag she took was heavier than it should have been, but Bucky applauded her for going in and getting to it. He laughed when she coughed on it, hacking and handing the cigarette back to Bucky with panicked eyes.

“Ugh!” she groaned when she finally stopped coughing, “Ew! That’s so gross!”

He smirked and took another drag. The filter was a little moist with her pink lip gloss, and it tasted like cherries when he put his lips over it. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.” He blew the smoke out into her face, making her cough more and smack his arm.

“Well, you should have told me that it tasted horrible and that I would cough up a lung.”

“I figured you didn’t need me to explain that part to you,” he said. “Now, are you ever going to smoke again, doll?”

He used a serious tone with her, one that made her squirm. “…No. I guess not.”

Bucky frowned. He wanted more of a promise than “I guess not” but apparently he would have to settle.

Y/N leaned forward into his shoulder, reaching for the glass of whiskey in his left hand. She got a good grip on it before he could pull away and asked, “Can I try your drink?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never drank before, either.” He knew she hadn’t, though, based on the hopeful look in her eyes and the pretty little blush that covered her cheeks.

She shrugged pouted. “Please? Pretty please?”

Bucky wondered if the alcohol would make her blush more. “Fine.”

“Yay!”

He gave her the glass and she sniffed the amber liquid inside before bringing it up to her lips to taste. She took a small sip, and then a larger one. “This is alright, I can see why you drink it.”

Bucky wanted to tell her that it was only good because it was from her father’s expensive stash, but he didn’t want to bring Obadiah up at that moment—he figured it was still a sore spot.

He reached for the glass just as she downed the rest of it, filling her mouth full with the liquor. “Hey!” Bucky said indignantly. He hadn’t intended for her to drink the rest of his glass.

His irritation fell away when a drop escaped her mouth, falling down her chin. She swallowed and hissed at the burn. Before he could think, he brought his hand up and gripped her chin, wiping the spillage away from her chin and lower lip with his thumb.

“That burned,” she said, her eyes watering a little.

“You’re just supposed to sip it, doll,” Bucky informed her with a roll of his eyes, letting go of her chin, ignoring the stickiness of her lip gloss on his thumb.

“Whoops,” she shrugged, giggling. “Is this what it feels like to be drunk?”

“You can’t possibly be drunk yet.” He looked down at his empty glass and grumbled at her, “Great, now I have to go and get another one…” She giggled unapologetically at that.

Leaving her outside, he told her to wait for him and he would be right back. Nobody was inside—everyone had gone home, and her parents were upstairs. He was glad for this—he didn’t want anybody to find out he’d given her whiskey.

He filled the glass a little more than he normally would, needing the extra alcohol if he was going to get through this night with her. When he came back outside, he shucked off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up, pleased to feel the light summer breeze on his skin. He was getting hot from the alcohol, from being so close to Y/N.

He sat down and she tucked her legs into his lap and sat back against the side of the porch swing. It was a familiar position for them, one they had done many times on this same porch swing.

As he rocked them back and forth on the swing, one hand on her bare ankle, he thought back on their friendship. Although he and Steve were four years older than she was, they had always been friends with her because their parents were so close. They had played together all the time as children. When he and Steve started to grow older, they took on a sort of protector roll for her, encouraged by their fathers who were all obsessed with protecting Y/N, like she was the crown jewel of the mob or something.

As teenagers, they had frightened off boys who were interested in her. Once she hit puberty and started high school, that was a lot more common. Bucky had lost count of the number of little haughty shits he’d scared away from her. He remembered one particularly obnoxious boy from a rival swim team—Y/N had actually liked him and got so mad at Bucky and Steve for beating him up in the school’s locker rooms, she didn’t speak to them for a month.

Now, it seemed like things had changed between them. Something definitely happened between her and Steve to ruin their friendship, and Bucky felt awkward caught in the crossfire. Especially because he really missed hanging out with her.

“Why don’t I ever see you anymore?” There was a little bit of a slur to her words—Bucky figured she would be a lightweight.

Bucky frowned. “I see you every week.” He knew it was bullshit, too.

“Yeah, to take me places when my dad tells you to,” she scoffed, “You never come around just to hang out anymore. You guys just act like my bodyguards.”

“Hey, we’ve always been your bodyguards,” he said cheekily.

“Yeah, but you used to be my friends, too…” Her tone was sad, and it made Bucky feel bad. He was so soft for her.

“Well, Steve’s not coming around as much, so…” He shrugged. They both understood. He went where Steve went.

“Steve’s so stupid,” she sighed, shaking her head like she pitied him for being dumb.

Bucky agreed with that, but he asked, “Why do you say that? What happened between you two?”

She rolled her eyes and tipped her head back. “He kissed me.”

“What?!” he asked, leaning forward in shock, his hand on her ankle tightening unconsciously, “When?”

“Like a year ago.” She kicked her foot out a little to get him to stop gripping her so hard. “We were at the Hamptons. And I was sad because I’d never been kissed before. So he offered to kiss me, but after that he got all weird. And he started ignoring me all the time. Then he started dating Peggy, so, like, whatever, I guess.”

Bucky was confused. “Steve never told me that.”

“Well that’s how it happened.” There was a silence between them as Bucky processed the words. “I don’t even like Steve. I just didn’t want my first kiss to be with some douchebag. Of course Steve had to go and prove how much of a jerk he could be right after that.”

Steve had kissed her! Bucky couldn’t believe this shit! Bucky had been holding back his desire for her for more than a year because he thought it would be sleazy to go after someone who was underage, when he was four years older. Well, now she was 18. And Steve was dating Peggy.

“Have you kissed anyone since?” he asked. She shook her head, blushing madly again.

Before he could contemplate it more, she leaned into his shoulder and reached across his body for his tumbler. “Can I have more?” He could feel her soft chest pressing up against his bicep.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, holding it further away. She stretched her body over his more to try to reach it, practically sitting in his lap now.

“Please? It’s my birthday!”

“It’s past midnight. It’s not your birthday anymore.”

“It’s my birthday until I take this dress off and that’s final! Please—I’ve earned it!”

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to her glossy lips, her exposed chest. One of the straps of her dress had fallen down her shoulder, and Bucky knew he should have slid it back up but all he wanted to do was yank it down until her breasts spilled out.

She was still pressed up against him, giving him puppy dog eyes, pouting in a way that somehow convinced him to say yes.

Wordlessly, he brought the glass up to her lips for her, his own eyes boring into hers as he tipped the glass up to spill some of the liquor into her mouth. Her own hand came up to regulate the glass, but he tipped it up too quickly, too much pouring in and past her lips. Some spilled down her chin, dripping down her neck and chest, and Bucky couldn’t help but follow the trail with his eyes.

When Bucky finally took the glass away, she coughed a little bit, her lips shining from the drink. He drained the rest of the glass and set it aside, leaning into her. His right hand that was resting along the back of the swing slipped down to caress her shoulder. She looked up at him hovering over her, her eyes wide with shock and innocence.

It was that—that look, the delicious little blush on her face, that possessed him. He snapped, and brought one hand to fist into her hair, ruining the fancy hairstyle she had worn tonight. Tipping her head back at an almost painful angle, he brought his head down and dragged his tongue along her throat where the alcohol had spilled on her. Her breath caught in her throat as he licked three more trails up her neck and chest, touching her in places nobody else had ever touched her before.

Finally, he pulled back and looked at her. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, pupils blown, and her mouth was open in shock. The blush on her cheeks was darker than ever.

As she looked at Bucky, she was almost frightened by the look on his face—predatory and dark, blue eyes dark like a summer rainstorm, looking at her like he was going to feast upon her.

And he did just that, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss, pushing his lips against hers insistently until she snapped out of her daze and clumsily reciprocated. He didn’t know how much Steve had taught her about kissing, but Bucky kissed her with a ferocity that she could barely keep up with.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him away lightly, but he was too strong for her. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, tasting the whiskey on her tongue and the cherry lip gloss on her lips.

He groaned into her mouth and it startled her, but it spurred her to relax into the kiss as she tried to move her lips in time with his. His mouth tasted like liquor and tobacco. She found herself enjoying the taste, the feeling of his lips molding to hers, the rough wiry texture of his scruff on her chin. It was a lot of new sensations at once, and she lost herself in it.

One of his hands had snaked down to her waist, pulling her close against him, and she had just started to return his embrace when they heard a light cough.

“Eh-hem.”

Bucky pulled away from her like she had scalded him and looked to the door.

“What the fuck, man?” Sam stood there, eyes wide in shock.

Y/N let out a tiny eep sound, her face going up in flames. Bucky leaned away from her, burying his face in his hands. He fucked up so badly. Why had he kissed her?

Why had it felt so right?

“Y/N,” Sam said, “Why don’t you go up to bed. Barnes, Tony called for us.”

She shot up, wavering slightly on unsteady feet. Bucky shot his hands out to steady her around the waist, then let go again when Sam glared at him.

She turned to Bucky and gave him a small smile. “Goodnight, Bucky…”

“G’night, doll,” he muttered, unable to help the way his heart clenched when he looked at her.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” she said as she passed, smiling at him with those innocent puppy dog eyes.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Happy birthday,” he said with a smile, going soft just like everyone did for her—except Steve sometimes when she was being a brat.

Just as she turned to step through the doorway, she ran into a body—Steve’s body. He steadied her just like Bucky had, hands on her waist.

“Whoa there,” he said, but when he realized it was Y/N he snatched his hands back.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” she said sweetly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he breathed, looking down at her and taking in her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, heavy lids. Before she left, she hugged him—just a quick press of her body against his—and then she was brushing past him and into the house.

Once the door closed, Sam turned on Bucky, glaring at him. “What the fuck was that, man?”

“What was what?” Steve asked, “Why’d she smell like whiskey?”

Sam asked, “Did you get her drunk so you could make out with her?”

“Make out with her?” Steve asked, his voice rising as he turned to look at Bucky with wide, disbelieving eyes, anger simmering beneath.

“Keep your voice down!” Bucky hissed. “And no, I didn’t do that. She had a sip of my whiskey—she was curious. The kiss was… an accident…” It wasn’t that far from the truth.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Listen, I won’t tell anyone else, but it better not happen again. Do you know what Stane would do to you if he found out about this?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me.”

Sam had been a member of the mob for longer than Steve and Bucky, so he knew Stane’s temper and how scary he could be just as well as Steve and Bucky, who had been born into the mob and grew up around Stane.

“C’mon,” Sam said, motioning for Bucky to join them in the house. “Tony said it’s important.”

Bucky followed Sam in, ignoring Steve’s accusatory glare as he passed. He didn’t regret the kiss, but he certainly felt like he fucked something up big time.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Y/N sat at the kitchen table, eating the eggs benedict their chef, Rita, had made, when her father walked in.

Obadiah sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his daughter. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Daddy,” she greeted him, her voice light.

“What do you want?”

It was his way of apologizing for the night before. They’d been through this enough times that it was now a routine.

When he yelled at her during her celebratory end-of-eighth-grade-sleepover, she got a brand-new MacBook out of it. When he screamed at her homecoming date in sophomore year, he gave her a St. Bernard puppy. When he cursed out her coach at her state qualifiers swim meet the year before, he bought her a white gold and diamond tennis bracelet.

She wore the bracelet now, and the dog, a Sweet Good Boy named Hermes, sat at her feet, looking warily up at her father. Hermes and Obadiah had quite the hateful relationship.

Hermes was just a good judge of character.

“I want Steve and Bucky to come with me this summer.”

She had thought about it all last night, knowing her father would come to her this morning with a peace offering—more like a way of buying her forgiveness. And she knew what she wanted, which was to spend the summer with her two closest friends since childhood.

Every summer, her father sent her off to their vacation houses. The cabin in the Adirondacks, the beach house in the Hamptons, the cottage at Martha’s Vineyard. Each time, she was accompanied by a small entourage—people to keep her safe and to keep her from being bored, because of course her parents weren’t about to spend the entire summer with their daughter.

Steve and Bucky had gone with her on several of these trips but had made no plans to be with her for this summer, which was outrageous to her because they were the perfect pair to keep her both safe and entertained.

She was headed to the cottage in a week and she wanted her favorite boys to be there, no matter if one was not speaking to her and the other had forced a very interesting kiss on her the night before.

So maybe the kiss she shared with Bucky had prompted this whole idea, but she sure as hell couldn’t ask her father for only Bucky to come. That would be suspicious. And she did miss Steve, so she hoped this would give her the chance to smooth things over with him.

Even if he was a big dumb blond hunk of meat.

“That’s all you want?” her father asked suspiciously, expecting the other shoe to drop.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Really?” he stole a piece of toast from her plate, and she glared at him. As he chewed, he said, “You know, diamonds are forever, those boys ain’t.”

Simpering, she quipped, “Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend hasn’t met Steve and Bucky.” Then, “A new Balenciaga bag would sweeten the deal. But mostly I just want them with me for the whole summer.”

“Sure thing, sweetie, whatever you want.”

As their weekly mob meeting later that night finished up, Obadiah broke the news to Steve and Bucky. It worked out well for Obadiah. He hadn’t known who he was going to send with his daughter to protect her until she made the decision for him. Stark had taken an interest in the Rogers kid for some reason, had big plans for him over the summer, but he had managed to talk Stark into letting him go at least for a little while.

 “You two will be accompanying Y/N this summer,” Obadiah said with an air of finality, “Your job is to keep her safe and happy.”

That had always been their job. To anybody remotely concerned, that was Bucky’s and Steve’s sole purpose for being alive.

They hadn’t been doing that good of a job of it for the last few months—at least not the “keeping her happy” part.

The boys didn’t argue—not to Obadiah’s face. They didn’t have a death wish.

“You’re leaving in a week for Martha’s Vineyard.”

Tony sent them a look that told them he approved of this and they had no choice in the matter, before he exited behind Obadiah.

Sam waggled his eyebrows at them. “Make sure to pack your swim trunks, boys. Oh, and you’ll have to find a guard-dog-friendly beach. Pets allowed, and all that.” He snickered as Bucky flipped him off before he exited the room.

As the last two in the meeting room, Bucky and Steve looked at each other. Bucky’s gaze was pleading—Steve had barely spoken to him the entire day, and when he had, it had been clipped statements that simmered with an angry undertone. Steve’s gaze now was even angrier.

“What the fuck, Bucky?”

That was all Steve said before leaving.

Bucky had no idea why Steve was so mad—aside from the obvious fact that he kissed Y/N. Even then, Bucky thought it was hypocritical of Steve to be mad over such a thing considering he had also kissed Y/N last year. Bucky had told Steve as much earlier, and Steve only responded by getting even angrier.

Bucky made his way into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered for the big family dinner they always had every Sunday, right after the official weekly meeting. Tonight, Tony’s chefs had prepared a variety of Indian cuisine for them.

He spotted Y/N on the other side of the kitchen. She had just come in from the backyard with Peter Parker, Tony’s boy, and she was barefoot. Bucky started to make his way over to her but Steve got there before he did. Peter scurried away when Steve made eye contact with him.

“So,” Steve said, sidling up to her right by the kitchen table, effectively trapping her between him and the table. “Martha’s Vineyard, huh?” His voice was hard, slightly annoyed.

She looked up at him with that sweet smile. Her lips were glossy with lip balm and she smelled like the sun. “Yeah, I thought it would be fun. Are you excited?”

He sighed her name, exasperated.

“Hey,” she said before he could say anything else, “I’m wearing the necklace you got me. Thank you, it’s perfect. I love it.” She hooked her thumb around the chain and showed him the gift he got for her birthday. It was a silver locket, an engraving of the sun on the front.

His eyes softened when he saw that, and he smiled at her genuinely for the first time in a year. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m not sure what pictures I should put in it, yet,” she said, fingers opening and closing the latch of the locket with a little snap. “Maybe we’ll take some good photos at Martha’s Vineyard.”

He hesitated before asking, “Why did you want us there this summer?”

“I miss you guys,” she answered earnestly. “You never spend time with me anymore. And next semester, I’ll probably be at NYU, maybe. And then I’ll never be around and I’ll never see either of you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I just want one summer with you guys. Is that too much to ask for?” Her puppy dog eyes hit him in just the right spot.

“No,” he sighed, giving her a small smile, “No, it’s not too much… It’ll be fun. We’re excited.”

Y/N parted from him then, squeezing past him to make her way into the living room to talk to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff before dinner started.

Bucky came over to Steve and Steve sighed. “I couldn’t stay mad at her.”

“You don’t really have a reason to be mad at her,” Bucky pointed out, “Not really.”

“I know…” he turned to Bucky, eyeing him. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged. “I told you, the kiss was an accident. Doesn’t mean anything.”

 “Yeah… Okay… Sorry for bein’ an ass.”

“S’okay,” Bucky clapped him on the back. “I’m used to it by now.”

Steve laughed and punched at Bucky’s shoulder, and then dinner was called.

A week later, Steve and Bucky were packing their suitcases into the SUV for them to get ready to go on the six-hour trip to Martha’s Vineyard. They had gotten a late start and probably wouldn’t be there until it was dark.

Steve drove and Bucky rode shotgun, dictating the music the entire drive—much to Steve’s and Y/N’s chagrin. She sat in the back with Hermes and chattered with them both about nothing for the first half of the drive.

They were already behind schedule, and it was only made worse when Bucky and Y/N demanded they stop for a bathroom break about three times each—Steve was seething by the last time. He calmed down when she came back from the gas station convenience store with a bag of M&M’s for him—his favorite candy.

They had stopped for a late lunch at a pizza place in Boston—and had gone 40 minutes out of their way for it. Between the three of them, they had devoured three pizzas and a whole basket of garlic knots. It had sent Y/N into a food-induced stupor. By the time they were pulling up to the Stanes’ cottage, she was fast asleep, using the dog as a pillow.

He and Steve carried all the luggage in before they contemplated waking her up.

“Let her sleep,” Bucky said, “She’ll probably be out for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll carry her in,” Steve said as Hermes jumped out, “Can you get the dog?”

Bucky obliged. He let the dog go into the fenced-in backyard.

The cottage at Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t so much a cottage as a 6-bedroom converted-barn-turned-luxury-mansion overlooking the water, complete with a big fancy backyard and a pool and access to the beachside and a private dock. Bucky was always blown away every time they visited and this time was no different.

He stood in the backyard admiring the black waters while Hermes did his business.

“I set her on the couch,” Steve said, startling Bucky.

Bucky looked back to see Steve on the porch, taking a seat on the porch swing that faced the ocean. He walked over, taking a seat next to him. Their arms brushed together as they settled in.

“Here,” Steve said, handing him a bottle of whiskey. “They’ve got this place stocked with liquor but no food. We’ll have to make a grocery run tomorrow.”

Bucky grunted in response as he took a long drink. It had been a long day, and truthfully, all he could think of doing right now was going to bed. Instead, he stayed up with Steve, ready to relax on their vacation after the last stressful few months.

Tony had taken Steve under his wing, mentoring him into a more important place in the mob. It was the start of something big, Steve kept saying. Bucky was excited for his friend, if not a little jealous. But Steve deserved it, he knew; Steve was always the more determined of the two of them, always the more ruthless one.

So tonight, Bucky welcomed the respite. As they chatted and ribbed each other over the bottle of whiskey, it was like nothing had changed.

The conversation had turned to Steve and Peggy, and Steve was saying, “Yeah, Peg’s great, but I dunno. She doesn’t really get it.”

“Get what?” But Bucky had a feeling he knew what Steve was talking about. He took another swig of whiskey before passing the bottle to Steve.

“The mob, the life we live. She doesn’t know the half of it, and if she did… She wouldn’t stick with me through it.”

“You need someone who already knows our life, Stevie. Someone who understands.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before saying, “Someone like Y/N?”

Bucky stiffened. That hadn’t been what he was going for, but Y/N was on the back of his mind when he said it. She had been on his mind since last week. He laughed it off. “C’mon, Stevie, you think Stane would let you have her?”

“Stane’s been thinking of who to marry her off to,” Steve said after a long drink. “Only reason he’s letting her go to NYU is ‘cause he hasn’t had any good contenders yet.”

“And you think you’re gonna put in an offer?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I’m dating Peggy, Buck. C’mon.”

“But if you weren’t?”

Steve looked beside him to find Bucky already staring at him intently. They made eye contact, the air between them tense. Finally, Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure, Buck. Maybe I should be askin’ you the same thing.”

“Does it look like I’m ready to settle down and take a bride?” he asked, giving Steve and incredulous look. Steve laughed and looked down at his lap, shaking his head, doing that bashful thing even when Bucky knew he wasn’t bashful at all. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Steve knew what he meant. Tying her to the mob, for as long as they both shall live. Mob wives were much more involved than the children of the mob, and they both knew Y/N was too sweet and innocent for that.

Steve’s smile fell away and he nodded, thinking it over. “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to either.”

They had both had quite a bit of whiskey by now, and Bucky was feeling brave. “Tell me about when you kissed her, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he looked at Bucky with a shocked expression. “You know about that?”

“Yeah, she told me the other night,” Bucky answered, taking the bottle from Steve as he was about to take a drink. “’Fess up, punk. Don’t avoid the question.”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping, hands braced on his knees. “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Who the fuck would I tell?”

Steve swatted at his knee. “I don’t fucking know, just keep your mouth shut about it. Got it?” When Bucky nodded, Steve continued. “It was the end of last summer when we were all in Southampton. She snuck out with some of her friends to a party one night, and I caught her coming back late. I was just startin’ to lay into her about it when she started crying—and not her usual crying when she’s bein’ a brat, you know?”

Bucky knew. She got real teary eyed sometimes when they caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been, specifically when Steve started yelling at her. But usually she took his scolding with a stiff upper lip, unless he was being really unfair.

“She starts sobbing, and I can tell something’s really wrong. So I hug her and coddle her and eventually she tells me that some guys at the party were makin’ fun of her because she’s a virgin.” Steve clenched his jaw, remembering the way she blushed when she told him, the way she looked down and whispered it like she was ashamed of it. “And so I’m trying to tell her there’s nothing wrong with that, and she tells me she’s never even kissed anyone, and how is any guy ever gonna like her if she doesn’t even have any experience.”

“So you kissed her?” Bucky asked, remembering Y/N had said that he had offered.

Steve shook his head, laughing a little. “I don’t know what came over me. She was just so sad, and you know I have a soft spot for girls when they cry.”

Bucky knew very well about Steve’s weakness for people when they cried—not just girls. He and Steve had experimented in bed plenty of times and if there was one thing they had found out, it was that Steve loved it when Bucky cried. It really got him going for some reason.

“I wouldn’t call it a soft spot…” Bucky muttered, earning a punch on the arm. Steve still laughed about it good-naturedly.

“She was lookin’ up at me, all doe-eyed, and red, and sad. Kinda like how you used to look at me, Buck.”

Bucky looks at him, surprised, and memories of their times together flash through Bucky’s mind. They were each other’s firsts, stumbling their way through puberty and coming-of-age and the discovery of teenaged sexuality together. It wasn’t until after he experimented thoroughly with Steve in many different ways that he became the Lothario he is today. He feels his cheeks heat up at the images his brain conjures of them together in bed, touching and kissing, dry-humping each other until Bucky came in his pants.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve said, looking at him with a fond smile, something dark gleaming in his eyes. And truly, Steve thinks Bucky looks wonderful right now, all flushed and shocked and exactly like he did when Steve fucked him for the first time when they were 16.

So maybe Steve has a type for innocent young things who blush a lot. That’s why he was trying to stay away from Y/N. Maybe that’s why Steve had always felt like Peggy was wrong for him but staying with Peggy was such a great distraction for now.

“So I couldn’t help myself,” Steve shrugged. “I asked. I didn’t just force myself on her.” Part of Bucky feels sheepish at that, because that was exactly how he kissed her the night of her birthday, forcefully, predatorily. The other part remembers how nice it was every time Steve forced himself on Bucky in the heat of the moment. “I asked if she wanted me to kiss her just to see how it felt. And she said yes. So I kissed her.”

“Did you like it?” Bucky asked. He couldn’t help it.

The blush on Steve’s cheeks surprised Bucky. “Yeah, I guess I did. But don’t you ever tell anyone that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. As if he would. “If you liked it, why’d you ignore her afterwards?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve. You can’t bullshit me, I see right through you, pal.”

 Steve looked down. The red hadn’t faded from his cheeks. “I dunno. I liked it too much, maybe. Stane would kill me if anything happened between us.”

Bucky got it, then. Steve liked it, and he needed to put distance between them to stop himself from taking things further.

“And then I found Peggy, and I just got too busy with Tony. So Y/N and I stopped talking as much.”

Bucky thought about this, but in his tipsiness, his dazed mind kept wandering back to how he kissed her. He kissed her like Steve used to kiss him, and he wondered if Steve kissed her the same way.

“How was it, Stevie?” he asked, a question that had been on his mind for a week now. “How was the kiss?”

Steve smirked knowingly. “Nothing like how I used to kiss you, that’s for sure.”

Bucky remembered their first few times together, sweet and tentative, innocent explorations. Steve had kissed him kindly then, but they had both quickly found out they liked it when Steve took charge. When Steve was rough with him, showed him no mercy.

But Bucky only liked it when Steve did that to him. None of the other men or women he had been with were the same in that regard. He only trusted Steve to take that power away from him, knowing Steve would never hurt him.

He supposed Steve liked the control aspect of it. As for Bucky, he needed that control whenever he was with anybody else.

“Guys?” they heard from the doorway after a brief silence. Hermes, who had been lying at their feet dozing, immediately got up and trotted over to where Y/N was standing, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve said, “You just wake up?”

She nodded and padded over to them, Hermes following her loyally. Her feet were bare and she was still wearing her clothes from earlier, leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with her high school’s mascot on the front. Bucky thought the sweatshirt had belonged to Steve once, or maybe him—or maybe both, he couldn’t recall.

She took a seat between them and slumped down onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” There was a little pout on her lips, puffy and sleep-swollen.

“Then go back to bed,” Bucky told her, draping his right arm around the back of the bench, letting her rest her head on his chest.

“Can’t fall back asleep.”

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked, ever the doting mother hen. “There’s not food in the kitchen, but maybe we could go pick something up.”

She shook her head. “I’m still full from the pizza.”

“Well, we’ll go for an early breakfast tomorrow,” Steve said, “Any place you want.”

“Okay, Stevie,” she said, smiling up at him sleepily.

Steve couldn’t help himself when he swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to rest on his chest instead. She went willingly, cuddling into him. Bucky sent him a look, and Steve raised an eyebrow back—a little like a challenge, one that Bucky did not accept. Instead, he yielded to Steve, resting his right hand lightly on Steve’s shoulder, feeling the need to be close. Her legs came up to rest on Bucky’s lap and she just sat there with them, enjoying the night.

Just like old times.

“Are you guys staying with me for the whole summer?” she asked, her voice muffled into Steve’s unusually large peck.

“I dunno, doll, is that what you asked your dad for?” Steve asked knowingly.

She shrugged and buried her face deeper. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean he’ll keep his word.”

“We’re here until further notice,” Bucky said. “Steve might get called away occasionally.”

“Because of Tony?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah,” Steve said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a kiss, “But you don’t need to worry your pretty head about that.”

“Okay.”

“Now, doll,” Bucky started, placing his left hand on her calf. She glanced at him from Steve’s chest. “Are you gonna behave with us this summer?”

She blushed, but a smirk fell across her face. “Of course I will, Bucky,” she said in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

His hand slid up to her knee. “Not gonna go getting into any trouble with all the teenage hooligans on the island?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to get in trouble with them when I could get in trouble with you guys, instead?”

Steve’s arm tightened around her shoulders in a way that was just a little bit threatening. “Now, Y/N, listen to me,” he said, using his serious voice, “Your dad wanted us to keep you safe. You’re not gonna go around making trouble for us. Got it?”

“I guess,” she whined. Steve didn’t like that.

His hand came up and cupped her jaw, tilting her head up forcefully so she looked at him. “Don’t be a brat,” he said, a warning in his tone, “You’re gonna be a good girl for us or there’ll be consequences.”

“Steve,” she pouted, the whine still in her voice.

He grit his teeth, and his fingers squeezed her jaw just hard enough for her to get the message. “No complaining, baby girl. Now you say ‘Yes, Steve’, so I know you understand.”

“…Yes, Steve.”

He let her go, and she tried to pull away from him but his arm around her shoulders anchored her against him. Bucky’s hand moved from Steve’s shoulder to her head, stroking his fingers through her soft hair to sooth and reassure her.

They were all silent then, like they often were after Steve scolded her. It was a familiar dance for them. When she got bratty or if she did something wrong, Steve would reprimand her sternly, while Bucky sat by and watched. Then, both Bucky and Steve would calm her down so she knew they forgave her. It worked to correct her misbehavior every time, but it took all three of them.

With Steve rocking them gently on the porch swing and Bucky running his fingers through her hair, it didn’t take long to lull her back to sleep.

Steve carried her upstairs to put her to bed, and Bucky followed, turning down the covers and tucking her in. Hermes curled up on the bed at her feet, settling down and dozing off right next to her.

Steve had already placed their luggage in the rooms they would be staying in, all their rooms side by side in the same hall.

Bucky followed Steve to their respective bedrooms, and they lingered in the doorways.

“Do you think I was too hard on her?” Steve asked. They spoke quietly in the mellow darkness of the night. Bucky could hear the waves crashing on the beach out back.

“Nah,” Bucky reassured him, “She can take it. Plus, it’d be nice if she didn’t act up during this trip.” He could hope she wouldn’t, at least.

Steve nodded. “She gets so ballsy on these vacations when her dad’s not here.”

“Well,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder, “If she gets like that this summer, you’re here to put her in her place.”

Steve looked at him, dark eyes glinting. “Damn right,” he said, voice low. Bucky couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but Steve’s tone of voice sent a shudder through him. “We should get to bed,” Steve said finally, breaking up the tense atmosphere. “I’m waking you both up early tomorrow.”

Bucky groaned, “Ugh, c’mon Stevie. Let us sleep in.”

Steve grinned, “No chance, Buck. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Bucky said, his voice soft as he watched Steve retreat into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. It was going to be a long, intense summer, he could already tell.

Chapter Text

Steve awoke first the next morning shortly after the sun rose. After going to the bathroom and setting the coffee pot on, he peeked his head into Bucky’s bedroom to wake him up. The man in question was splayed out across the mattress, having kicked the duvet off in the middle of the night. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, snoring gently into his pillow.

“Buck,” Steve said, walking over to the bed. Steve was always softer in the morning, gentler, especially before his first cup of coffee. Not to mention, Bucky was always so precious in the morning—at least Steve thought so. He ran a hand through Bucky’s tangled hair and smiled when Bucky shifted around. “Bucky, time to wake up.”

“Noooo,” Bucky groaned.

“Yes,” Steve responded, “C’mon. There’s coffee on and then we’ll go get breakfast. Wakey-wakey.”

One ice blue eye opened to peek at the old-fashioned analogue alarm clock. “No,” Bucky said, closing his eyes again, “Too early.”

“It’s not too early—" Steve laughed, but Bucky cut him off by grabbing his arm and yanking him forward so Steve had to catch himself on the bed, almost hovering over Bucky now. Sleepy Bucky was stronger than Steve would give him credit for.

“No,” Bucky repeated, “No breakfast. Sleep. Come sleep.”

“Buck, we have to wake up.”

“No. Grab the blanket.”

Well, it was only seven in the morning. Steve reached down to grab the duvet, draping it over the both of them, and then let Bucky pull him onto his side. Bucky cuddled into Steve’s chest like some kind of macho koala bear and sighed happily.

Sleepy Bucky had always been a big cuddler. Steve liked Sleepy Bucky the best.

“You’re always so sweet in the mornings,” Steve said reverently, running a hand over Bucky’s back.

“’S’cuz you’re nice in the morning,” Bucky said, “’Nstead of bein’ an asshole.”

Steve chuckled good-naturedly. His defenses were down in the morning, not as inclined to bite back at an insult. “Never mind, you’re still a big jerk.”

“’m just tellin’ the truth.”

Steve knew he could be a hard-ass, but it came with the job. He couldn’t readily show his emotions to other people in the mob, and that led to him keeping his feelings in most of the time.

But times like these, when he could just be alone with Bucky—then he could be vulnerable. Only Bucky knew this side of him. Truthfully, he and Bucky had a very special relationship—they always had. Bucky knew Steve better than anybody. Steve cherished Bucky, adored him, although he would never admit it to anyone else.

Their relationship was not only emotional, but sexual as well—although they hadn’t been intimate since Steve started dating Peggy. But still, Steve knew Bucky was the only sure thing in his life, and he intended to keep it that way.

Bucky fell back asleep quickly, but Steve wasn’t so lucky. He rose with the sun and once he was awake, he was never able to get back to sleep. Instead, he laid with Bucky curled up against his side, watching the man who was more important in his life than words could say.

For about an hour, Steve let him sleep, but once the clock hit eight, he roused him again.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grumbled finally, flopping onto his back and rubbing his eyes. “I’ll wake up. Meanie.”

Steve only chuckled and rolled out of bed, going into the hallway and then to Y/N’s door. He knocked gently. When he didn’t hear anything, he let himself inside.

She was usually a little more difficult to wake up.

He decided to try gentle first. He said her name, approaching her bed. “Hey, sweetie… Gotta wake up.” No response. Steve ran a hand over her hair, trying to rouse her. “Time to wake up.”

She whined and turned into her pillow.

“We need to go to breakfast and get groceries, sweetheart,” he tried again, “You need to wake up.”

“Please,” she whined, “Wanna sleep.”

“No, you had all night to sleep. Wake up now.”

Her eyes opened, blinking up at him sleepily. “Please?”

At least she was being sweet instead of annoying, Steve thought. He really couldn’t resist her when she used her manners. He kneeled down next to her bed and brushed his hand through her hair again. The least he could do is work with her. “C’mon, honey, what will it take to get you out of bed?”

She shrugged. “Nothin’. ‘M sleepy.” She turned her face to burrow back into the blankets.

Steve was about to get strict when Bucky saved the day.

“Wake up, doll,” he said, coming into the room, still only wearing his boxers, two cups of coffee in his hands. “Here, I’ve got your coffee just how you like it.”

When he held the cup in front of her face, she finally relented and sat up. Taking a small sip, she hummed contentedly. “Thank you, Bucky. You make it just right.”

“Plenty of cream and plenty of sugar, just like you, sweetheart.” He winked at her, and she blushed, averting her eyes from his bare chest.

“You drink coffee?” Steve asked, ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes glinted as he stared at her. Bucky handed the other cup of coffee to Steve—it was black, Steve’s preference.

“Uh—yeah. How do you think I got through all those AP classes these past few years?” she asked him. “Plus swim and dive, plus stud-co, plus chorus, plus honor society, plus—”

“You were in chorus?” he cut her off.

She rolled her eyes and took another drink. “Yeah, Steve, and you’d know that if you’d come to any of my school concerts last year.”

He looked away, sheepish, and then met her eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he told her, hoping she understood that he was being honest.

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I wasn’t good enough to get any solos or anything so you weren’t missing much. I just did it for college applications.”

“And, hey, it paid off,” Bucky said, “You got into NYU, didn’t you?”

She beamed, cheeks heating up again. Steve said, “We’re proud of you, you know.”

“Hush,” she muttered into her mug, shooing them away with her hand, not meeting their gaze.

Bucky grinned. “We’ll go out to breakfast and take you shopping to celebrate,” he offered, “You can get anything you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Too bad, we’re doing it. Now hurry up and get dressed.”

With that, they all parted to get ready. Steve and Bucky both showered after sharing the cup of coffee. Then they waited downstairs for thirty minutes, getting more impatient by the second, before she was walking down the stairs.

Steve had to keep his jaw from dropping. “What the hell is she wearing?” he growled lowly to Bucky, who elbowed him.

“Please don’t make a big deal about it,” Bucky muttered, grabbing onto his shoulder to try to ground Steve.

She was showing more skin than she would ever dare to show back in Brooklyn under the constant threat of her father. The light blue dress dipped into a V-neck and had tiny little spaghetti straps. The fluttery hem fell slightly above her knees, higher than any skirt or dress she usually would wear.

It was summery and sweet, and it made her look more grown up than Steve or Bucky had been anticipating.

“I’m ready!” she trilled, flouncing to a stop in front of them. “What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the pained expression on Steve’s face.

“Your dress—”

“Steve,” Bucky pressed.

She frowned, looking down at it. “What’s wrong with it? I thought it was perfect.”

“It’s very nice, doll,” Bucky said, elbowing Steve again.

“It’s very… revealing,” Steve said, trying to choose his words carefully.

She sniffed. “Yeah, well. It’s hot outside.”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky whispered to him, “She usually dresses like this on vacation, without her dad around.”

That was true. Steve knew this. Without her father with them to police her dress code, she always wore more revealing things when they vacationed. Bikinis, shorts, tank tops. Steve had never reacted like this in the past—but then he realized, she had really grown into her body in the past year or so.

Where there was once nothing, there was now soft feminine curves. Her breasts had grown more than Steve had realized, and he wondered when she started looking like a woman.

He felt conflicted. On one hand, he knew her father wouldn’t approve of the dress, and he was supposed to be keeping up her father’s rules while they were on vacation. That was his job.

On the other, the dress wasn’t really indecent by normal standards—it was just that they never usually saw so much of her legs and shoulders and décolletage. However, he had to admit that it suited her. And he found that he actually liked the dress (perhaps for nefarious reasons he wasn’t about to acknowledge). Certainly he didn’t want her to take the dress off.

Oh boy—now he was thinking about her without the dress and—

“Um—” he choked.

His face felt hot, and they were both were both looking at him like he had swallowed a bumble bee.

“It’s a nice dress,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

With that, he turned and left them, heading straight for the car.

She gave Bucky a questioning look, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “He’s crazy. Ignore him.”

He motioned for her to go in front of him, and she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and went. While they walked out to the car, he admired how the hem of the dress flickered around her thighs, occasionally exposing higher patches of skin.

Steve caught Bucky looking at her ass, but he didn’t say anything. When they got out of the car and walked into the diner, he definitely, 100% did not take a discreet glance, too.

They ordered a big spread of breakfast foods, all of them famished, and Steve jotted down a grocery list on a napkin while they ate. Y/N and Bucky played the game of who could eat the most pancakes, and the winner was Bucky—as usual.

Once they stopped by the market and got enough groceries to hold them over for a week at least, they went back into town and walked around a few boutiques.

“What do you think?” she asked, fingers fluttering around the pearl choker necklace wrapped around her throat. It was part of a set along with a pair of pearl earrings. Bucky had pointed out the earrings to her first, knowing she would like them—and she did, she loved them. Then she insisted she try on the necklace to see if it fit.

Bucky almost swallowed his tongue. “It—it’s—” he stuttered, before collecting himself. “It’s real nice, doll.” He hadn’t noticed the necklace before when he saw the earrings, but now it was all he could focus on.

She beamed at him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said, approaching them with a scarf in his hands. “What do you think of this? I saw it and I thought of you.”

She took it from him, fingers running over the delicate white floral pattern adorning the sunshine yellow silk. “This is pretty,” she cooed, a small smile on her face. Steve’s eyes were flitting back and forth between the scarf in her hands and the choker on her neck.

“Not as pretty as you, doll,” Bucky said—more on instinct than anything else. Still, it made her blush, which he considered a win.

“I don’t have anything like it,” she nodded at the scarf, “I love it, Steve.”

He smiled at her before his eyes focused back on the pearls. “And that?” he gestured to her neck. His palms were a little sweaty.

She ran her fingers over the pearls, skimming along her skin. “Do you like it? Bucky showed it to me.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back at her. “I think you should get it.”

Soon, they were walking out of the shop with the scarf and the pearl jewelry set. As soon as they left the shop, she grinned at them both. “Thank you, Steve! Thank you Bucky!” she crooned, giving them both a kiss on the cheek.

For the rest of the day, she wore the delicate strand of pearls around her throat, tied her hair into a ponytail with the scarf, and she really did look as pretty as a picture. Steve wanted to tuck her away and never let her leave his sight.

The next day was blissfully sunny. Right after lunch, Steve had just gone upstairs for a shower, and then Y/N ran out into the backyard and said she was going swimming. After doing the dishes, Bucky walked out to the backyard and stopped dead at what he saw. There she was, sitting on one of the chaise lounge chairs, applying sunscreen to her legs. She was wearing a tiny little bikini that showed off—well—everything.

Jesus Christ, all Bucky could think was that if Obadiah knew about this, he would skin her alive.

He must have made some sort of noise, because she looked back at him, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “Hey, Buck! Wanna join me?”

“Uhh—”

“Go put on your trunks!”

His body was obeying her before his mind could catch up, and before he knew it, he had his swimming trunks on and was back outside, pulling up a chair next to her.

And then—“Can you get my back for me?”

“What?”

“I can’t reach my back,” she said, holding a bottle of sunscreen up to him. When he didn’t take it, she flourished it at him. “C’mon, Buck, I don’t wanna burn.”

Mentally slapping himself, he pulled his few remaining braincells together and jumped into motion. He only got so many chances to help pretty girls put on sun lotion—he sure as hell wasn’t going to pass it up now.

“Sure thing, doll,” he said, taking the bottle from her and sitting behind her on the chaise. He swept her hair away from her skin, his fingers brushing along her neck and shoulder. Pouring the lotion into his hands, he rubbed them together and placed his palms against her back.

As he massaged the sunscreen in, she swayed with his touch, and he realized there was something almost intimate about it that made his breath catch. The sun was beating down on them, and he was touching her slowly, sensually.

Bucky tried not to let his mind wander as his hands brushed along her shoulder blades and down her spine and to her lower back.

  That was what Steve saw when he got out of the shower and started toweling off in front of the big window of his room. His window overlooked the backyard, providing him the perfect view of the two at the pool, he realized.

His mind didn’t know what to process first. There was Y/N, in the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen, breasts pushed together to reveal her enticing cleavage, stomach on display, long legs stretched out. Then there was Bucky, who was looking like a little treat himself in a tiny pair of pastel swim trunks that ended deliciously high on his muscular thighs. And there they were, Bucky’s hands splayed across her back, massaging suntan lotion into her skin.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes away from Bucky’s hands, working at her shoulders and neck, kneading into her lower back just above her bikini bottoms, long fingers wrapping around her sides and bringing sunscreen down to her hips.

And she was enjoying it, if the way her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back gave anything away. When his fingers brushed along her sides, meandering around to her front to graze along the dip of her pelvis, she bit her lip, knuckles white as her hands clutched her knees. Steve could see the way her chest rose and fell, and he wondered what kind of noises she was making.

Steve had a problem underneath his towel now. He wasn’t the only one, either. If Steve’s eyesight wasn’t failing, Bucky was faring no better, judging from the tent in his swim trunks.

No, Bucky was not faring better.

Her skin was so warm against his hands, and her breathing was getting heavier right along with his. She made these breathy little sighs and shivered when he hit certain sensitive spots on her back.

Finally, he paused his hands on her waist and leaned closer. “That good, doll?”

His breath drifted across the side of her neck, and she could feel the vibrations of his raspy voice in her ear. She could only nod in response, taking a moment to steady her breaths before leaning back in the lounge chair. After slipping her sunglasses back in place, she closed her eyes and tried to think of anything but Bucky’s rough hands on her back.

It proved to be a difficult task. Her skin was all lit up from his touch, her body was buzzing. She had never felt like this before, but she liked it when he touched her, and she craved more.

Almost immediately after she sat back, Bucky jumped in the pool. He swam laps to distract himself for almost a half hour until he calmed down enough—in other words, until his erection flagged.

Steve, on the other hand, had to go back to the bathroom and take care of himself before he could face either of them again.

She almost dozed off, laying there in the hot summer sun.

But then she heard Bucky getting out of the pool. Hidden behind her sunglasses, she opened her eyes to observe him. It almost happened in slow motion, and he looked practically pornographic. The way the water dripped down his toned muscles, the way he swept his soaked hair back and away from his face, the way his swimming trunks clung obscenely to his—

“Hey,” he was saying then, in front of her now, “Your face is kinda red. Did you remember to put sunscreen on it?”

“Um—uh—“ she stammered, “Yeah. I—maybe I need some more. Some more sunscreen.”

“Hey, I brought you guys some drinks!”

And then Steve was there, setting down two glasses of lemonade on the table between the chairs. He was wearing swim trunks now, too, but also a white t-shirt.

Good—she could only take so much.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Steve asked knowingly. He bit back a smirk, his eyes darting between Bucky’s chiseled torso, dripping wet still, and the way she was narrowly avoiding looking at Bucky’s chest, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered, taking a long drink of the lemonade.

“If you’re too hot, maybe you should take a dip,” Bucky suggested. “The water’s really nice.”

“Oh, I’m—I’m good. Yeah.”

And then Bucky looked back to Steve. The shared smirks on their faces said it all.

Waiting until she put down her glass, they swooped in, Bucky grabbing her ankles, Steve grabbing her waist.

“Hey!” she squeaked, “What’re you doing?” Neither of them answered, but as they marched with her towards the pool, she began thrashing around. “No!” she shrieked, “Put me down! Don’t—”

It was too late. They tossed her into the deep end and her body hit the water with a splash, silencing her shout. She sank all the way to the bottom before swimming back up, treading water as she glared at them, her sunglasses lost to the depths of the pool.

“That wasn’t funny,” she said in response to their raucous laughter. Bucky was almost crying with it.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled, “It was hilarious.”

“Come help me out, you big lug,” she snarked.

Steve only laughed, in too good of a mood for her insult to bother him. He crouched down and held out a hand to pull her out. When she took his hand, however, she braced her feet against the wall of the pool and tugged him back, using her feet as leverage to dive backwards and gain enough momentum to pull him in.

He fell on top of her in the water, and when they resurfaced, she was right there in front of him and laughing at the shocked look on his face.

“You think that’s funny, sweetheart?” he asked, using his best menacing voice.

But she had a knack for knowing when he was genuinely angry, so she only swam closer and got into his personal space. “Yup,” she said, smirking at him. “Pretty funny.” She booped at his nose, and he caught her wrist before she could pull away.

Then he grabbed her around the waist before looking up at Bucky. “Get in here and help me put her in her place, will ya?”

The rest of the day was spent in the pool, wrestling and splashing each other. After that, they laid out together in the sun until it set, Steve lit the fire pit, and they roasted marshmallows together until their hands were sticky.

The rest of the week was filled with similar days. They would spend their mornings in town, walking around, or walking Hermes along the beach. In the afternoons, they would play in the water at the pool or the beach, swimming together or just relaxing in the sun. Y/N and Bucky had daily competitions to see who could swim more laps the fastest—but she hadn’t been awarded a swimming scholarship for naught. Whenever she got too sassy, Steve would manage to wrestle her into the water until she was all giggles and no more snark.

They saw more of her body in that week than they had in the past fifteen years, from her tiny bikinis she’d wear to go swimming, to the flirty skirts and dresses she wore into town. Neither Steve or Bucky said anything—it’s not like her father was around to know, and they both quietly appreciated the view.

She asked Bucky or Steve to help her apply her sunscreen every day. Well, neither of them were about to turn her down. She seemed to enjoy the little massages far too much, as did the boys—this fact went undiscussed.

Between her revealing outfits and the sunscreen massages and wrestling with her in and out of the pool, both Steve and Bucky were getting more and more worked up. Peggy had been ignoring Steve all week because she was angry with him for the impromptu vacation to Martha’s Vineyard. And Bucky was—well, Bucky was used to getting laid on a more frequent basis.

When they had started this trip, starting anything with Y/N was considered overstepping in their relationship. Now, they were both fantasizing about it, even if it wasn’t an option on the table.

She had some sort of spell she caught them in. The duality of her innocence and sexiness enraptured them. Steve was upset with himself for wanting her, considering he was still dating Peggy, while Bucky was frustrated that she was so unattainable—at least, with Steve around.

Bucky didn’t want to hurt her or ruin their friendship, but if he was honest with himself, the only thing holding him back was Steve. If he was alone with her, and the moment felt right—like it had the night of her birthday—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

She just didn’t know what was in store for her.

Chapter Text

The weekend started off cloudy and rainy, much to Y/N’s chagrin. She had been enjoying the nice weather and their days spent swimming together. It was like old times, and she felt liberated from the constant watch of her father. She knew Steve was supposed to be upholding her father’s stern rule, but he seemed to forget himself in the past few days as they played around, allowing her the freedom to act how she pleased and do what she wanted—as long as she didn’t get too bratty with them.

After a breakfast of French toast and a mid-morning nap on the sofa, Steve and Bucky took a work call in the office, leaving Y/N up to her own devices for a short time while they spoke to Tony about mob developments. The phone call took almost an hour before they were done. Then they were walking into the kitchen discussing what they should do for lunch.

“It’s whatever you want, Buck,” he snapped, a little harsher than he meant to. Steve didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t have the patience for it.

He hadn’t started the day off in a good mood. The phone call with Tony had worked him up even more. On top of that, Peggy was still cross with him, and she hadn’t been accommodating for phone sex, so he was frustrated in more ways than one.

His relationship with Peggy was one of convenience at first, but more and more these days it was becoming the opposite. He began dating Peggy about a year before because he liked her, her beauty, her sharpness, how refined she was, so he fell into a relationship with her. Then, it became clear that she wasn’t the type of woman who would understand the mob life—she didn’t grow up in it; she only came to New York from London for work.

Sometimes she spoke to him about moving back to London—together. He never told her he had no intention of doing so—more because he didn’t want to deal with the fight that would result, but he also didn’t want to break up with her for the time being. His relationship with her was just so easy for him—sex and affection when he wanted it, and radio silence at other times.

But she wasn’t pleased that so much of his time was spent with the mob—which was only increasing now that Tony was giving him more responsibility. That was why she was so mad about the trip to Martha’s Vineyard. She said if he had time to go on vacation there, he should be able to spend more time with her in the city. She didn’t understand that it was his job to be there, protecting Stane’s daughter.

Peggy didn’t understand most of the things he had to do because of the mob. That was the most annoying part for him.

And now, Bucky and Y/N were both testing his limits.

Their days at the pool were almost torture, with Bucky’s short shorts and her little bikinis. Bucky had spent all day the day before cuddling up to him and batting those long eyelashes at him. Steve didn’t even know if Bucky knew what he was doing to him. And Y/N had spent the last few days provoking them any way she could, pressing up against them in the pool, getting them to put sunscreen on her back. He definitely knew she didn’t know what she was doing to him.

Regardless of how they both made him feel, he knew he couldn’t act on it. Peggy didn’t deserve to be cheated on. When he started dating her, he broke things off with Bucky—but they had always been on-again-off-again, so he didn’t think Bucky would mind. They would start fucking when it was convenient and stop fucking when they started dating other partners. If either of them wanted more than a friends-with-benefits situation—well, neither of them ever said anything.

And Y/N—she was probably off-limits. Stane’s daughter? Steve would be missing nine fingers if Stane found out Steve was after her. But then again, nobody really had to know—right? Not this summer when they would be practically alone on Martha’s Vineyard almost the entire time.

Steve had warred with himself in his head like that since he first saw her in that pearl choker necklace.

Unfortunately, his arousal only added to his anger from the call with Tony, and now his irritation was threatening to boil over at any moment.

“Y/N!” Bucky called into the house, getting out sandwich ingredients. When he got no answer, he called again, “Sweetheart, c’mere, we’re gonna make lunch!”

Several minutes passed and they still had no answer. Steve and Bucky shared a look, and his irritation mounted with each passing second that she ignored them.

He shouted her name using his no-nonsense-voice. “Get down here, now!”

She wouldn’t disobey one of his direct orders.

Right?

“Buck, go get her.”

Bucky sprinted upstairs, and moments later, Steve heard several doors opening and closing. He called her name, his voice soft but a little panicked. “Steve! She’s not up here?”

Bucky and Steve checked the downstairs rooms quickly before Steve was growling, “She’s not here, where the fuck is she?”

“Calm down, Steve,” Bucky tried, but Steve shoved past him and into the backyard. She wasn’t there either, and it was still drizzling a little bit, so she wouldn’t have gone far.

Right?

“She’s over there!” Bucky called. He was at the edge of the backyard, looking over the fence, and then darting out the back gate. Steve quickly followed, and then he saw her.

She was some ways away, standing at the edge of the water, the hood of her windbreaker pulled up to protect her from the rain. Her old Polaroid camera was in her hands and she was crouching, taking photos of the tide.

Steve yelled her name, anger clear in his voice. She straightened up immediately and looked over at them. One hand raised in a tentative wave, but Steve was on her before she could say anything. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her back towards the house.

“Ouch!” she yelped, and his grip tightened. She wasn’t walking as fast as he wanted her to be, and she whined at him, stumbling a little in her effort to keep up with his long strides. “Steve! Stop! What are you doing?” He yanked her forward and she whimpered. “Steve, please! You’re hurting me!”

But he didn’t stop, not until they were back in the house, where he shoved her roughly onto the sofa. There were tears in her eyes and her hand came up to rub at her arm where he has grabbed her.

“Just what the hell was that?” he snarled.

“I just wanted to take some pictures,” she answered, voice reedy and wavering. “The sea foam gets really pretty when it rains and I wanted some pictures of it…”

Steve couldn’t fault her for wanting to take pictures of things she liked—she did that all the time, ever since her father had given her a Polaroid camera when she turned 12. Snapping pictures of sun beams through the window, fresh snow on the streets of Brooklyn, the asphalt just after it rained. He was used to it.

But he couldn’t shove down the intense panic he felt when he realized she was gone.

“You should have told us where you were going,” he told her, anger still boiling over, lacing his words and the tone of his voice with venom.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said, “I know you guys were on the phone. I knew it was important…”

“Don’t give me that. You should have waited for us or—"

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested, standing up abruptly. “You’re being such a jerk about this!”

They all heard the crack of Steve’s palm against her cheek before any of them had time to process it. He hadn’t smacked her that hard—her father had surely done worse—but a bright red mark was already clear across her cheek.

Bucky jumped slightly at the sound, but he knew he couldn’t intervene. Steve would never allow him to. He watched the two of them, every single muscle in his body tense.

Slowly, she turned her face to look at him, eyes shimmering. But Steve wasn’t finished yet.

Swiftly, he gathered her hair in one hand and yanked her head back, straining her neck as he forced her to look up to him. His face was close to hers as he spoke and she could feel his breath on her lips. “You don’t talk to me like that,” he growled, “You don’t disrespect me like that.”

“Steve—”

“Shut your mouth!” he barked, silencing her easily with a yank to her scalp. “You’re going to listen to me carefully, sweetheart. I will not tolerate your attitude, nor will I tolerate you disobeying my rules. Now, I have rules for a reason—to keep you safe. You’re not allowed to go off by yourself without telling us first. I do that to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

A few tears slid down her cheeks, and she didn’t answer him until he yanked on her hair again, shaking her a little. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes, S-Steve,” she stuttered through a fresh wave of tears.

“Good girl.” Steve met Bucky’s eyes, gave a quick tilt of his head towards the couch, indicating for him to come and help him comfort her.

Then he released his tight grip on her hair, but he slid his hand down to grasp the back of her neck firmly. She was boneless under his touch, and he maneuvered her easily so that she was sitting sideways in Bucky’s lap. Steve sat close, her legs draped over his thighs so she was practically sitting in both their laps. As Bucky stroked up and down her spine to soothe her, Steve kept a hand on her neck so she couldn’t turn her face away.

For a moment, Steve just watched as she cried, appreciating the sight. Flushed cheeks glistening, red rimmed eyes and nose, eyes sparkling in the low light. She was one of the prettiest criers he had ever seen, and something swelled inside his chest at the idea that he was the cause. That she looked all pretty and vulnerable for him.

He really did have a thing for making people cry—Bucky was right; he didn’t know what it was, it just did something for him.

However, it wouldn’t do to get hard now, with her on their laps like this, so Steve tamped those thoughts down. Still, he made sure to mentally catalogue the image of her tear-stained face for later.

“Let it out, sweetie,” he purred, voice taking on a gentler tone as he pulled her into his chest, stroking her hair. As she sobbed, Steve met Bucky’s gaze. The other man’s eyes were dark, and as Steve looked at him, he licked his lips. He had a knowing look on his face, like he could see every one of Steve’s thoughts.

Steve only smirked at him.

She eventually pulled back, and he used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks tenderly. “I forgive you,” he whispered, stroking a few errant strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Frowning at that, she tried to pull back, knowing she wasn’t in the wrong—Steve was. Both Steve and Bucky kept her close with their firm grips. She felt conflicted. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and then Steve got so angry and slapped her. But then he was so sweet and tender, soothing her as she cried.

“I know you want to be a good girl for me,” he murmured, still stroking along her cheeks, large hands framing her face. He thumbed along the dip right below her lower lip, just a fleeting touch. “We have rules for a reason. Be a good girl and follow them.”

She supposed he had a point. He was supposed to keep her safe, and how could he do that if he didn’t know where she was?

Plus, how could he be bad if he was being so nice to her?

Steve saw it when she resigned herself to him, to his will. He smiled softly at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead, his firm grip keeping her close for a moment. She could smell him—all peppermint and sharp aftershave. When he pulled back, he touched his own cheek with a finger, asking her for a kiss. She relented easily, leaning in to press her lips against his jaw.

Manipulating her had always been so simple.

Satisfied that he had her wrapped around his finger again, he patted her thigh. “Now, you’re going to go up to your room and stay there until dinner. Understand?”

She didn’t hesitate before nodding. Helping her up and leading her to the stairs with a hand on her lower back, he kissed her on the crown before sending her off.

Once her door closed, he went into the kitchen, gesturing for Bucky to follow, and poured a glass of scotch for both of them.

“You liked that a little too much, I think,” Bucky said, watching Steve as he downed the entire glass at once.

Steve exhaled with the burn of the drink, and then poured another. He needed it. Her insubordination had been just the right catalyst for his anger to boil over. Yelling at her, manhandling her—it had released a little bit of his tension, but he needed more. Now that he had seen her crying so pretty for him, his anger had shifted more to a heated desire simmering under his skin, one that needed taking care of now.

He had sent her up to her room so he wouldn’t do anything he might regret.

To her, at least.

“You think so?” he asked, eyeing Bucky. Bucky was only wearing a pair of short shorts and one of Steve’s sweatshirts. The thin cloth of his shorts didn’t hide his erection, which rivalled Steve’s own.

“I know so.”

“Looks like you enjoyed the show, too.” Stalking towards Bucky, he gestured towards Bucky’s groin.

Bucky didn’t respond to that, but he did blush fiercely, so how was Steve supposed to resist? He was on Bucky in no time, pressing their bodies together. “I’m feelin’ a little worked up here. Care to help me out?” The subtle grind of his hips against Steve’s own told Steve all he needed to know.

“This why you sent her to her room?” Bucky asked, already a little breathless.

Smirking, Steve moved closer to whisper into Bucky’s ear, “Well, it wouldn’t do to fuck your mouth in the middle of the kitchen when she could just walk in on us, would it?” He could smell Bucky’s cologne and a little bit of cigarette smoke as he ran his nose along the side of Bucky’s neck, eliciting a shiver out of the man.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Bucky groaned as Steve shoved a thigh between his own, pressing up into his crotch. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that Bucky could feel Steve breathing, the rapid thrum of his heart.

Steve hummed. “No, it hasn’t. I wouldn’t care if she saw me using you like that. But it might confuse her. You know how she is.”

“A virgin, you mean?” Bucky’s hands came forward to grab Steve’s hips, his head falling backward as Steve pressed up against his cock.

Steve huffed a laughed. “Yeah. She’s just so… innocent.”

“You liked it when she cried, Stevie?” Bucky goaded, trying to provoke him more. He loved it when Steve got all hot and bothered like this.

“I did,” Steve confirmed, pressing his cock up against Bucky’s hip, grinding into him for some relief. One hand came up to cup Bucky’s jaw, thumb tracing his lips. “Looked so pretty, all teary-eyed for me.” His other hand came down and cupped Bucky’s cock. “And you? This? Where did this come from, hmm? Did you like to see her cry? Or did you like it when I slapped her? Or maybe it was when I sat her on your lap and wiped her tears away.”

God, it was just so debased, but yes, Bucky had enjoyed all of it. For some sinful reason, Bucky was turned on by Steve’s rough handling of their girl, and Bucky had wanted nothing more than to kiss her and hold her while she cried, distract her from the sadness with something else—something she wasn’t ready for.

More importantly, Steve knew that Bucky had enjoyed it. Steve knew exactly what Bucky wanted.

It was a dynamic of theirs. Steve yelled at her, she cried, and they comforted her together. Bucky had always done most of the comforting, being extra sweet to her for days afterwards to try and make up for when Steve was an ass.

Bucky just… wanted more.

Steve was kissing at his neck now, sucking harsh marks into the skin below his jaw. Bucky buried a hand in Steve’s hair and yanked his head up, joining their mouths in a sloppy kiss. It had been a while, but they knew each other’s bodies too well, knew how to move together, how to make each other feel good.

Steve bit at Bucky’s lips and then was putting pressure on his shoulders. As Bucky sank down to his knees, he nipped at Steve’s neck, pushed up his shirt to lick at his abdomen, then, once he was seated back on his ankles, leaned his head forward and nuzzled into the line of Steve’s clothed cock.

“Such a good boy,” Steve praised him, petting his head and then pushing his face into his crotch more. Bucky loved it, could feel his own dick leaking into his shorts. Bucky mouthed at his dick, wetting the fabric of Steve’s joggers with his mouth. “Take them off, baby.” Steve pulled his hand away from Bucky’s head.

Bucky obeyed, quickly pulling Steve’s joggers and thin briefs down. Steve took control then, fisting Bucky’s long hair with one hand and taking his length into his other hand.

“Open,” Steve commanded, and Bucky complied. Steve traced the line of Bucky’s lips with the tip of his cock until they were glossy with precum. “Pretty,” Steve said reverently, “So pretty like this.” The praise went right to Bucky’s cock.

Bucky licked his lower lip, just a quick little flick of his tongue to taste Steve’s precum, salty and a little bitter.

Steve didn’t waste any more time. He pushed Bucky’s head forward with the vice grip on his hair and slid his cock into the man’s mouth swiftly. “Oh, God,” Steve groaned. Bucky was always so good at this—always had been able to take Steve right down to the root, nose buried against his dusty blond pubic hair.

And God, Bucky just loved it. He loved the feeling of Steve’s cock obstructing his throat, the weight of it in his mouth, stretching his lips wide.

Steve stayed there, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s wet mouth, tongue gently caressing the underside of his shaft, throat convulsing around the head of his cock. Then he adjusted his grip on Bucky—framed his face with large hands on either side of his head, fingertips digging into the place where his jaw met his neck. Steve could feel his carotid pulse right on his fingertips, and if he pressed hard enough, he could cut it off, make Bucky real dizzy.

Just the thought of Steve doing that made Bucky dizzy. Well, that and the fact that Steve’s cock was still lodged in his throat, cutting off his airway. But he had always been able to hold his breath for a long time. It came in handy.

Steve pulled back and immediately set a punishing rhythm, fucking Bucky’s throat without delay.

It was rough, sloppy, saliva pooling in his mouth and dripping down over his lower lip, trailing down his chin. His jaw ached and he was making obscene noises every time Steve’s cock stormed the path across his tongue, past his gag reflex, and right into his throat—and back.

“Fuck—yes,” Steve grunted, “So good at this, baby. Your mouth was made for this, Buck. Made for my cock.”

Bucky palmed at his own erection lazily, just to relieve some tension while Steve used his mouth. Steve noticed. “Good God, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot for this, aren’t you? Love it when I fuck your mouth like this? It turns you on?”

Bucky gave a broken little moan in response, but it was quickly cut off by Steve’s cock. Steve laughed at the noise and hummed. “Yeah, I know, sweetheart. Can’t help yourself, huh? Should use you like this all the time, keep your throat around my cock every second of the goddamn day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky gave another rough little noise, and then Steve was groaning loud, grip tightening on Bucky’s jaw. “You would like it, I know you would. God—fuck,” he groaned and his hips stuttered. It didn’t take long to get him to the edge after his lack of sexual activity for the last few weeks. “Too good at this, Buck, gonna make me—ohh—come—fuck!” He growled and buried his cock in Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s lips and nose pressed against Steve’s pelvis as he came, forcing Bucky to swallow everything.

Finally, he pulled back, and Bucky took several moments to catch his breath, dark spots dancing in his eyes. Then Steve was pulling him to his feet and kissing the taste from Bucky’s mouth, tongues dragging together lazily in Steve’s post-orgasm haze and the oxygen-deprived fog of Bucky’s mind. The only thing keeping Bucky standing was Steve’s unyielding body pressed against his.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve muttered into his mouth, then dragged his lips down Bucky’s neck. “Can I—” He didn’t wait for Bucky to answer before Steve was shoving his hand down Bucky’s shorts to palm at his hard cock. “No boxers, Buck?” Steve teased, “Were you hoping for this to happen?”

“Mmm,” Bucky moaned as Steve quickly stroked up his length. “Maybe.” Truthfully, he had been horny since they had gotten to Martha’s Vineyard but Steve had hang-ups in the past year about not wanting to cheat on Peggy, so Bucky hadn’t pushed his luck.

He supposed that Steve’s resolve to remain faithful had gone right out the window now.

Multitasking skillfully, Steve slipped his other hand down the back of Bucky’s shorts, kicked his legs further apart with one foot, and continued marking up the column of Bucky’s neck, all while whispering filthy things against his skin. “Been teasin’ me all week, these little shorts, goin’ around shirtless. What’d you want, Buck? You wanted this?”

His fingers circled Bucky’s rim, only pressing lightly, not breaching his entrance. He pressed a knuckle against his perineum while still fisting his cock, swiping his thumb over the head with every stroke, making a mess with his precum.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky gritted out, grinding his ass back against Steve’s hand. “Please, yes, fuck,” he babbled nonsensically as Steve worked him, and in no time he was begging to come. Steve knew exactly how to work him.

“Yeah, Bucky, come for me,” Steve hissed. Bucky tilted his head up for a kiss and moaned his orgasm into Steve’s mouth. Steve kept stroking him as he came, sloppy and wet with each spurt of ejaculate. Steve kept touching him until Bucky was shuddering and pushing Steve away.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, running his hands through his hair to collect himself. “Fuck, Steve.”

Steve laughed, pulling his hand out and lapping at the mess on his palm and fingers, humming at the taste. “That was pretty good, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Hey, we both needed to blow off a little steam,” Steve said, dipping his head to press his lips to Bucky’s jaw, just like their girl did to him not long ago. “The sex is best when it’s like this. You know it.” Then he gave Bucky a gentle kiss, loving and sweet, running his clean hand across Bucky’s waist. They kissed like that for a while before Steve pulled back. “We should get cleaned up.”

Bucky smirked. “Wanna shower together?”

“I suppose so,” Steve teased, “After all, she’ll be in her room for the rest of the day. We can take advantage of that.”

“Well you know the walls aren’t that thick. We need to keep quiet so she doesn’t hear us.”

Steve shrugged, kissing Bucky again. “I’m not too worried about that.”

Steve dragged Bucky upstairs and into the shower, and they stayed in Steve’s bedroom for the rest of the afternoon.

Once dinnertime rolled around, they cleaned up one last time and slipped out of Steve’s bedroom. They both went down the hall to her door. Steve knocked softly, and when they didn’t get an answer, they opened the door and glanced inside.

Her back was facing the door where she was sitting at a little blue desk pressed up against the window. It was still raining lightly, and she was working on something in front of her. She had headphones on, so she didn’t hear them come in.

They both snuck up behind her and looked over her shoulder. She was writing in a journal, one that they had seen her working on before. They knew the pages were filled with sketches and poetry and little blurbs that she wrote. The one she was working on had a little drawing of a cluster of sunflowers, the stems dropping down to frame the words she was writing.

She had always been artistic. Steve taught her when they were kids how to draw and paint. He was satisfied to know she still had that creative side in her.

She still hadn’t noticed them, so Steve dropped one hand on her shoulder abruptly. It startled her and she yelped, turning to look at them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. When she calmed down, Bucky slid the headphones from her ears.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky said, “Time for dinner. I was thinking spaghetti Bolognese. How ‘bout it?”

Her stomach growled at the mention of food. She was very hungry, not having had the chance to eat lunch before she was sent to her room. But something seemed different between her boys. She had heard weird noises earlier, and she had wondered what it was, but she didn’t want to risk another punishment by leaving her room. And now there they were, Steve’s arm slung around Bucky’s shoulders, almost too casually.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing to Bucky’s neck, where dark purple bruises lined his throat.

“We were wrestling earlier,” Steve answered for Bucky. Bucky smirked at the euphemism. “We both needed to blow off some steam.”

She was silent for a moment, considering them both, eyes flickering between them, like she was trying to figure out what was wrong. They were both looking at her with easy little smiles, eyes on her almost predatorily.

“C’mon, doll,” Bucky said, trying to disarm her, “We know you’re starving.”

Steve added, “We’ll even let you have a little wine with dinner.”

Something seemed to settle in her eyes, her shoulders relaxing, and she smiled. “Spaghetti Bolognese sounds good.” Nothing was wrong, nothing had changed. They had forgiven her for earlier—she had nothing to worry about.

She stood, and Bucky said, “Hey, wait a second.” His hand fell to the hem of her shirt. She had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a faded blue t-shirt—one that was suspiciously familiar. “I don’t think this belongs to you, doll.”

A blush came over her face, but she smirked at him instead of seeming bashful. “Yeah, well. It looks better on me.”

He agreed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Oh, you think so?”

Bucky’s hands slipped to the sides of her waist, and she tensed up again, because they both knew she was the most ticklish on her sides. Before she could try and stop him, he was digging his fingers in, tickling her as she squealed.

“Stop!” she gasped, moving away from him and into Steve’s waiting arms. Steve tightened his arms around her, holding her in place for Bucky to tickle, and they both laughed at her cries for help.

“You’re both evil!” she gasped through her laughter as she thrashed in their grip.

“Say uncle and we’ll stop,” Steve said evenly. She caved to him almost immediately, crying out uncle and begging them to stop.

When they let her go, she shot away from Steve, only to run into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder, making her screech again. Walking to the stairs with one hand resting on her upper thigh to keep her steady, he said, “Listen, you’re gonna eat everything on your plate since you didn’t have lunch.”

“You’re bossy.” She reached down to pinch his ass through his shorts.

In retaliation, he smacked the skin of her thigh, soliciting another shriek. “Don’t get handsy, doll, you won’t like the result.”

Steve watched on with amusement, following them downstairs.

As Steve tossed together a salad, Y/N brushed a loaf of ciabatta bread with garlic and olive oil and snuck tastes of the cabernet Bucky was using in the sauce. Once dinner was done, they sat down and enjoyed the food.

Steve had to admit that Bucky was a very good cook, but he would never say that to Bucky’s face. It would just feed his ego.

 After dinner, they put on a movie, and Steve held her close to him as a way to apologize and make up for his anger earlier. As he sat there, with his girl in his arms and his boy at his side, he felt more content than he had in almost a year.

Chapter Text

The rain didn’t clear up for a couple more days, but they didn’t mind.

She and Steve spent the mornings together at the kitchen table, Y/N writing and drawing in her journal, and Steve sketching in his notebook.

He mentioned offhandedly one day that he missed painting, and then she asked him if he would teach her how. So they went out to a little art store and bought a bunch of watercolor supplies and he taught her everything he knew. How to control the saturation of pigment with the amount of water on the brush, how to bloom the color across the page, how to layer the shades to add more depth to the picture.

She ate up every little tip he told her. It reminded him of when his mother taught him how to paint. He hadn’t had much time lately for hobbies, so he was enjoying the opportunity to indulge his artistic side. He enjoyed spending the uninterrupted time with her just as much.

In the afternoons, Steve had business to do. He’d spend hours on the phone with Tony, planning big things for the coming weeks. Not even Bucky was allowed on these calls—which annoyed him at first, but it gave him more time to spent with their girl, so he took it in stride.

It was the morning after the long night Steve and Bucky spent together, and Steve was making breakfast for them. While Y/N was setting the table, Bucky snuck up on Steve in the kitchen, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck. Steve jumped and pulled him aside into the laundry room.

“What happened yesterday,” Steve said, voice low so Y/N wouldn’t hear. He rubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t do it again.”

“What?” Bucky frowned, “Why?”

“Peggy, of course,” Steve said it like it was the most obvious thing. Steve couldn’t serial-cheat on his girlfriend. That would be unacceptable. “She doesn’t deserve that. It was a one-time-thing. Keep it between us, got it?”

Bucky smiled tightly. “Of course, Stevie. Whatever you want.”

Afterwards, he went for a long run along the beach to clear his head, and for the following days, he tried to stay clear of Steve. Truthfully, it hurt a little. He and Steve had always been on and off, but Bucky liked it best when they were on. If it were up to him, they would be on all the time.

Bucky didn’t really see the reason for Steve to date Peggy, but Steve seemed to be happy—sometimes, at least. He seemed less and less happy the past few months as Peggy expected more and more out of their relationship. Every time Steve complained about Peggy suffocating him or not understanding his obligations to the mob, Bucky wanted to yell at him—shout out, that if Steve chose Bucky, it would be better. If Steve chose Bucky, they would be happy.

Bucky didn’t know what to do about it, though. Steve didn’t want him now—he wanted Peggy, apparently.

So while Steve holed himself up in the cottage’s office in the afternoons, Bucky would seek out Y/N to distract him. Their time together was peaceful, spent cuddling together on the back porch with a thick blanket and watching the rain. They would reminisce over their childhood memories, show each other books and music they liked, and talk about almost anything that came to mind.

She tended to be more vulnerable with Bucky when it was the two of them alone, snuggled up together, and Bucky couldn’t help but go even softer for her. He loved the way she felt pressed up against him, the way she would look up at him for validation or reassurance, the way her eyes would light up whenever she spoke about herself.

Since Steve had rebuffed him, he couldn’t help but feel a little spiteful, a little dejected. His deep-seated yearning for Y/N was only growing now that he and Steve were on stricter terms.

Sometimes when Steve took her in his arms at night when they watched movies, Bucky would feel a little unwelcome spark of jealousy popping off in his chest. He wasn’t sure who he was jealous of. Certainly he wanted Steve to show that kind of affection to him, but he also wanted her in his arms almost all the time.

Seeing them curled up together so closely, he had to admit that they looked good together. Steve was the strong protector type, and she needed something like that.

He wondered if he could be that for her, but he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t in him. Still, despite that, he couldn’t help the way he felt towards her. She was sunshine personified—how could he not love her just a little bit?

In the back of his mind, he hoped he would get the chance to get closer to her again, that the moment would come for him to take her in his arms like he had the night of her birthday.

But it was too far-fetched. He knew that.

The moment happened to present itself in the middle of the week.

They were all on the couch watching a thriller movie, and she was curled up into Bucky’s side. Bucky wasn’t even paying attention to the television. His mind lingered on how she felt against him, the feeling of her soft skin as he stroked her arm, the way her hair tickled against his chin where he rested it on her head.

He thought the movie was probably just getting intense, because Steve’s phone rang, and both Y/N and Steve jumped in their seats at the shrill tone. Her head jolted against his jaw and made his teeth click.

Steve’s brief shock disappeared when he checked the caller ID. “It’s Peggy!” he said excitedly, jumping up. “I’m going to bed, goodnight!” He ran up the stairs, and they hear him answer before he shut himself in his room.

Bucky huffed, “About damn time…”

“Why has Peggy been ignoring him all week?” the girl in his arms asked, stretching out more on the couch.

“She didn’t like that he had to come here,” Bucky answered.

They went silent once more, watching the movie—or in Bucky’s case, pretending.

“Is it my fault?”

Bucky kissed the top of her head. “No, doll. It’s not your fault,” he lied. She believed him though, and his words seemed to reassure her enough that she relaxed into him. “Let me lay down, doll. I’m getting stiff here.”

“Hmph…” Grumbling, she allowed him to maneuver them so he was laying behind her, her back pressed against his front. Bucky didn’t hesitate before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, spooning her. She was soft and warm against him, and he relished it for the remaining hour and a half of the movie, lost in the way she felt against him.

He hadn’t even realized when the credits started rolling until Y/N turned her head a little bit. “Steve’s asleep,” she whispered. It was only then that he heard the faint sound of snoring upstairs.

“You wanna go to sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

She shook her head. “Not tired.”

She took the remote and played another movie, then settled back against him again. He was glad she had elected not to go to bed yet. He wanted more time with her in his arms.

Burying his face into her hair, he smelled the salon shampoo she used, and something sweet like vanilla. He stayed there, arms anchoring her against him.

His grown-out stubble scratched at the back of her scalp and at her neck and she squirmed against him. Bucky only realized the effects of her squirming when it was too late, and then the bulge in his pants was pressing against her ass.

She turned in his arms to face him. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the movie anyways. “You’re tickling me,” she pouted.

“What?” he asked, oblivious. “How?”

Her hands came up and cupped his jaw, her fingers running along his stubbly cheeks. “Your beard,” she answered, eyes fixated on his strong jawline.

She was so close to him now. He could smell her perfume, floral and fresh. Her sun kissed skin glowed in the faint light of the television.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ll shave it.”

“No!” she said, too quickly. Thoughts of his scruff chafing against her lips and chin when he kissed her flickered through her mind, and she blushed.

Bucky smirked at her reaction. “No, you don’t want me to?” he teased.

She shook her head, fingers still playing at his beard. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, hands splayed across her lower back, stroking lightly there. She was sensitive there, he learned from the daily applications of sunscreen. He dug his fingers in to tickle her, and she squirmed against him again, trying to move away from his fingers but only pressing herself up more against his hard body. If she noticed—well, he wanted to see what she would do. It thrilled him a little that she would experience this for the first time with him.

She had noticed the hardness in his shorts, but she ignored it—not really knowing what she was supposed to do about it. She knew it happened when a man was aroused, but Bucky—he couldn’t be…

Well, he did try and kiss her. But that had been weeks ago, she reasoned, and he hadn’t made another move since. Not that she really knew how their relationship was supposed to progress from there. He had just gone back to acting like her best friend.

At least he hadn’t ignored her like Steve had, but she and Steve were back to normal, too.

Still, Bucky had to have kissed her for a reason, and the way his eyes kept flickering down to her lips confirmed as much.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you kiss me on my birthday?”

Bucky stiffened, not anticipating that question. She hadn’t brought it up yet, but he didn’t expect her to ignore it forever.

“I…” he didn’t know how to answer. “I wanted to,” he said simply.

“But why?”

He thought about it, how he had been tempted. “You just looked so pretty that night, I couldn’t help myself.”

She mulled this over. “So you’ve been able to help yourself since? Or have you not wanted to kiss me again?”

He knew what she was doing—trying to see if he had lost interest in her. “I liked the kiss, darling. I just haven’t had the chance to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks were flushed now, pink and pretty. “So you want to?”

Well, she was basically inviting him to kiss her now. What else was he supposed to do?

He leaned forward and kissed her—softer than he had before, just a gentle press of his lips against hers. Then he pulled back all too soon and licked his lips. Her lip balm tasted like candy.

“There. Happy?” he asked, unable to repress the smirk on his lips.

She was pouting. “No,” she answered.

“No?” He raised his eyebrows, playing innocent. “Why not? Not a good kiss?”

“Bucky,” she whined. “C’mon.”

“What? I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”

She huffed, then said, “I liked how you kissed me on my birthday.”

That was what he wanted her to say, and now she had fallen right into his hands. He brought one hand up to cup the back of her head, pulling her into him for the same kind of bruising kiss he had given her before.

This time, she didn’t freeze up. Instead, she worked her lips against his and matched his vigor, allowing his tongue to enter her mouth and tangle with her own. She tasted like cherries, and he groaned into her mouth, unable to help himself. She was everything he ever hoped—so receptive and willing.

He was rock hard by now, and he couldn’t help the slight press of his hips against hers. It caused her to gasp into his mouth, which pleased him. He groaned low in response, and she could feel the vibrations all throughout her body. That paired with the feeling of his stubble scratching at her skin, the feeling of his arms compressing her body around the middle—it was overwhelming, too much sensation for her inexperienced body to process at once.

She turned her head, breaking the kiss, but Bucky didn’t stop, lowering his head and kissing down her jaw and neck. As he sucked and licked at the sensitive skin, she let out the sweetest little sounds—gasps and whimpers, one hand grabbing at his shoulder and the other one in his hair. One of his hands came up to roam her body, brushing along her side, rubbing over her back, drifting down to caress her hip—he just wanted to feel her, every part of her.

When his hand skimmed over her ass, she started pushing at his shoulders. “Bucky,” she gasped as he bit at her clavicle, “Bucky, wait—"

“Quiet,” he shushed her, hoping she wasn’t loud enough for Steve to wake. He didn’t want to stop, and he certainly didn’t want Steve to catch them, so he brought his lips back up and kissed her hard, silencing her. Maneuvering their bodies just so, he shoved one of his thick thighs between her own, effectively pinning her body down with his leg and his arms tight around her torso.

She squeaked into his mouth when his thigh ground up against the space between her legs—nobody had ever touched her there before, not even herself. Her heart was racing, not sure what was supposed to come next, not sure how far he was going to go with her. It was all too much too soon, and while her body was tingling with his touch, skin burning, her mind told her it was wrong.

At the feeling of his hand groping her ass, squeezing tight, she yanked especially hard on his hair. Their lips detached at his pained gasp, which gave her the opportunity to turn her mouth away from him again.

“Bucky,” she panted, “Stop!”

It confused her when he chuckled, his laugh rumbling through both their bodies. He dipped his head, running his nose along her throat, ending with a press of his lips under her earlobe. “Why do you want me to stop, baby?” he asked, voice gravelly with lust. “You asked for me to kiss you, remember?”

“I know, but—”

“This is how I kissed you at your birthday. This is how it would’ve gone if Sam hadn’t interrupted us. You know that?”

She shook her head, mind swimming with arousal and panic. “But Bucky,” she pleaded, “I don’t know—I’m not sure—”

“Hey,” he stopped her, gripping her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t do nothin’ you ain’t ready for.”

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” she whispered, eyes dropping.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice firmer. She did, eyes shimmering with uncertainty. “Do you trust me?” She nodded, and his grip on her tightened. “Need to hear you say it, doll.”

“I trust you,” she whispered.

“Then let me take the lead.” The words sounded like a request, but his voice left no room for argument. “Quiet your mind. Listen to your body. Your body knows what to do,” he said, running his fingers gently along her side. She shivered. “You were made for me, baby.” His thumb ran along her lower lip, and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of his hands mixed with his words.

He truly believed it—the more he touched her body, the more he realized it. She was perfect. All of her sounds, the way she clung to him; she was so receptive to his touch, her body so responsive. The goosebumps on her skin, the way she shuddered, the unconscious clench of her thighs on his—they betrayed her pleasure, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

Plus, he had already had a taste of her—he would never be able to let her go, now.

“I don’t know what to do, though,” she murmured, lips brushing deliciously against his thumb.

“I’m gonna teach you, sweetheart.” With that, he kissed her again. He would try not to overwhelm her tonight—there was always next time.

And there would be a next time, if he had anything to do with it.

For now, he just enjoyed kissing her, touching her body. Her lips were plushy and slippery wet, swollen from the scratch of his beard. She kissed him eagerly, tongue curling with his, only pulling back when she began to run out of breath.

As he kissed her, his hands roamed her body over the fabric of her dress at her waist and hips. The material was so thin he could feel the heat of her body through it, the way her flesh yielded to his grip.

His hand slowly inched down to the hem of her dress. The skirt was very short, and their position caused it to hike up more than was appropriate so it ended just under her ass. He bypassed the hem at first, hand running down her thigh, feeling her soft skin. Then he traced up the back of her thigh and dipped underneath the hem, gripping her ass beneath the fabric.

Her ass cheek was half bare, covered only by a pair of skimpy panties. He wanted to see them, so he swiftly flipped up her skirt over her hips to bare her ass.

“Bucky!” she gasped, breaking the kiss. They both looked down at her bared bottom, her gaze was panicked while his was lustful. The panties weren’t quite a thong, but they weren’t covering much of her ass; rosy pink lace dipped down between her cheeks, lost between her thighs.

“Look at you, baby doll,” he groaned, palming at the swell of her ass. “Lookin’ so sweet for me.” He ran a finger along the waistband, tracing the top hem and then down where it clung to the round flesh of her ass, ending with a soft press to the crotch of her panties.

She was soaking wet.

“What’re you—”

He cut her off, “Quiet, baby. Let me show you what your body wants.” His finger ran across her clothed pussy. “You’re wet for me. You know what that means?” She shook her head. “It means you like it. Your sweet little pussy gets wet when it likes what I’m doing to your body. Understand?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. Did she understand? Sure, she had had sex education, but she had gone to a private Catholic school in Brooklyn that only taught abstinence. Her health class had barely covered human anatomy, and the nuns had discouraged any questions about sex or pleasure, stating that sex was solely for procreation.

Her body was telling her different, though. She didn’t quite understand why her body was reacting so much to his touch.

She knew she liked it, though. Every brush of his fingers on her skin had her lighting aflame, and now he was touching along her panties and it felt like her pelvis was getting tighter. Everything just felt so good, and she had no idea how it could get any better.

“Sweetie,” Bucky’s hand stilled. “Have you ever touched yourself here before?” He asked, punctuating the question with a press against her pussy. She gasped at the feeling and then shook her head. His index finger found her clit through the fabric and rubbed light circles over it. “When I touch here, and I rub it or press against it, it feels good, doesn’t it, honey?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, hands clutching to his shoulders. She was breathing heavier again, and the blush on her cheeks had sunk down to the skin of her breasts, making her look like she had spent a little too much time in the sun. As he kept rubbing, her head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed. He pressed down a little harder and she keened, hips jumping against his hand. “S-sorry,” she gasped, trying to still her hips.

“No, sweetheart, don’t apologize,” his voice was low in her ear. “Don’t hold back. Move your hips if it feels good. I just want you to feel good—and there’s a lot of different ways for you to do that.”

At his words, her hips twitched again. He continued to rub against her, occasionally pressing harder, occasionally pinching her clit lightly. With each new sensation, her thighs tightened on him, her hips grinding against his hand, hands fisting his hair.

Bucky kissed her lightly on the mouth, skimming his lips along her cheek and down her jaw. He nipped lightly at her pulse point and brought his lips down further to her shoulder. He nudged the strap of her dress off, pressing his mouth against the skin there and sucking.

She jolted against him, gasping loudly, “Oh!” The spot he was kissing on her shoulder felt so good, like a direct line to her groin. “That’s—”

“Shh,” he hushed her, murmuring against her skin, “Gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want Steve to wake up, right?” However, he kept sucking at the spot, noting how it made her squirm and grind down harder on his hand.

She thought that the idea of Steve catching them might dampen her arousal, quell the burning throughout her body, but she felt no panic at the prospect. Instead, the feeling in her tightened even more, making her body tense in the best way.

She felt hot all over, her skin moist with sweat, and she felt so, so slick between her legs. Her panties were completely soaked and they slid against her lips with each movement and shift of her hips, sending more jolts through her body.

“I said quiet, baby,” he admonished her when she whined more. He gave a sharp pinch to her clit to warn her, but it had the opposite effect.

She buried her face against his neck and bit into his skin there, knowing if she didn’t, she would make more noise. She couldn’t help it, though—that pinch had her flying into some depth of pleasure she hadn’t known about before. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, surging through her body. Every nerve was flaring, her skin tingling, mind going fuzzy in her frenzy.

Bucky rubbed her through her orgasm, relishing the way her whole body shook, her thighs clamping down hard on him. When she bit into his neck, it only fed his own arousal, his cock painfully hard in his sweatpants, pressed up against her writhing body.

Finally, the pleasure ebbed away like the surf during low tide, the boiling in her blood lowering to a simmer. She breathed hard against his neck, catching her breath. She vaguely registered that he was rubbing her back, his hand having retreated from her panties.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered into her hair. He pulled her back and kissed her lips gently, sweetly. “That was beautiful, doll.”

She would have blushed more if she could have. “What—”

“You had an orgasm, sweetheart.”

The nuns said that an orgasm happened during sex when a man came, but apparently women had orgasms, too. She never expected it to be so… wonderful.

It was the best thing she’d ever experienced. And she wanted more.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he teased. He knew full well that she did.

She didn’t catch the teasing in his voice or the smirk on his face, so she nodded vigorously. “That was—that… Bucky,” she sighed, a wide smile coming over her face. She giggled, high on the endorphins from her pleasure. “That was amazing!”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you liked it, but you gotta keep your voice down. Steve’s asleep, remember?”

She nodded. “Sorry,” she whispered. She was silent for a moment, pensive, and he allowed her a moment to collect her thoughts. Finally, she asked, “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“You… you said… that there were a lot of different ways… for me to feel good… like that…” she looked away from him as she spoke, embarrassed still. “What are the other ways?”

He smirked, smug that she wanted more from him and was going as far as to ask him for it. “I can show you everything I know, baby,” he offered, “You want that?”

She nodded quickly again. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll show you everything I can, but it’s not all gonna happen tonight. Alright?”

“Okay… Thank you, Bucky.”

He smiled, kissing her head again. “Good manners, sweetheart. I like to hear your manners.” It turned him on, in fact. His cock couldn’t possibly get any harder.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“…Is that all you’re going to show me tonight?”

He thought for a second, wondering what else he could ease her into. Something not too far off from what they just did, and maybe something that could get him off, too.

“No, honey, not if you want more. Do you?”

“Yes, please.”

He looked down at her, the lust taking over his eyes again. Slowly, he moved his thigh back between hers, pressing up tightly against her pussy. She let out a breath at the sensation, the more intense pleasure that came from the constant pressure.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good,” she sighed, moving her hips against him of her own volition, just to see how it felt—and it felt wonderful.

“Good, sweetheart, just like that,” he praised her, one hand falling to her hip to help guide her movements. The other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her tightly against him so he could get some friction of his own as his clothed cock pressed against her hip.

Her dress had been rucked up to her waist now, so she felt him against her bare skin through the thin material of his sweats. He was hard, unyielding, and it felt so hot against her. Something wet was soaked through the fabric and she could feel the large damp spot.

They ground their hips against each other, creating a sensual rhythm as the feeling in her belly built, grew taut once again. Bucky staved off his own orgasm for as long as he could, instead focusing on getting her to her own.

He kissed her deeply, licking into her mouth and swallowing all of her little whimpers. His hands both slid to her ass, gripping her flesh tight and pushing and pulling her hips against his. Rutting his hips into her, he bounced his thigh a little bit and she broke off their kiss, panting against his mouth with a pained whimper.

Bringing his lips to her shoulder, he scraped his teeth against the delicate skin, making her keen and whine. Her hands ran from her shoulders to his back, finding the bottom of his shirt and shoving her hands below the hem, wanting to feel more of his skin on hers.

When her fingernails scraped down his back, he groaned into her neck, the pain bringing him ever closer to his finish.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her hips stuttering in their rhythm, thighs clenching together around him. She could feel it building up again, the same as last time.

“That’s right,” he rasped in her ear, “Come for me.” His words seems to spur her on, and he continued, “Look so pretty when you come. C’mon, so sweet for me, just like that.”

“Oh!” she moaned, and he pressed his lips to her again to keep her quiet. He felt her body shaking again, signaling her orgasm, and he ground his hips further into her, his body going tense as he came. His hips rutted against her sharply, and they gasped the last of their orgasms into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together, hips twitching, bodies slowly going slack against the other.

Finally, Bucky pulled back first, looking at her. She was blissed out again, and Bucky wished he could see her like this all the time. He kissed her gently, dominating the kiss, all resistance she had previously harbored gone.

When they pulled back from the kiss, she looked down. “Your pants are wet,” she said, voice soft and sleepy.

He chuckled, “I’ll bet your panties aren’t too well off, either, honey.” He was glad he could still get her to blush furiously, and he kissed her swollen red lips to distract her. “C’mon,” he said when she yawned into the kiss. “Gotta get you to bed.”

Separating their bodies, Bucky took stock. His sweatpants were ruined, and her pussy had even soaked through a spot on his thigh. She was in a state of disarray, so he pulled up the strap of her dress and straightened the hem before scooping her up and standing.

By the time he made it to her room, she was already falling asleep in his arms, her body worn out from two consecutive orgasms. He tucked her in, brushed a hand over her hair to tidy a few errant strands.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly, sleep already taking her.

He slipped out of her bedroom and into his own. Steve was still snoring, which was a good sign, and as Bucky took off his dirty clothes and slipped into the shower, he realized he felt better now than he had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Bucky was dreaming of something hot, and wet, and wonderful.

“Bucky,” his name was whispered, his body rocking gently back and forth. “Bucky—”

“Bucky,” Steve hissed, shaking him awake.

“Wha—” Bucky startled, his body jolting, limbs tangling in the duvet.

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Steve?” Bucky rubbed his eyes and looked up at his friend, then to the clock, then back. It was five in the morning, still dark outside his window, and Steve was standing over his bed, only the light from the hallway illuminating the space.

“Tony wants us on a call. It’s important.”

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s this about? The sun’s not even up.”

“The Laufeyson deal,” Steve answered gravely, and that had Bucky’s attention.

Bucky threw on a shirt and a pair of joggers before he followed Steve to the office, where he already had the landline set up with a call to Tony. The landline had an untraceable number and was assured not to be wired, one of the perks of being at a mob boss’s vacation house.

“Tony, we’re here,” Steve said. As Bucky yawned, Steve pushed a half-full mug of coffee into his hands. It was tepid but strong like Steve always made it. He must have been awake for a few hours now, Bucky realized.

“Listen, this is a serious matter. So the deal with Laufeyson’s supposed to go through on Friday.” Loki Laufeyson was the brother of Thor, one of the senior members of the Brooklyn Mob. Loki owned several businesses, and a deal was in the works to smuggle drugs and launder money through one of his nightclubs in Manhattan.

“Is there a problem with the deal?” Bucky asked. Steve and Bucky had personally been working on the deal, spearheading arrangements before Stane had sent them to the Vineyard.

“We’ve noticed Hydra lackeys hanging around the area,” Tony explained, “They seem to be gearing up for something.”

That was bad news. Hydra was a rival gang of the Brooklyn Mob, and the two regularly got into territory disputes.

“What’s Laufeyson say?” Steve asked.

“He says he doesn’t know anything about it but we saw him walking out of lunch with a few Hydra fellows.” Tony sighed, clearly exasperated. “Look, I hate doing this shit over the phone. One of you get your ass back to Brooklyn.”

“I’ll go,” Steve said immediately. “Buck, you gotta stay here and watch over Y/N.”

“I shouldn’t need you here for more than a week,” Tony said. “I know Stane’s being a real hard-ass about having you guys watch over her. He didn’t want to call you guys back to the city, but you both know the deal with Laufeyson better. Thor’s already on it, but you know how they are.”

They wrapped up the call with a few more words and then Steve was following Bucky into the kitchen. “I’ll get some breakfast made,” Bucky said, “You go pack up. Stark wants you on the road in an hour.”

Steve acquiesced, going upstairs to shower. Bucky started on a pan of eggs. After he spooned them onto a plate for Steve, he turned around at the sound of someone entering the kitchen, but it wasn’t Steve as he had been expecting. Y/N had woken up and was now taking a seat at the table. He noticed she wasn’t wearing the dress from last night anymore. She had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt that said St. Thomas Aquinas High Swim & Dive.

“You’re awake,” Bucky said.

“Steve’s makes a lot of noise,” she grumbled as an explanation, putting her head down on the wooden table. Bucky knew all too well that Steve made plenty of noise while showering and getting ready. “Why’re you up?”

“Work stuff,” he answered shortly. Scooping eggs onto a plate for her, he put a piece of toast on each plate before putting more bread in the toaster for himself. “Steve’s going away for the week.”

“Why?”

He smiled tightly, placing the plate in front of her. She was still lying face down on the table. “Don’t worry about that, doll.” He ran a gentle hand over her hair to coax her up. “Eat up. Once Steve leaves, we can do whatever you want for the day.”

Steve walked into the kitchen then, dressed all in black, face all business. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he addressed Y/N, tone stern, pulling on his jacket.

“You woke me up.” Sitting up to take a jar of jam from Bucky, she looked to Steve briefly taking in the tense expression on his face.

Steve let out a terse breath and sat down next to her where Bucky set his plate down. “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound very sorry—more annoyed than anything.

“Why d’you have to go back to Brooklyn?” she asked nonchalantly, slathering her toast with raspberry preserves.

“That’s none of your business, sweet cheeks,” he answered, jaw clenched. Then Steve paused, chewing a bite of eggs, and observed her for a long moment. “What’s on your neck?”

Bucky froze, turned, and saw where Steve had his gaze turned. He thought he had been careful not to leave any hickeys the night before, but there on the side of her neck was a dark spot.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“It’s all purple there.” He reached his hand out and ran his fingers over the mark.

She jerked away from his touch. “Ouch, Steve! That hurts. I burnt myself with my curling iron.” He tried to touch it again and she slapped his hand back. “Stop!”

Leaning forward to inspect it more closely, he muttered, “Doesn’t look like a burn…”

“Well it is,” she snapped. “How many burns from a curling iron have you seen?”

He reached his hand out again. “Just let me look at it—”

She leapt from her seat, standing up and stepping away from him. “Cut it out, Steve, it’s too early for this shit!”

Gritting his teeth, Steve’s eyes were suddenly a dark, stormy blue, narrowed angrily at the girl. “You’re lucky I need to go soon,” he growled, pushing away from the table and stalking up to her. He got close to her face, grabbed her chin tight, and forced her to look at him. “We’ll be talking about your language and your attitude when I get back.”

She held his gaze petulantly until he roughly released her, then he brushed past her and went upstairs. While Steve packed his bag, she helped Bucky clean up the dishes in a tense silence until Steve announced he was leaving. They went into the foyer to send him off. Although she was still annoyed with him, she acted cowed, knowing better than to give him more attitude.

Bucky and Steve shared a few whispered words between them.

“I’ll call you when anything changes,” Steve said in a low tone. “I’ll call on the landline.”

“Keep me updated,” Bucky murmured, “Good luck.”

Steve patted him on the back briefly, hand lingering for a moment on his shoulder blade before he turned away, looking to Y/N now. His eyes softened at her nervous expression. “Come here, sweetheart, give me a hug before I go.”

She obeyed him, allowing him to engulf her in his arms. “Sorry, Steve,” she muttered into his chest, hoping it might save her some of his wrath later.

He kissed her head and pulled back a little, tilting her head up with a finger on her chin, much gentler than in the kitchen. “We’ll talk about it later. Be good for Bucky while I’m gone, okay?”

She nodded. “I will.”

Steve turned to Bucky then. “Don’t let her get away with anything, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, holding open the door for Steve. “Oh, I won’t. You don’t have to worry, Stevie.”

With a few more parting words, he was gone. Bucky watched out the window as the headlights of the car disappeared down the driveway, and then he turned back to see Y/N walking upstairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower.”

He followed her up, watching the way her ass moved in those tiny athletic shorts. Steve was gone now, and he wasn’t about to waste a single second of the following week alone with her.

 When she entered the bathroom, she nudged the door closed, only for him to stop it with his foot. “Not so fast, now.”

“Hey—” she turned and glared at him. She was a little annoyed with Steve for being an ass, and a little annoyed with Bucky for getting her into the situation in the first place because of the hickey. “Go away, I need to shower.”

Bucky only hummed, brushing past her to turn on the tap. “I know.” He straightened up to look at her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she nodded to the door, hoping to come across as unyielding and serious. She didn’t exactly feel like dealing with Bucky now. “So get out.”

He saw right through her. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” He cornered her against the counter and her eyes narrowed further, lips set in a pout, but he paid that no attention. Brushing her hair away with his knuckles, he took a look at the bruise on her neck. “That’s no burn,” he said, firmly pressing the pad of his index finger against it. She didn’t flinch like she had in the kitchen with Steve.

For a second, she looked sheepish, but then her expression returned to irritation. “Well I couldn’t exactly tell him it was a hickey.”

He chuckled, not letting her attitude phase him. Maybe he would punish her if she kept it up, but he suspected he could sway her to his favor. “No, you couldn’t have. You know what Steve would do to us if he found out?”

Her expression darkened and she frowned, looked away from him. “He’d probably hit me again…”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart.” He ran his hand down the back of her head, tangling his fingers lightly in her hair.

Her eyes locked on him, angry again. “Now Steve’s mad at me and I’m in trouble and it’s because of you.”

“Me? No, you got yourself into that mess with Steve, honey.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me. You gave me this thing,” she gestured to her neck.

“You shouldn’t have talked back to him at breakfast,” Bucky replied. “You know how he gets.”

Huffing, she tried to move past him. “Yeah, whatever… Just let me shower…”

“Hey, hey,” he said her name and pulled her back in front of him. She tried to move again but he pinned her body against the counter with his own, caging her in with his arms. He looked down at her, their faces close. Deciding to go for sweet first, he cooed, “I don’t want you to be mad at me, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but he barely brushed their lips together before she was pushing him away. Although she pushed him, he didn’t remove his hand from her head, still stroking through her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

“Wait, Bucky,” she sighed, conflicted now. Her annoyance about the hickey had only dredged up the anxieties she was feeling about last night, about whether what they did together was right or not. She didn’t know how to decide if it was right in the first place, but her gut told her it wasn’t. The nuns would have said the same thing, and she realized that her conscience sounded a lot like Sister Catherine, her high school English teacher. “I don’t know about all this.”

“Don’t know about what?”

“This,” she gestured between them. “Me and you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you not enjoy last night?” She blushed and looked at the floor, and when she didn’t answer, he coaxed her with a gentle nudge with his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I did enjoy it… I just… Aren’t we doing this in the wrong order? Aren’t you supposed to take me on a date first, or something?”

Bucky smirked. She was just too sweet. Gently lifting her by the chin to meet his eyes, he asked, “You want me to take you on a date, sweetheart?”

“Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?”

“Sometimes, you go on dates before having sex,” he explained patiently, and her blush deepened. “Not always, though. Dating is so that you can get to know each other. I think we know each other pretty well; don’t you think?”

Maybe he had a point—they had known each other for almost her entire life. “Yeah, I guess. I just don’t know how this kind of thing goes. I’ve never dated anyone before.”

“I know you haven’t,” he said, pressing himself closer. With one hand, he cupped her face, and the other settled on her hip. “That’s why you’re lucky that you have me. I’ll take the lead, and you just have to follow me. I would never do you wrong, baby.”

She chewed on her lip, thinking it over. “I don’t know, Bucky…”

“C’mon, don’t you want to be a good girl for me?”

“I mean, yes, but—”

“Then do what I say.” His tone was firm now, and when she looked into his eyes, they were harder, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He was done playing around—he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to wait for her to get on the same page. She’d get with it eventually, even if he had to force her hand.

Pressing his body against hers, he kissed her, hard and dominating. Hands pushed at his chest, but he was insistent, not allowing her to move away. Pulling her tight into his arms, he kissed her quickly, and his tongue darted inside her mouth, tangling with her own. Clumsy, unsure, she kissed him back, but he didn’t mind; he preferred to take control.

His hands dropped and cupped her ass, pulling her hips into his and grinding his half-hard cock against her lower stomach. She gasped in shock and Bucky promptly lifted her up to sit her on the counter.

“Bucky—” she breathed when he attached his lips to her neck. Tangling her hands in his hair, she yanked hard in an attempt to dislodge him, but it only spurred him on. He skimmed his fingers along the hem of her shirt and then under, feeling the soft skin of her stomach and sides. Jerking at his touch, she tried to move back on the counter, but he used his strength to his advantage, pulling her shirt up and over her head with a single movement.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, bringing her arms to cover her chest. While she was occupied in concealing her breasts from him, he focused on getting her athletic shorts off, yanking them down and past her hips with little work. One of her hands went to cover her mound, while the other one remained across her front, poorly concealing her chest from him.

Redness creeped down her neck, and Bucky leered at her. “Sweetheart let me see you,” he said, voice husky but still commanding. “Put your arms down.” She didn’t, so he took her wrists in his hands and held her down, baring her to him.

He eyed her, not bothering to conceal his lust. Sure, he’d seen her in bikinis before, but without anything on, she was just something else. Admiring the swell of her breast, the point of her nipples, the thatch of hair on her pubic bone, the pink lips of her pussy, glossy and slick against her will.

One of his hands released her wrist and he brought it to her pussy; she grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him. She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was panicked, embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and pupils blown, eyes dark with lust, so he knew she was enjoying it, even if she was fighting him off.

When his fingers traced along the seam of her pussy and then pressed against her clit, she jolted, a small moan escaping her lips against her will. He rubbed gentle circles on her clit while she tugged again at his wrist, more halfheartedly this time.

“Oh,” she gasped, head falling forward against his shoulder.

“That’s right, baby,” he rasped, pressing more firmly now, working her up quickly. “Give into me, sweetheart. Feels good, doesn’t it?” She didn’t answer, but that was okay. He knew he was making her feel good—he could tell from her reactions. Eventually, she would admit it to him and herself. With his other hand, he palmed her breasts, tugging and pinching her nipples until they were swollen and red and she was crying out against his neck.

Now rubbing her clit with his thumb, he eased his middle finger into her pussy, her channel accepting him easily.

“Bucky,” she gasped, renewed in her effort to pull him away—although she was still no match for his strength. “No, Bucky—” She looked at him, unnerved eyes, mouth open in protest. Never before had she put anything inside her—not even a tampon—and she wasn’t sure about it now.

“You’ve never had anything inside of you before, have you baby?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“No, I—oh!” A cry interrupted her words as he pressed the pad of his finger against the spongy patch on the front wall of her cunt, bringing her greater pleasure than she had ever felt before.

He chuckled at her reaction, pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s right, baby. Nobody else can make you feel this way, can they?”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, eyes shut tight. “Bucky…” She turned her head and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I know, baby.” He smiled against her cheek, then dipped his head to nibble at her neck. “God, baby, you’re soaking. I’ve never been with someone who gets so wet, so damn responsive to me. You love it, I know you do.”

Still trying to refuse him, she shook her head, so he slipped in another finger. She hissed at the stretch, the foreign intrusion, but the pain melded into the pleasure as he pressed insistently against her g-spot, still circling her clit.

“Don’t deny it, baby. I love that I get to be the first one to make you feel so good, that I’m the first to have a chance at your sweet little virgin pussy.” Her cunt was a vice around his fingers, slick and hot and heaven. “So fucking tight, baby girl,” he growled in her ear and her walls fluttered around his fingers. “You’re gonna come for me, I can already tell. C’mon, sweetie, want you to come for me, all over my fingers.”

“Bucky, please—” her voice was almost hysterical with pleasure and panic. She was becoming overwhelmed with the feelings, with the idea that Bucky was doing this to her, about the things he was talking about. Was he really going to take her virginity? Did she want that?

The thought sent electricity through her, just like she felt last night, and suddenly she was falling over the edge, her pussy and womb contracting and releasing like the push of waves in the ocean, faster at first and then slowly ebbing off as she caught her breath.

“Good girl,” Bucky groaned against the side of her head once her orgasm ended. He breathed in the smell of her hair, then pulled back to look at her. She was still panting, blushing heavily, lips swollen. “That was so good, baby,” he whispered, and she shivered at his praise, her pussy clenching down on him again. He smirked, curled his fingers inside of her again even as she pushed him away.

“No, Bucky—” she gasped, “Stop, it hurts—oh—" Practically sobbing now, words failed her as he continued to finger her, working her up and past the point of pain until she was shaking in his arms, face buried in his neck, tears welling in her eyes as she whimpered and moaned.

“Does it hurt, baby?” he asked. She was cooperating more, pliant from her previous orgasm, and she nodded at his question. “Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” she whimpered, “B-but it hurts a little, Bucky, please—”

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he told her, “Your pussy’s just begging for it, begging for me to fuck you. You want me to? Want me to fuck you?”

She didn’t answer—didn’t know the answer. She only clutched his shoulders as the pain and pleasure became indistinguishable—but she didn’t want it to stop, she was almost there, to the point that her pelvis tightened painfully, body twitching, all of her nerves on fire.

“I’m getting you used to this, honey,” he told her, “Because when I finally fuck you, I’m gonna make you come again and again, and I’m not gonna stop even if you beg. And you’re gonna love it, baby, you’re gonna love it when I fuck you.”

Once Bucky finally forced out another orgasm out of her, she was practically sobbing. Her pussy clenched painfully, and then he pulled his fingers out, running the tips of his fingers through her swollen, drenched folds.

“You did so well, baby,” he cooed, examining his glistening fingers. “Look at that, sweetheart. That’s how much your sweet pussy wants me.” He licked at one finger and moaned at the taste, tangy and earthy, a little salty, and so, so delicious. “You taste so good, baby,” he told her, bringing his hand to her lips. “Try it.”

She shook her head, appalled at the thought of tasting herself. Then he gripped her jaw with one hand to the point of pain and pushed his fingers pushed against her lips. Firmly, he said, “Do what I say.”

Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, accepting his fingers between her lips. Her face twisted at the taste—not exactly what she expected, but she didn’t know how she thought she would taste. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, and she was so wound up and dazed from her orgasm, so it actually served to heighten her arousal. Briefly she wondered how she still felt needy for his touch, too aroused to focus. She could feel herself dripping onto the counter, and her hips twitched at the feeling of how slick she was.

Bucky admired her glazed eyes, the way her swollen mouth stretched over his fingers, the flush that swept from her cheeks down to her nipples. She was practically drunk from her orgasm, pliant to his touch, sweet and wanting. He wanted her like this all the time.

He wasn’t going to fuck her—not yet—but he had a lot of other ideas. He pumped his fingers in and out of her mouth, lightly fucking her mouth with his fingers, and when he shoved them in deep to the back of her throat, she gagged and coughed.

The thought of her doing that to his cock almost made him come right there.

To delay his orgasm, he pulled his fingers from her mouth, then pinched at her nipple, smeared the wetness along the flesh of her breast. She didn’t complain, only looked at him in shock and pleasure, a little crease between her furrowed eyebrows. One glance at her pussy found that she was drenched, slick dribbling onto the countertop, and he had to restrain himself from bending down and licking her clean.

He had to finish himself soon so they could move on with the day. There would be plenty of time for him to eat her out later.

Quickly, he pulled his cock out of his shorts, ignoring the surprise on her face.

“Here, sweetheart.” Bucky grabbed one of her hands and held it against his cock. “Take it in your hand,” he ordered. Mind numb with conflicting feelings, a haze of pleasure and satisfaction and disinhibition, she obeyed, unsure of what else to do.

This was not what she was expecting, but she tried to move past the shock that she had her hands on the first penis she would ever touch. He was so hot and smooth, hard and soft all at the same time. Where she was gripping his shaft, she could feel him throbbing, the pulse of a vein that wound itself from the base to the head of his penis. It was flushed pink, the tip dripping with pearlescent fluid.

He moved her hand up and down his length a few times, then encouraged her to continue on her own. “Just like that, baby,” he groaned, “Oh—fuck—”

She continued on, not sure what else to do—but he seemed to like this, so she kept at it. When her hand went a little too high on one stroke, her fingers dipped into the fluid at the tip, and Bucky groaned, his hips bucking into her grasp.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he moaned, “Like that.”

She did it again, collecting more fluid from the tip with each stroke upwards, and Bucky guided her movements, telling her what he liked, to go faster, grip him harder, twist her hand on every upstroke. He liked that he was the first one she had ever touched, that he got to teach her about this—and she learned quickly. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched her pleasure him, wide eyes stuck on his cock, enraptured by him.

She felt so powerful when he moaned and sighed in pleasure, and the feeling she got from making him feel good was addicting. It went straight to her pussy, making her drip more on the vanity. She wiggled her hips a little to get some friction, but all she felt was the slick slide of her skin against the marble where her juices had dripped all over the place, making a mess of her.

One of his hands tangled in her hair and pulled her into a deep kiss, and he moaned into her mouth as she worked his cock. Pulling back, he noticed her restlessness, the twitching of her hips.

“Does this turn you on, baby? Touching my cock, making me feel good?” She didn’t answer, but she bit her lip, knowing the answer was yes. “Grab my balls, sweetheart—” he took her other hand and guided it to his sack. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he panted when she followed his directions, grabbing gently at first, and then squeezing a little. “Yeah, baby, just like that,” he groaned, “Again—”

She worked him like that, pulling on his cock and massaging his balls, to the point that her arm started to cramp up. Bucky had his lips on her neck, kissing and biting and groaning, whispering dirty things to her the entire time. Just as she was about to adjust her grip, Bucky bit down hard on her neck, making her yelp.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” he said, teeth gritted, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and then his orgasm was washing over him, his come dribbling down her hand. She watched in awe, stroked him through it until he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Clean up your mess,” he commanded her, bringing her wrist to her own lips. She hesitated, but he was giving her that look again, the one where he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her tongue darted out to taste it. It wasn’t as pleasant as her own juices tasted, in her opinion—more bitter and basic, like laundry detergent might taste. Still, he made her lap it all up until her hand was clean, and then he kissed her deeply, licking the taste out of her mouth.

“That was so good,” he said into the kiss, “Such a good girl for me.”

She shivered again, her own arousal still simmering just underneath her skin. “Bucky,” she whispered, clinging to him. Moving her hips again, she tried to impart her want to him without having to tell him—if he made her voice her arousal, she might die of embarrassment.

For some reason, despite two orgasms tiring out her body, she was somehow unsatisfied, the arousal rising up inside of her again and making her ravenous as she was stroking his cock. Had she really enjoyed touching him so much? Why else would she feel this way, she wondered.

He knew what she wanted—of course he did—but he looked at her with a small clueless smile. Besides, if he left her wanting and needy now, it would make her easier to play with later in the day. “I think that’s enough for now. Time for you to get cleaned up, sweetheart. Get in the shower. I’ll take you out today.” He was thinking he’d take her into town or get her father’s sailboat ready and spend a day on the water.

“Wait—” she protested, grabbing him when he tried to move away.

He laughed at her, cupped her cheek and kissed her sweetly. Pulling back just a little, he murmured, “You’re insatiable, baby. You know that?”

It was true. He had awakened something in her that she didn’t know how to stop, and it worried her. Was this right? Bucky was supposed to be her best friend. And now he was touching her inappropriately, and she loved it, for some reason.

A light kiss on the cheek, a stroke of his knuckles down her bare spine, and then he pulled away, leaving her skin burning like he had poured lighter fluid on the flame inside of her. “Get ready. We’ll take the boat out on the water.”

Out on the water, away from everyone else, with her wearing only a tiny bikini—Bucky could only imagine the possibilities. Oh, he was going to have plenty of fun with her.

Chapter Text

“Please, I don’t know anything about it,” the man pleaded. There was a slur to his words from where his teeth were bashed in, a nasally tone due to his crushed nose. Blood poured down his face and was spit into the air as he spoke. Hands tied behind his back, the man kneeled before Steve, his cries echoing on the brick walls of a run-down abandoned brewery in Bushwick.

The low-tier Hydra lackey had already given Steve all the information he knew about Hydra’s involvement in Loki’s business, as well as Loki’s current location, and now he had no more use for the poor guy.

Steve pulled his pistol from the back of his waistband, checked to see how many bullets he still had as the man started begging for his life.

“No! Please don’t kill me, I—”

The shot reverberated in the small space and Steve’s ears rang with it. Blood splattered on his shoes, his pants, his hands. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, the carton almost empty. There were only two left, and he had gone through the rest earlier that night.

He had been doing so good, too, having quit a few months earlier. Sure, he replaced the habit with another. Sometimes his jaw ached from the amount of peppermint gum he chewed, but it dulled the craving for nicotine. However, this entire situation with Hydra—it was too stressful. He had bought two packs from the bodega the second he got back into Brooklyn a few days earlier, and he had gone through at least five since.

Steve found the situation with Hydra to be annoying, if he were being honest. They’d found out the Hydra men sniffing around Loki’s club were small-time guys, and after getting information out of several of them that first night, they had been through several more until they learned that Hydra was trying to usurp the deal with Loki. Several Hydra members had gone to lunch with the man to try and convince him. Apparently, Loki hadn’t made up his mind yet.

Loki would be for Tony to handle, however. Stane wanted Steve back at the Vineyard now that most of the problem had been dealt with.

Patting around in his jean pockets, he turned to Sam. “Got a light?” He left his lighter in his jacket, in the car outside.

Sam tossed him a plastic lighter and soon he was blowing smoke towards the body still leaking blood all over the concrete.

“Finish your smoke break and let’s get to work,” Sam snarked, stepping forward.

“We sending him upstate?” Steve asked.

“Nah.” Sam kneeled before the man and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, handing a pair to Steve as well. “Dumping in the East River.”

Steve smoked while they finished the job, barely taking the cigarette out of his mouth as they pulled the man’s teeth, cut off his hands and feet, and got rid of any personal identifiers the man might have. Ash fell on the floor into the pool of blood, and when Steve finished, he cautiously took the cigarette and put it out, careful not to get blood on the filter so as to avoid DNA evidence linking him to the crime.

Once they tied up the body and stuffed him into a big enough trash bag, they hauled him into the alley where they car was parked and stuffed him in the trunk. After a quick cleanup inside the old brewery, Sam drove them east towards the river while Steve smoked his last cigarette.

Once they threw the body off the dock into the black waters, the chemical smell of the treatment plant stinging their noses, Steve bummed a cigarette off of Sam on their walk back to the car.

“Wanna grab some something to eat before you have to head back to the Vineyard?” Sam asked, pulling out onto the street.

“I need to meet Peggy,” Steve answered. “Drop me off at my place.”

“You got it. She still on your case?”

Steve scoffed, remembering the last time he complained to Sam about Peggy a few weeks before. “Yeah, but for a different reason.” Last time, she had been mad about him cancelling a dinner date when Tony needed him one Friday night.

“What is it this time?”

He took a long inhale of the cigarette, voice tight as he said, “She’s mad I have to be at the Vineyard.” He blew out a puff of smoke out the window. “Not that I can control that.”

“Man,” Sam huffed a laugh, “Peggy’s a nice girl. She is one classy lady, but I gotta tell you, you doesn’t get it.” Steve knew this—he was painfully aware that she didn’t understand the demands of his lifestyle, that they lived drastically different lives. The mob came first, that was a rule ingrained into him since he was a child, rooted in his soul like the gang tattoos scattered across his skin.

“I know that,” Steve muttered. “I don’t know how else to explain to her about the mob without incriminating myself.”

Sam clicked his tongue, shook his head. “She’s way too strait-laced for you. You need to get rid of her before she becomes a problem.”

Steve flicked his cigarette butt out the window. “I’m not gonna just let her go.”

“Then she better wise up and dump your ass. She’s way too good for the likes of you.” Although Steve wanted to snap at him for the jibe, he chuckled good-naturedly and bummed another cigarette.

By the time he finished the cigarette, Sam was pulling up in front of the apartment he and Bucky shared. “Thanks for the ride, man,” he said when he got out.

“Yep, see you later.”

With that, Sam drove off and Steve hurried upstairs to change. He called Peggy on the way up.

“Steve?” Peggy asked, a little drowsy. It wasn’t too late, only a little past nine, but she was probably already sleeping because she worked the next day.

“Hey, Pegs,” he greeted her as he finally reached the fourth floor of the building. “I’m back in the city for a bit, just for tonight. I know it’s late but I wanted to see you.”

“What?” He could hear her shifting in bed. “You’re in New York?”

“Yeah, at my apartment. I can be at your place in twenty.” He fished his keys out of his pocket and managed to get the door open, flipping on the lights in the living room and going straight for his bedroom.

“Steve, it’s late,” she sighed, and he could tell she was annoyed with him.

“I just wanna see you,” he said in a softer tone, hoping she would be convinced. “C’mon, I won’t keep you up late. Promise.”

“Fine,” she muttered, although she still didn’t sound pleased.

Before she could say anything else or change her mind, he said, “Great! See you in twenty.” And then he hung up. He got ready as quick as he could, changing into clean clothes and dabbing some spicy cologne on his neck, grabbing a half-empty pack of cigarettes from Bucky’s room, and then he was out the door. To calm his nerves, he smoked through half a cigarette on his way downstairs.

He rode his motorcycle to Peggy’s Manhattan apartment, and it was a pain in the ass to find parking. Once she buzzed him in, he took the elevator up and she greeted him at the door with a tight smile. She wore a long robe and slippers, and her expression was not too pleased.

“Peggy,” he greeted her, taking her into his arms. She placed her hands on his chest, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she pushed him away.

“Steve, you smell like cigarettes.” She wrinkled her nose and walked into her kitchen. He followed her in. “I thought you quit smoking.”

“It’s been a stressful few days, Tony’s had me all over the five boroughs and I’ve been having—”

“All over, hmm?” she interrupted, turning an accusatory eye on him. “You’ve been all over New York City for the past few days and the only time I hear from you is tonight?”

He took a deep breath to relax himself before he said something he would regret. “Peggy,” he tried calmly, “It’s been nonstop. I just haven’t had the time to come see you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You never have the time to come see me, Steve. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“Pegs, don’t be like that—”

“You’ve had time to go to Martha’s Vineyard for the past few weeks. Don’t tell me you don’t have time!”

“That’s different, I’m there for work—”

“Steve, just stop.” She held up a manicured hand, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your excuses anymore. If you wanted to make this relationship work, you’d make the time.”

“You just don’t understand!” he exclaimed, voice raising in frustration.

“Then enlighten me,” she said coolly. He hesitated—he really couldn’t tell her about the Mob, about how involved he really was. She scoffed at his silence. “I thought not.”

“Peggy, c’mon.”

“I was offered a job in London,” she said, “With MI5.”

His jaw dropped, and he quickly closed it and concealed his surprise. “And?”

“And, what?”

“And are you taking the job?”

She sighed, drumming her fingers on the counter. “I will most likely take it. I was hoping you would come with me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Peggy. You know I can’t do that.”

Her lips pressed together. “I told you I wanted to move back eventually. I told you I wanted you to come with me, to make a family there. I was hoping we’d be on the same page by now.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And you know my entire life is here. You can’t just expect me to up and move across the Atlantic.”

“No, you’re right. I suppose that was naïve of me.” She sounded disappointed in both herself and him.

They were silent for a moment, and finally he asked, “So what, then? You’re just moving? What about us?”

“I’ll stay if you give me a reason, Steve…” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you love me?”

“I want to be with you,” he said immediately, more to avoid answering the question.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said with a sad smile. “Steve, I think that’s it for us.”

He couldn’t believe this. “That’s it, then? We’re over?”

 “I’m afraid so,” she said with an almost patronizing tone.

Frozen in shock, he simply looked at her, waiting for her to laugh, to say it was all a joke. He should be angry, he should yell at her, should hit her—although he wouldn’t, because Peggy’s the type to fight back and knock him flat on his ass with a few practiced moves. But he wasn’t angry, he only felt empty inside. He hadn’t been expecting this, and in his stupor he didn’t know how to process his emotions.

After almost two minutes of wordless staring, he couldn’t take it anymore. Turning on his heel, he walked right out the door, slamming it behind him.

He got back on his motorcycle and to his apartment, where he sat at the kitchen table and drank an entire bottle of rum before passing out on the sofa several hours later.

Bucky had been having the best time with Y/N over the past three days. Being with her was better than he could have imagined. They were still friends, still joked around the same as before, but now he got to indulge in her body whenever he wanted. She was always so soft, so sweet, so responsive to every little touch. It thrilled him to teach her, touch her in ways she had never been touched, to make her come again and again until she was crying from it.

While he had plenty of plans on how to train her, he hadn’t acted on many of them yet. First, he wanted to take his fill of her, get her comfortable with his touch. It wasn’t really a burden for him; he got off on touching her and taking her whenever, wherever he pleased, particularly when it made her squirm, push him away, and deny him until he convinced her to give into him.

On that first day, they went out on her father’s sailboat, and when it got warmer in the afternoon, she took off her white sundress to reveal a red bikini underneath. While she was laying on the deck sunbathing, he got down beside her and started kissing along her neck.

“Not here, Bucky,” she had whined, trying to push him off. “A boat could come by, anyone could see!”

Well, he just wasn’t having any of that. He pinned her down while she struggled, pushed the crotch of her bikini bottoms aside and rubbed her pussy until she was coming, growling filthy things in her ear the entire time. “You don’t say no to me, doll—it’s best you learn that now. If I wanna fuck you in public where anyone could see, then you’ll lay back and take it. If I wanna show you off to other sailors, show ‘em what they’re missing, you’ll let me with a smile on your face.”

After she came the first time, he yanked down her bikini top and sucked on her nipples until she was coming again, sensitive and soaking wet. In her post-orgasm haze, her body was limp and pliant, and he managed to peel off her bikini and tossed it over the side of the boat. She had complained, pouting and ignoring him until he forced himself on her another time. He was a force to be reckoned with, and she was learning that quickly.

Plus, he wasn’t about to miss out on an opportunity to rub sunscreen all over her naked body. “Don’t want you to burn up, baby,” he cooed sweetly when he rubbed lotion into her breasts. When she scoffed in disbelief, he pinched her pretty little nipples until she cried out.

They got back to the house at nightfall and she was sleepy from the sun. She didn’t fight him when he ushered her into the shower to wash the sunscreen and salt off, allowed him to soap her up everywhere. At that point, she was too exhausted to fight back, resigned that he was going to play with her body as he pleased.

After the shower, she was tired enough to go right to bed, but Bucky had to take calls from Steve and Tony about the situation in Brooklyn. They spent a stressful three hours planning and strategizing. It was almost worse not being there in person to take care of business, instead having to handle everything from six hours away. Once the call ended, he went up to her room and climbed into bed right next to her, falling straight to asleep.

It felt unbelievably right falling asleep with her in his arms, waking up curled against her.

He awoke midmorning, his hard cock pressed against her ass. Wondering if he would be able to wake her up by barely touching her, he ground against her until he was almost ready to come. Although she was slightly responsive, letting out occasional sleepy moans and weakly pressing her hips back against him, she hadn’t woken up. Of course, she had always been a heavy sleeper.

The thought of her sleeping as he used her body to satisfy his arousal pushed him over the edge quicker than he would admit, and then he was coming in his boxers and she was settling onto her stomach, pushing her face into her pillow and sinking back into sleep.

He spent most of that day holed up in the office on the phone with Steve, and then Sam, and then every other guy in the Brooklyn Mob who was involved in the Laufeyson deal. Then he was on the phone with connections he had all over Manhattan trying to determine how many businesses Hydra was infiltrating uptown. And then a whole other problem came in that Sam wanted him to deal with and it never ended.

During that time, Y/N took the dog for a walk and worked on some painting while sitting on the patio set. She was glad for the break from him after the long day on the boat and the night filled with dreams of him. She made Bucky lunch and brought it to him in the office, and he pulled her down onto his lap and demanded a kiss from her. She was saved by the phone ringing again, and she quickly squirmed away while he answered it.

She spent the rest of the day at the pool doing swimming drills. Since they had been at the Vineyard, she had been slacking in her swim training, and if she were truly going to be on the team at NYU, she would need to be in top shape. So far, her father hadn’t said anything against her going, and classes started in a few weeks, so she had to assume he was allowing her.

That night, Bucky made them pasta for dinner and then they watched a movie, but an hour in, Steve called him. By the time he was off the phone, she had fallen asleep and it was past midnight.

The next three days went exactly the same way, with fleeting touches from Bucky when he found the time, cornering her against the walls when they happened to be in the same room with her, kissing the daylights out of her when he got the chance, but it always ended too soon with another phone call and more responsibilities.

She really didn’t mind—it gave her time to focus on training and painting and relaxing, even if his occasional touches lit her up from the inside out. But he still intimidated her, and she didn’t know what would come next. Every time he got his hands on her before, he was pushing her past another boundary, forcing her into things she didn’t want. It caused anxiety to well up inside her every time she saw him, so she was glad he was somehow so busy with business—too busy to pay her any mind, granting her a lengthy reprieve.

But Bucky hated it. He needed to get his hands on her—he craved her touch, her smell, her sweet little sounds. On top of that, all this mob business was frustrating to no end. He had no idea how he was so busy with this stuff when he was an entire state away.

By the end of the week, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was too antsy, and even though it was past midnight and she was fast asleep, he had to do something to take the stress off.

Stepping lightly up the stairs, he slipped silently into her bedroom. She slept on her back, one arm thrown across her face, silver moonlight spilling from her window onto her skin.

Bucky considered letting her sleep, but he was feeling so deprived of touch, so he decided to rouse her with his mouth on her pussy. By the time she woke up, gasping and fisting her hands in his hair, she was soaked and on the verge of orgasm.

“Bucky!” she cried, tugging on his scalp in an attempt to pry him away. “What are you—” she was cut off with a gasp when Bucky nibbled gently at her clit and slipping a finger into her cunt. She came on the spot and, despite her protests, he pushed her through two more orgasms before he pulled away.

When he was satisfied and she was incoherent from pleasure, he wiped his chin off with the back of his hand. “Good morning, darlin’—or more like good night.” He greeted her with a cheeky smile. She blushed furiously and hid her face by throwing her arm across her head again.

“What the hell, Bucky! What time is it?” she whined softly, voice muffled by the flesh of her arm. That was the first time he had put his mouth on her, although he had suggested it before, but it came as a shock to her all the same. She still wasn’t used to him touching her like that, but he tended to do whatever he wanted regardless of how she felt.

“It’s almost one in the morning, sweetheart.” He leaned over her and pried her arm away from her face with one hand, then gathered her hair in the other and pulled her into a deep kiss. He groaned, “I missed you earlier, so I’m making up for it.”

She whimpered into the kiss and tried to push at his chest. “I wanna go back to sleep,” she said into the kiss. His bare cock dragged along her stomach and her body stiffened, not knowing what he had planned. Every muscle in her body was sore from her orgasms, and she couldn’t even feel her legs.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered, laying them on their sides facing each other.

“No, it’s too late for this,” she sighed, high-pitched and sleepy.

“Just for a little while and then you can go back to sleep,” he promised. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He knew he had tired her out, so he would be content to just make out with her until he came—and he probably could come just from that. So he kissed her gently, deeply, his tongue licking into her mouth and tangling with hers. The kiss was so sweet it made her toes curl, made her squirm against him.

His mouth tasted like her—and although he had made her taste herself off of his fingers before, it was somehow more potent coming from his mouth after three consecutive orgasms. Heat flooded her core, and even though she was exhausted, she felt her body still had more to give.

Bucky knew it, too. He could always tell when she was worked up again, and soon he was helping her grind her pussy wantonly on his thigh, her hands fisted in his hair. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her hips and ass, dipping past the swell of it to play with her perfect little pussy. She was dripping again, soaking his entire leg, and he loved it. He could never get enough of her.

“Here, baby,” he repositioned them so her leg was slung over his waist, their hips aligned. His cock dragged along the inside of her thighs, and she gasped and tried to move back.

“Wait!” she said, panicked at the thought of him taking her virginity right there. “We can’t!”

“Don’t worry,” he told her, voice gravelly. “I’m not gonna fuck you—yet.” He pulled her back into him and now his dick was settled right against her pussy, not at the right angle to enter her, but she could still feel every inch of him, so hot and hard and smooth. “I just want to feel you, baby.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered, “I’m not ready yet.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he reassured her, rubbing gentle circles on her back before tugging her into him and moving his hips against hers.

He kept her close with his iron grip and forced his mouth onto hers in her shock. It was tempting, the way her pussy felt against him, impossibly wet, slicking up his entire length as he glided his cock through her folds. The tip bumped against her clit and she mewled, and then he took her hips and grinded her down against his shaft as he thrusted forward again.

The shaft of his cock rubbed against her clit with every drag and it was driving her crazy, her pussy so oversensitive already from Bucky’s mouth. This caused her to shove him away a little, whimpering. “It’s too much, Bucky,” she cried, face scrunched up in pain and pleasure, “Bucky, please—”

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he cooed, kissing her forehead. While one hand continued to stroke her back, his other travelled down and shifted his cock. He was going to move away or reposition them, but then the head of his cock caught at her entrance and he moaned at the sensation. “Oh, baby, you’re so wet.” He could slide in right now with barely any resistance, just take her and make her his, come deep inside her and—

“What are you doing!” she cried as he nudged his cock again against her. “Stop, Bucky!” She struggled to get away, but his arm around her kept her close, pinning her arms against her sides with barely any effort.

He hushed her with soft words. “It’s okay, baby, shhh, you’re such a good girl.”

But as he moved his hips forward, her entire body tensed and she sniffled. “Please don’t, Bucky, I don’t want this.”

“But you do,” he assured her, still rubbing the head around her entrance. It was slick with both their fluids, his cock blurting out precum against her folds every time he thought of taking her virgin pussy. “Your pussy is so wet for me.”

“Not yet,” she whimpered, burying her face in the pillow, still trying to struggle uselessly. “I don’t want it yet…”

He paused, considering this. Sure, he hadn’t planned on taking her virginity yet—he was going to wait a few more days, see how it went. But she just felt so good, and he was so wound up from yesterday. Was it better to get it over with now?

In the end, he decided to compromise. “Just the tip,” he suggested, “I’ll just put in the tip, no more.”

“No, Bucky—” But he had already decided.

He eased the head of his cock into her pussy, only just, and she was already so tight and hot around him that he could barely control himself. Taking a minute to breathe, he closed his eyes, focused on keeping his hips still.

She whimpered. “Bucky, it hurts.” His cock was thicker than the fingers he had used on her thus far, and he was stretching her uncomfortably. The stretch, combined with how sensitive she was, and the fact that she didn’t want this yet, brought tears to her eyes, which fell onto the pillow below her.

Yet still the heat in her pelvis remained, her traitorous body tingling all over, her pussy endlessly producing more wetness. The pain only added to the flame like lighter fluid, dangerous yet addicting as her nerves screamed for something more.

Finally, he pulled out, then pushed back in, then repeated the motion, barely fucking her. She whimpered through it, matching his groans of pleasure. His hand worked the rest of his cock to bring him to the edge. He kept the thrusts shallow, careful not to go too deep or past the head of his cock—this was already overwhelming enough for her, and he was content to save her virginity for another day.

“Your pussy’s all mine, darling,” he growled in her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you hard one of these days, ruin you for other men. You’re mine, you understand?” He would never let her go, not now. Every taste he had of her only added to his obsession. She belonged to him, his to use, his to do whatever he wanted with.

She sniffled again, and when she turned her head, he saw her crying, pretty eyes rimmed with red, cheeks glistening, and she just looked so beautiful. In the back of his mind, he wondered what Steve would think of this, what Steve would think of him using her like this, taking what he wanted, just like Steve did to him.

Then his thoughts wandered to how he and Steve could use her together, how they might corrupt her, what other ways they could make her cry so pretty for them—

And then, he was coming. He pulled out of her just at the last second, spilling his come all over her pussy.

Involuntarily, she let out a shaky moan at the sensation of his come on her, hot and sticky and only adding to the insufferable wetness all over. Bucky smirked at this, at her reactions—her body loved what he did to her, even if she couldn’t admit it.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered, running his fingers through his come and through her labia. He massaged all over the outside of her cunt, rubbing his semen into her swollen skin. Sticky fingers travelled to her clit, rubbing at it with quick and intense strokes until she was coming herself, letting out a cry thick with tears.

She sobbed more once she was done, ashamed of her body’s reactions. He only pulled her onto his chest, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, whispering reassurances that she was a good girl, that she had made him feel good. He comforted her until she fell asleep on him, and he soon followed her into slumber.

Steve woke up that morning, head pounding, and he knew that a shower would be one of the only things to help his hangover. He replayed the previous night in his mind while he stood under the hot water. Peggy had broken up with him.

He had spent the entire night before thinking she would call him up and tell him it was all a joke, that she didn’t mean it, that she wasn’t going to move to London and leave him. Now, it was morning, and she hadn’t even texted him.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect, and he certainly hadn’t been very attached to her, but she was an easy part of his life, simple and consistent. Sure, he had never intended to seriously commit to Peggy, but he hadn’t planned on ending it any time soon, either. He figured that maybe they would just fall into place, that somehow their relationship would work itself out like it was meant to.

Maybe this is what was meant to happen, he mused as he dried himself off.

It still stung, though.

And now he had to go back to the Vineyard and babysit Y/N. That was almost worse. If he were able to go out to a club tonight and find a rebound, maybe this would all heal quicker, but he was stuck at Martha’s Vineyard with her and Bucky for the next few weeks.

Well, at least there was Bucky, he realized, his mood lifting a little. He and Bucky could start up again—Steve always loved it when they were on. But he knew Bucky never wanted anything serious with him, so he always ended things eventually.

For now, though, he could let himself enjoy it.

With that brightening his mind, he got dressed and shaved, dabbed on some aftershave, and slicked back his hair. He collected his bag he had brought and was out the door in no time. After stopping by the bodega for a coffee and a pack of cigarettes and a few packages of mint gum, he got on the road.

 He had almost six hours to mull over the predicament with Peggy while driving. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got—for no discernable reason except that his ego was hurt.

Peggy was good for him. He knew that. Sure, he didn’t make enough time for her, but he had explained before that he had work responsibilities that he couldn’t speak much about. She seemed to understand in the beginning, but now it wasn’t enough, apparently. Now she needed more from him.

That got his blood pumping, his fingers gripping the steering wheel hard, a bitter taste in his mouth. He only got more and more worked up throughout the drive, and by the time he was pulling into the house at the Vineyard, he was twitchy, furious, needed to get his hands on something and do something physical and let out all his energy.

Bucky would be a nice outlet, he thought as he unlocked the front door and entered the house.

He was about to call out for Bucky when he heard something strange from upstairs.

A whimpering moan, high pitched and breathy.

Closing the door quietly, he creeped upstairs, not intending to alert anyone. He had a few guesses as to who it could be, and none of the options pleased him. Perhaps Bucky brought a girl home. Perhaps Y/N had a boyfriend here. Regardless, someone was getting their ass kicked.

As he reached the landing and crept towards the hallway where the noise was, another gasp came. “Bucky!” He recognized the voice. It was Y/N, and she was calling out for—

He opened the door to her bedroom slowly and froze at what he saw.

Laying on her back in the middle of the bed, she had sheets up to her waist, her pert breasts exposed. Her head was thrown back, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair messed up. Under the thin white sheets, she was grabbing something—someone.

It was the shape of a body, dark hair positioned right at the juncture of her legs, moving enthusiastically. Wet sucking noises sounded from under the blanket, and then Bucky groaned into her pussy, and she shook violently, her entire body tensing up and then releasing almost rhythmically.

Steve couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t help the strained noise that escaped his throat, alerting the occupants of the bed.

Both Y/N and Bucky startled at the exact same time, and as she tried to grab the sheet to cover herself, he popped up from under the covers, the sheet thrown behind him. He was naked, hard cock pointing almost accusatorially towards the girl in front of him. Steve’s jaw clenched when he saw Bucky still had two fingers buried in her cunt, and he actually had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to avoid knocking Bucky out right there.

Bucky’s jaw dropped when he saw Steve, eyes wide in shock. For several long, tense moments, it was silent, only the sound of her rapid breathing filling the room.

Finally, Steve spoke, voice laced with barely contained rage. “Either of you care to explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Chapter Text

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky was using a placating tone, hands held up like he meant no harm. At least he had taken his hand off of the girl’s pussy, Steve thought bitterly, letting the feeling of rage take over his body until he was—

Well, Steve didn’t know what happened, he blacked out, but next thing he knew he had Bucky pinned against the wall with his forearm pressed against Bucky’s throat, their foreheads colliding as Steve practically growled in his face. Y/N screamed from behind them for Steve to let him go, but Steve couldn’t be bothered with that right now.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Steve demanded, pressing down harder on Bucky’s throat before releasing slightly.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, breathless. “Steve, I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Couldn’t help yourself?” he seethed, teeth grinding together. “Is that it?”

“Yeah, Stevie, just look at her,” Bucky said, voice low on a groan. Before he could say anything else, Steve leaned forward and pressed into Bucky’s throat. He smirked at the choked noise that escaped Bucky’s mouth, but went back to his stoic expression soon after.

“Do you know what her father’d do to you both if he found out?”

“Who’s gonna tell him?” Bucky taunted, “You?” His tone was weak but his words were strong, and Steve pressed his entire body against Bucky’s, overbearing him with his strength.

“Please don’t tell him, Steve!” came her sweet voice behind him, filled with tears. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. She had pulled the sheet up and wrapped it around her torso, her hair was a mess, her face glistening with tears. “Please, Steve,” she whimpered.

Jesus Christ.

As his cock filled, part of Steve definitely understood how Bucky couldn’t help himself.

Bucky seemed to know exactly was Steve was thinking—or maybe he had felt Steve’s cock twitch through his jeans. “Hear how pretty she begs for you, Stevie?” Bucky whispered, Steve’s hold on his neck having gone slack. “She’ll beg more for you. You should see how sweet she looks when she comes.”

The words were meant to tempt Steve, and while his body did react to the image, his anger only intensified along with it from the thought that Bucky was first. Bucky had gotten to her first, gotten to see their girl naked and whimpering and vulnerable before Steve had. It incensed him, jealousy roaring in his ears.

Steve had always appreciated Y/N, her looks, how pretty she was, and once or twice he may have entertained the idea of how it would be if they could be together. Someone sweet and loving and gentle, someone who understood the pressure of the mob. Truthfully, she could be groomed into the perfect mob wife, but Steve thought he would never get that chance.

That may have been part of why he kissed her the year before, and of course, then he got together with Peggy to distract himself from the temptation. At the time, the satisfaction of being her first kiss had been enough. Until now.

Now, he envied that Bucky had gotten to do so much more with her.

“Did you fuck her?” Steve asked, voice menacingly low.

“No.” Bucky looked at Steve with those eyes that Steve knew from their childhood, the ones that never lied to him. Steve could always tell when Bucky lied.

“Good.”

For a moment, Steve and Bucky looked at each other, both tense. Steve still boiled with anger while Bucky prepared for the inevitable explosion. Then, Bucky spoke without thinking it through when he said, “You should. You should fuck her.”

“What?”

Well, now that he had said it, Bucky was sticking to it. “I wanna see you fuck her, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, batting his eyelashes, hoping to soften Steve up. “You’d be her first, and I know you’d fuck her so good, just like you fuck me good, baby—”

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, cock painfully harder with each word. He let his forehead fall to Bucky’s, resting his head there, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Every word weakened Steve’s resolve. Arousal thrummed in his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to see her come, see her begging and crying for both him and Bucky. They had shared women before—and sharing her—that would be something else. Taking her virginity—the thought sent a shiver through his body.

“You want to, don’t you?” Bucky had his hands on Steve’s waist now, pulling him closer in his moment of weakness. “You wanna just take her right now, first time, fuck her ‘til she’s screaming for you—"

“Bucky—” Steve’s forehead dropped against Bucky’s bare neck, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and sex and something woody and smooth. Running his nose along the side of his neck, his lips following with just a brush to Bucky’s skin. He could never get enough of Bucky, of the smell of him, the feel of his skin; he could eat him up, had to restrain himself from doing just that.

“Stevie,” Bucky was using his sweet voice now, the one he used to get Steve to do what he wanted. He knew how close Steve was to breaking. “Come on, baby. We’ve shared girls before.”

“Bucky, it’s her.”

“I know,” Bucky groaned, hips twitching against Steve’s, the sensitive skin of his cock rubbing against rough denim. “That makes it even better. Trust me, baby, she’s so sweet for it, her pussy’s so perfect and—”

That brought Steve back to himself, and he suddenly remembered the situation as anger flared in his chest once more. The jealousy came back full force, the irrational anger about what he walked into, the need to take control of the situation, be the commander once again instead of caught off-guard, surprised at the events unfolding.

Then, he realized that he was in charge, like always. He could make this situation work for him.

She would be his. Both of them would be his.

Twisting Bucky’s hair in his hand, he tugged back forcefully, yanking Bucky’s head back until it hit the wall behind him. The pain brought a wince to Bucky’s face, but his cock leaked as the pain rushed through him.

“You’ve been bad,” he growled, staring Bucky down. “Touching her, corrupting her. How long has this been going on?”

Bucky yelped at another harsh tug on his scalp. “Since the night before you left,” he answered, sheepish.

“You’ve been fucking her for five days?”

“I didn’t fuck her, Stevie, I promise!”

Steve smirked. “You saved her for me?”

That wasn’t exactly the reason Bucky had refrained from fucking her. Truthfully, he was waiting to prepare her better, but they hadn’t had that much time together.

Before Bucky could answer, Steve was hauling him towards the bed. He finally took the chance to look at Y/N. She looked shell-shocked, eyes wide, innocent as a lamb.

They were going to have a lot of fun with her, Steve could already tell.

“Kneel down,” he growled, throwing Bucky to the ground. Bucky scrambled up quickly, kneeling at the side of the bed, facing Steve. Steve ignored him, turning to their girl. He looked her in the eyes, his gaze stern, chilling her to the bone. Taking a hold of her chin with a tight grip, he said “Sweetheart,” trying to keep his voice even for now. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

Her eyes widened further and she opened her mouth to argue. How had she done anything wrong? she wondered. Bucky had been the one making all the moves, forcing her into his touch at every turn. She didn’t want to be blamed for his actions! “But Steve—"

“Keep your mouth shut,” he commanded, and her lips snapped closed immediately. A rush of satisfaction swept through his chest, swelling with pride as she immediately obeyed him. She would be so easy to train. “Until I tell you to, you are not to speak. I don’t want to hear any arguments from you. Understand?”

She nodded, agreeing wordlessly, and he smirked. “Good girl. Now, I want to talk about how naughty you’ve been with Bucky in my absence.” Gently, he ran his thumb across her lower lip, just a whisper of a touch, and she shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. His girl was so responsive to him. In a low voice, too tender for the words, he said, “I leave for a few days and you spread your legs for him? Isn’t that right, baby?”

Frantically, she shook her head, her eyes flying open at the accusation. “It’s not like—”

“Quiet,” he snapped, capturing her jaw in his bruising grip, fingers digging into her cheeks. “I told you not to speak. I don’t tolerate misbehavior. Isn’t that right, Buck?”

He looked down at Bucky, and Y/N glanced down at him, too, looking between the two men with a panicked expression. Bucky only nodded, gazing adoringly up at Steve.

“No, I don’t,” Steve continued, “When you misbehave, you get punished. And you’ve misbehaved a lot, darling. First, you and Bucky have been going behind my back, not considerate enough to invite me. That’s unacceptable. Second, you’ve been talking back to me, and I won’t have that. I have rules, doll, and I will not tolerate you breaking them. Do you understand?”

Hesitating, she looked to Bucky and then back to Steve. She was confused as to what was going on. Bucky woke her up not long ago with his mouth on her again, and then Steve barged in, and now he’s angry at her—at them both. Was Steve going to touch her like Bucky had? Was he going to be part of this now, too?

“Answer me,” Steve ordered. “Do you understand?”

She nodded finally. Maybe she would just figure it out as she went along, just like she did with Bucky.

“Good. Get on the ground.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, the confusion and uncertainty palpable. She looked down at Bucky again, who gazed back at her calmly. Both expected her to obey, but she took a second too long. Suddenly, Steve grabbed her hair, tangling his hand in it and yanking her down to the ground. Her knees hit the floor hard, sending painful jolts up her legs, and she whimpered at the pain. She was barely able to register that the sheet slipped off, baring her completely to him.

He held her hair so she was forced to look up at him, the angle straining her neck. “My biggest rule is that you follow my directions. You do what I say, when I say it. Got it?” Rather than waiting for her to answer, he moved her head up and down with his tight grip on her hair, forcing her to nod for him. “Good. Now, you both need punishing.”

With that, Steve released her hair and stepped back. First, he slid his leather jacket off and draped it over the desk chair. Briefly, he mulled over how to punish them.

He could spank Bucky, but Bucky liked pain too much for that to be a real punishment. He could spank Y/N. Could she handle that? Steve was a sadist, but he knew how to ease people into pain, and he also didn’t want to alienate her with a painful experience that would scare her away from him.

He needed to use her body, make her his. That would be enough to show her to follow his rules, to be loyal to him.

“She ever sucked your cock before?” he asked Bucky, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his muscled arms and chest, the tattoos spread across his skin.

“No,” Bucky answered dutifully.

Steve removed his belt, pleased with the answer. He surveyed the belt for a moment, wondering how the lashes from the leather would look across her ass, but he set it down, knowing she wasn’t ready for that.

Unbuttoning his jeans, he shucked them down enough to expose his half-hard cock. Then he positioned himself in front of the pair and took in Y/N’s wide eyes and panicked expression.

“Get me hard, Buck. Sweetheart, watch how it’s done.”

Bucky was on him immediately, first getting his length wet with broad strokes of his tongue along the shaft, then taking the head in his mouth and suckling. It didn’t take much of that before Steve was at full hardness, straining against the roof of Bucky’s mouth as he took him completely in his mouth, all the way down to the root, and sucked like a fucking Dyson.

Steve groaned, thrusting shallowly into Bucky’s mouth, making the man gag below him, choke a little bit. Looking over to Y/N, he took in her face, red and flustered, brows furrowed, mouth wide open—perfect for him to slip his cock into.

So he did.

He pulled back from Bucky and looked to her.

“Wait, Steve, no—" Before she could finish, gripped her hair in one hand, her jaw in the other, and stuffed his cock in her waiting mouth, mouth still open as she tried to beg him not to.

She closed it on instinct, her teeth catching on his shaft—and he should have expected it, but the pain still sent an extra dose of rage burning through him. He pulled back her head, slapped her right across the face with enough force to send her reeling against Bucky. He pulled her back up by the ends of her hair and growled, “No teeth,” before shoving her mouth back on his cock.

In the shock from being hit and the numbing dizziness from the blow, her mouth hung open, lax for him to use. Tears welled up in her eyes from the stinging on her cheek and the pressing on her gag reflex, and she choked heavily on his cock as it bumped her throat.

Steve only moaned at her noises, her struggle. “That’s right, keep your mouth wide open, baby.” She did, and it only opened her throat up more for him. “Good girl, take me in, take my cock,” he purred, thrusting into her mouth. He didn’t start off slow with her; instead, he fucked her mouth steadily, unfaltering, burying himself in her throat again and again.

Her jaw ached, and drool spilled down her chin. Her eyes leaked as she cried, not only due to his cock in her mouth, but because of his rough treatment of her.

“Yeah, baby, cry for me,” Steve grunted. He swiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb and brought it to his mouth, sucking the salty liquid off before her eyes. She whimpered, and he redoubled his efforts, fucking her rapidly until all he heard from her were wet choking noises as he forced himself on her.

He felt the urge to come welling up, his balls tightening, and before he could, he pulled her head back. Chest heaving, she took wet, gasping breaths, willing the spots to leave her vision. She sagged in his grip, dizzy from the force and the lack of oxygen, his hold on her being the only thing keeping her upright. Swallowing down the saliva in her mouth, she wiped at her chin with the back of her hand before looking up at Steve, eyes glazed.

The look on his face was one of unadulterated lust, sadism, cruelty. It sent another sob out of her lips, which made him smirk in response.

“Buck, tell our girl how good she was.”

Bucky obeyed immediately—Steve had him trained so well, he thought. “Baby,” Bucky crooned, collecting her in his arms. She cried against his shoulder. “You did great, you’re such a good girl.” Petting her hair with one hand, he whispered praise and affirmation into her ear. “You made Steve feel so good, you made him so happy.”

“You did, baby,” Steve said, stroking his own hand in her hair and fisting himself with the other. “You were gonna make me come, but I wanna save it for when I’m inside of you.”

That sent another cry out of her, and Bucky tutted. “Enough of that, doll. Steve’s gonna make you feel really good.” She shook her head against him and Bucky frowned. “No? You don’t want it?” She shook her head again and wailed against his neck.

Steve narrowed his eyes, about to respond, when Bucky held up one finger, silencing him, a knowing smirk on his face. “I have a feeling you did like it, baby doll. Wanna know how I know?” She didn’t answer him, but then his hand slid down her back, past her hip, and between her thighs. Bucky snickered, fingers sliding through her folds. “You’re absolutely soaking, honey. Still wanna say you didn’t like it?”

She was crying silent tears now, and Steve’s heart clenched. Never before had he seen someone who was as beautiful as she when she cried. She was his little cry baby, and it made his cock infinitely harder. With his grip on her hair, he turned her head to look at him and smiled kindly, although his next words didn’t match his expression. “Baby, you know it only makes me want you more when you cry?”

Avoiding his gaze, she looked down at the floor, trying in vain to suppress her tears. Her heart beat so fast and she was breathing so quickly that she was getting lightheaded. Then Bucky’s fingers circled against her clit, hard and fast, and she let out a choked moan, slumping against him.

Unfortunately, Steve cut off her pleasure before it could culminate in anything. “That’s enough,” he snapped, “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” He mulled over what to do next and decided he wanted his cock inside of her sooner rather than later. He pointed to Bucky. “Stay there, do what I say.” Bucky nodded, subservience to Steve ingrained in him like instinct.

Then, he turned to Y/N. Steve hauled her up onto her feet and held her against him. She trembled almost violently in his arms and looked up at him with sad, pleading eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, “C’mon, use your words.”

“I—I don’t want—"

“Ahh, but darling, it doesn’t matter what you want. You don’t know what you want. But we can give you what you need.” One hand swiftly slipped between her legs, and he actually moaned at how wet she was. “Feel that, baby? That’s all you. Your response to sucking my cock. You need me, and your body knows it.”

She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. “I don’t like it when you hurt me…”

A smirk played on his lips, but he tried to suppress it. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby.” That was a lie, but still. “When I hurt you, it’s for a good reason. And afterwards, Bucky and I will make you feel so much better.” His fingers slid to her clit, and her legs shook as he pleasured her.

“B—but Steve—oh!” She cried out and jerked in his arms as he pinched her clit sharply, the pain melding with the pleasure. It was a response to her speaking out of turn, denying him still, but when he slid his fingers back, she was even more wet. Perhaps she liked a little pain, he mused.

“I’m gonna fuck you, darling. You’re gonna love it. You’re gonna love everything we do to your precious body.”

With that, he pulled her into a kiss. She breathed shakily into his mouth as he dominated her, his tongue probing at her lips and forcing her mouth open. The kiss was rough and demanding, and with the little experience she had, she could hardly keep up, but he didn’t mind much. He bit at her lip sharply, forced his tongue back in her mouth, kept her anchored into the kiss with his hand on her head.

He controlled her movements; he controlled her pleasure. Just how it was supposed to be.

By the time she was close, she was whimpering into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders, trying her best to stay upright. Just as she was going to come, he pulled away, licking his fingers.

“Ah, darling. Another rule. You don’t come unless I say so.”

“Why? That’s not fair…” She blurted out, pouting, her voice on the edge of a whine. Even when her tears had dried up, she was still his cry baby. Little brat.

“You’re mine,” he said almost lovingly, stroking wet fingers along her cheek. She squirmed at the feeling, tried to pull away from his iron grip. “You’re mine to do what I want with. Your pleasure is mine, and your orgasms are mine. You follow my rules.”

“But that’s not fair!” She repeated.

“It’s not all about being fair, baby,” he growled, “I own you. Get used to it.”

“But—"

“If you want to keep being a brat, I’ll have to punish you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. She thought the whole thing had been the punishment. Maybe none of it was and this was all Steve. Her mind was reeling. “But Steve—"

Before she could finish, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed before motioning to Bucky. “Keep her mouth busy.”

As Bucky clambered onto the bed and straddled her chest, promptly shoving his cock in her mouth even while she protested, Steve removed his boots and jeans completely, leaving him naked.

Steve settled between her legs and pulled them up around his hips. As soon as his cock prodded at her pussy, she started fighting, thrashing around and hitting at anything she could.

Mainly at Bucky.

“Hold her down,” Steve growled, shoving Bucky to the side with one movement so Steve could bend his body over her. Bucky quickly grabbed her wrists in one hand and threw a strong arm over her rib cage. Caging her in with his arms at her sides, Steve stared menacingly down at her.

“Steve, wait!” She was crying again. “I don’t want this! I’m not ready—“

The feeling of the tip at her opening cut her off as Steve pushed forward, sheathing himself inside of her. She cried out, tears falling heavy, still struggling weakly between he and Bucky and their grip on her. Steve didn’t stretch her slowly or ease her into it. He bottomed out in two short thrusts, moaning at how tight she was.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, “You should feel her, Buck.” He didn’t give her time to adjust and set a punishing pace right off the bat, kneeling above her as he drove in and out.

She was crying in earnest, sobbing into Bucky’s chest as he held her. “It hurts, it hurts,” she whimpered. It was a burning pain, hot and hard like steel, lighting every nerve of her body alight. There was a deep pleasure below it though, the satisfaction of being filled, but all she could focus on was the pain.

Then Bucky reached down, finding her clit and rubbing her in slow, tense circles, just how she liked it, hoping to distract her from Steve’s unrelenting thrusts.

“Ohh,” she moaned, a little shaky, a little wet. “No, Bucky,”

“No?” he teased with an amused smirk, keeping his fingers moving steadily.

“No, stop, please,” She tried to move her arms, but his grip on her wrists above her head was too tight.

“Let him pleasure you, baby,” Steve grunted, still fucking her hard. “So you can come all over my cock like you’re meant to.”

Bucky laid gentle kisses on her neck, sucking at her shoulder where she was so sensitive. Meanwhile, Steve gripped her hip hard with one hand and brought the other to her breast, playing idly with her nipple, admiring the shape of her breasts, the color of her nipples, the way she flushed all the way down to her stomach.

She jolted and cried out when his fingers tweaked her nipple. Bucky’s gentle touches combined with Steve’s cock inside of her and the way they played with every single part of her body at once had her fighting the pleasure building inside her, wave after wave of electricity flowing through her, warming her body, making her mind fuzzy.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve crooned, “I can feel your pussy clenching down on me—so fucking tight.”

“You’re dripping, doll,” Bucky told her. “I think you’re enjoying this more than you let on.”

She wanted to cry, but her body was occupied and working up toward something amazing. Feeling the pressure building inside of her, she couldn’t help the thrust of her hips, the way she panted and moaned against Bucky’s collarbone. When she bit him gently to contain the noise, it made him vibrate with need. His hips ground lightly against the bed for a second until Steve shot him a sharp look and he stopped immediately.

“Bucky, please,” she whined, her tears abating now as the sensation took her over. She squirmed every time Bucky sucked at her neck, shuddered whenever Steve pinched her nipples. Steve had both hands at her breasts now, abusing her pretty little buds until they were flushed an angry red, sensitive to the touch.

“You’re being such a good girl,” Steve cooed, leaning over and burying his face in her cleavage. He sucked a mark right below her breast, one that would stay bruised for days. Then he moved to the other and bit down right below her nipple, hard, until she cried out. The skin was broken, and Steve felt the way her pussy fluttered, the way she panted in high-pitched moans, losing herself to the pain and pleasure. “Your tits are so beautiful, baby,” he complimented her, admiring them. Sucking at her nipple, he flicked his tongue over it rapidly, then bit down—lighter than he did before, but still painful.

This had her wrapped around his finger, coming on his cock and crying out his name. “Steve, Steve, oh my—" She curled further into herself, into the tangle of bodies that was the three of them, sweaty and hot, as she came hard, body shaking, thighs clenching tight around Steve’s waist, eyes rolling into the back of her head. It was a full-body experience, one she hadn’t felt anything like before.

Tears of pleasure leaked down her temples, and Steve lunged at her, licking the salty trails on her cheeks before capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. Her mouth stayed lax as her orgasm wracked her body, but that was all he needed from her, was to dominate her mouth as he dominated her body, bending her pleasure and pain to his will. He continued thrusting through her climax, prolonging every sensation rushing through her, and she whimpered into the kiss.

When she was done, she collapsed, limp against Bucky, body thoroughly exhausted.

“Good girl,” Steve purred in her ear, rutting harder now, “Such a good fucking girl for me, taking my cock so well. You were made to take my cock, for me to fuck you. You were made for this.”

The vile words barely registered in her brain, and when she was able to comprehend them, she was too tired to fight back. She turned her head into Bucky’s chest again, hoping to escape, but Bucky took her chin and tilted her head into a kiss, lighter and gentler than Steve’s but demanding all the same. More slow and sensual where Steve was brisk and overpowering, Bucky kissed her for a long while, enjoying the taste of her mouth and feeling of her soft lips, until Steve had her on the edge of another orgasm.

She pulled away as she felt it coming, hardly able to focus on moving her mouth when her body sung with pleasure. Steve was right there too, and as her pussy squeezed him again with another orgasm, he was right about to come.

“She’s not on birth control, Stevie,” came Bucky’s words, fuzzy, quiet, echoing in the back of his mind, unable to focus as his orgasm approached. “You gotta pull out.”

His last brain cell comprehended the words and forced him to pull out, albeit reluctantly. As his climax hit, the first streaks of his come hit her labia, then more aimed at her stomach. Once he had spent himself, he observed the scene in front of him.

She was coming down from her second orgasm, twitching against their bodies with the aftershocks. Covered in his come, and in sweat, and in tears, bruises along her breasts and shoulders, hair an absolute rat’s nest, glazed eyes—she never looked more beautiful to him.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, knowing that it mattered now for him to comfort her. “You did great, honey,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled back and used a hand on her chin to make her look at him. “Look here, baby, that’s right. Good girl. You did wonderful. You made me very happy.” He shifted so he was on her other side, caging her body between his and Bucky’s.

She whimpered, but she was cried-out. Still, she shook with dry sobs, curling herself into Steve and Bucky, who had released her wrists. One hand clutched Bucky’s while her other hand wound into Steve’s hair, anchoring herself to him.

“That’s good, baby,” Bucky whispered, stroking through her hair as she burrowed her face in his neck. “That’s alright, cry it out. Let it out.”

The men cooed at her, whispered words on encouragement, praise, affirmation. Whatever she needed to hear. And their hands never left her, stroking along her spine, holding the back of her neck firmly when they took turns kissing her sweetly. Eventually she calmed down, breathing easier now, body relaxing against them.

Finally, Steve said, “Why don’t we get you cleaned up, baby doll?” She nodded wordlessly, and Steve got up to run a bath. He put in whatever bubbles she had lying around before going to stand in the doorway of her bedroom. Bucky was cuddling her, still whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and she seemed about ready to go to sleep.

“Bath’s filling,” Steve said, voice gentle. He always got a bit gentler after rough sex, and now he knew both Bucky and Y/N needed him to be a little softer. Bucky sat up. Steve could see he still had an erection, and he mulled over whether to do anything about it. “C’mere Buck.”

Bucky got up, confused, and laid a quilt over the girl on the bed before following him into the bathroom. Once they were both inside with the door closed, Steve cornered him against the wall, grinding their hips together. It lacked the frenzied intensity he had before—he had fucked his anger out, and now he could take care of Bucky and he could be a little nicer.

Steve took a hold of Bucky’s cock, wasting no time in pumping him up and down, lubricating the motion with precum.

“Steve,” Bucky moaned, dropping his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Your punishment is that you can’t fuck her yet,” Steve said, almost stern, but still a fondness in his voice.

“Oh—” Bucky groaned, lost in the pleasure, “No, Stevie, why—”

“You disobeyed me,” he answered calmly. “You were fooling around with her all this time.”

“C’mon, Steve—”

“Don’t worry baby, you can have your way with her later. But I can’t let you get off with nothing.”

“You seem to be okay with getting me off now,” Bucky teased with a cocky grin, unable to help himself from joking about it.

Steve chuckled, tightened his grip. “I need to put up a united front for Little Miss Bratty in there. She needs to know I’m the boss.” Bucky huffed, and Steve continued, knowing exactly what to say to get him to come. He whispered into Bucky’s ear, low and hot, occasionally biting at his earlobe. “Trust me, I look forward to seeing you fuck her eventually. Her little pussy’s so tight, Buck. Imagine how she’ll feel. Tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked. She’s so sweet, obedient—perfect to train for us. We could do anything we wanted to her. Fuck her as many times as you want, take her ass—oh, Buck, imagine how she’ll feel with both of us inside her—”

That had Bucky coming instantly, biting down on Steve’s shoulder to keep quiet as his cock leaked all over Steve’s fist. Steve grinned at him and licked it up before kissing Bucky deeply, lovingly.

Truthfully, it wasn’t his intention to relegate Bucky to the submissive chair like they did when it was just the two of them. Although Steve would always be in charge of whatever dynamic they had, he loved watching Bucky with the women they shared. Bucky had a certain way with them that Steve didn’t want to get in the way of—and it would be useful here, where Y/N already trusted him a little bit more. Steve could only imagine what they could get up to, and it almost made him hard again.

“I missed this,” Bucky breathed when they separated, foreheads touching. “I missed you.”

“I broke up with Peggy.” Not technically the truth, but whatever.

“Oh,” Bucky said, at a loss for words. “Good. So this wasn’t a one-time thing?”

Steve only smirked and kissed him again, sultry and filthy, tongues lapping at each other until they were both panting. “Okay,” Steve gasped, hands pressed against Bucky’s chest as they pulled away. “It won’t do to get worked up again when we need to take care of her.”

“I’ll grab her,” Bucky offered, and Steve watched his ass move as he left the room.

They bathed their girl, submerging her in the water to soothe her aching muscles, her abused pussy. Bucky washed her skin with a soapy cloth to scrub off the semen and sweat, while Steve washed her hair and gently combed out the tangles. Bucky was still whispering sweet words to her, punctuated by an occasional kiss on the cheek or head from Steve. While they performed the ritualistic aftercare, Steve mulled over the entire ordeal.

His concerns about the situation were practically blown away. Y/N was so perfect, everything about her was even more than he had hoped, and there was no way he would give her up. Unfortunately, he knew that once they were back in New York, everything would change.

At the very least, they could continue this affair for the remaining weeks at the Vineyard, and nobody would know. Nobody would tell her father—they would be safe. Once they returned to New York, he and Bucky would carry on as usual, and she would (probably) go to college.

Nothing to worry about.

Chapter Text

After they all cleaned up, Bucky made them breakfast in bed and they watched movies in her bedroom as the dog curled up on the floor next to them. Y/N was quiet while they ate, and afterwards she dozed off for a nap, Bucky following quickly afterwards, wrapping himself around her like the grown man koala bear that he is. Steve, who was still a little hungover from his night of binge drinking, was in and out of sleep, but for the most part he was content to watch his lovers nap.

Truthfully, he had never felt more content. Despite her reluctance and fear, he knew this was the right place for her—between him and Bucky, just like it had always been growing up. They could protect her, they would do right by her, and Steve knew she would come around eventually.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t fathom letting her go once they were back in the city. Her father would never allow her to date Steve or Bucky, he was far too protective. But if Steve could get on Stane’s good side, perhaps a marriage could be arranged—

Steve stopped himself, shaken. Was he really thinking about marriage with her, so soon? As he looked down at her, the way her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks in her sleep, the lush pout of her lips, he knew that he would never be able to stand by and watch her marry anybody else.

His feelings had been building for years before he even realized it, long before he had even kissed her. And now those feelings were all at the surface and Steve was overwhelmed with emotion, with affection for her, more so than he had ever been before with any other girl he dated. Since he had a taste of her now, he could feel himself growing more obsessed, more possessive, and he wasn’t planning on letting her go.

He would have to figure something out with her father.

“Mmm,” she lifted her face a little from where it had been smothered in the pillow. She slowly blinked awake and then looked at him, almost like she could hear his thoughts. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, stroking a hand through her hair.

“W’time s’it?” she slurred, burrowing her face into Steve’s chest. He felt a rush of warmth for her.

He checked the alarm clock, “Almost dinnertime. Wanna wake up?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“’m cold.”

“Aww, baby,” he cooed, securing her tighter in his arms and pulling the blanket up around her from where Bucky had kicked it off. “There you go, how’s that?”

“Good.”

She was silent for a few more minutes, drifting off to sleep again. Steve relished the feeling of her in his arms, took in the floral scent of her shampoo and conditioner, the sweet smell of her body lotion. Just as he was starting to fall back asleep, she shifted in his arms and looked at him, blinking sleepily.

“Hi.”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled fondly, then leaned down to kiss her. Although she tried to pull away at first, she gave in as he anchored her against his chest, too weak with sleep to put up any fight. The kiss was sweet, and soft, and when he pulled away, she was smiling, her cheeks flushed.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered, brushing hair back from her temples. “I love kissing you,” he told her, voice sweeter and gentler than she had ever heard it. It made her blush more, and she tried to bury her face in his neck again to hide her smile, making a little “hmph” sound. He kept her still with a hand in her hair. “Gimme another kiss, darling.”

She hesitated a moment before tilting her head up, but instead of kissing his lips like he meant, she turned her face and pressed her lips to his cheek. When she pulled back, he could see her suppressing a smile.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you, doll?” In his sleepy stupor, he was amused whereas if he were more awake, he might not tolerate her sass or disobedience. But he was feeling softer, more subdued, calmed knowing that Y/N and Bucky were both by his side. Everything he cared about was safe for now, and he could relax.

“Well, you never laugh at my jokes, so I know you don’t think I’m funny,” she quipped at him. “It’s okay, though. Some people just have a bad sense of humor.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

“Is it silly to let a guy get some sleep?” came Bucky’s disgruntled mutter from her other side. She giggled at the tickle of his voice vibrating along her spine.

Steve scoffed. “You’ve been sleeping all day, Buck. Time to get up, we need to get our girl some dinner. We slept through lunch.”

“There’s not much food around here,” Bucky said, placing a few gentle kisses on her shoulder blade. “Haven’t gotten the chance to go grocery shopping these past few days.”

“Too busy corrupting our little doll here?” Steve teased with a flick to Bucky’s shoulder.

Y/N spoke up, “Actually, he was on the phone for the past three days straight. I’ve barely seen him since the day you left.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, sobering a little at this news. “Why is that? The stuff with Loki shouldn’t have kept you on call that much.”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Shit with Nat. You know how she is. And the Maximoff girl.”

“What about Wanda?” Y/N asked, turning to look at him with curious eyes.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself about,” Bucky said, petting her head.

She had a concerned frown on her face. “Please tell me, Wanda’s my friend.”

“Darling,” Steve said, a warning in his tone. “Drop it.” She huffed but acquiesced, leaning back into Steve’s embrace as he tugged her towards him. “Good girl,” he praised her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

A warm feeling spread through her chest when he praised her, and she knew it was totally wrong, but she couldn’t help a small part of herself that wanted to give into him and Bucky. Despite the trauma of that morning, Steve forcibly taking her virginity, she had to admit that she enjoyed it in the end. The experience had been strangely surreal, incredible. It made her feel lax and glowing once they were finished with her, along with the peaceful contentedness that she felt when they took care of her afterwards.

Still, she had doubts. Did she genuinely like Bucky and Steve? Or did she just give into their insistence on defiling her body, too scared to fight back any more? They had forced her hand, forced her pleasure, forced her into every single thing they had done to her. She wondered if she had the choice, would she choose to like them, their actions? But she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. She clearly didn’t have a choice. Steve and Bucky had both made that clear, and she shouldn’t entertain the idea of one.

That wasn’t that foreign to her, though. When had she ever been given a real, meaningful choice in life? Her father has dictated every moment of it—until now. She was sure he wouldn’t approve of Steve and Bucky activities with her—but for some reason that thrilled her even more, the idea of disobeying her overbearing father.

Then again, Steve and Bucky were overbearing in much the same way. Often she had wondered what would happen to her once her father was no longer around, and it seemed that Steve and Bucky would potentially fill that role in her life. At least she wouldn’t be lost, alone, with no one to look after her, even if she truly had no free will.

Maybe she could give into them for now—giving in would be easier, after all, the path of least resistance. Even if she had no idea where they would go from here. Was it sustainable to be in a sexual relationship with both of them? And was it purely sexual? This cuddling in bed all day certainly wasn’t sexual, but she didn’t exactly know what constituted being in a real relationship. Additionally, she had no idea if it was proper or not to be with both of them at the same time—but they acted like it was completely normal.

Regardless of what she meant to Steve and Bucky, she had lost her virginity. She didn’t know exactly how to feel about it—she had been expecting a big difference, a life-changing event like that. But she felt the same as she always did, if not maybe more confused. Maybe that’s what sex was supposed to be like—confusing and wonderful all at the same time, and while it felt great, maybe it didn’t really change anything?

Her mind was a mess of thoughts, and nothing really made sense, but she tried to bring herself back to the present and ignore her inner turmoil.

Bucky and Steve were talking about going out for dinner. “I think that seafood place in Edgartown is the best choice,” Bucky was saying.

“Ooh, yes please,” she agreed, perking up in Steve’s arms.

“But we have to go all the way in town,” Steve grumbled, tightening his arms around her waist.

“But they have good lobster rolls,” she pointed out.

“I don’t think so, not tonight.”

An idea sprung to her mind—maybe she could use their affection for her to her advantage. So she tilted her head up and placed a gentle kiss on his jaw, then another on his jugular. “Please, Stevie?” she asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes and a hopeful smile.

When he didn’t answer at first, only surveyed her with hooded eyes, she pressed another kiss to his lips. It was soft and sweet again, and even though he wanted to deepen it, shove his tongue in her mouth, pin her down on the bed and take her there—that would be too easy. Plus, the restaurant closed in an hour, so they didn’t have the time.

Steve took only a moment to indulge before pulling back, eyes glinting. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darling.”

A smile broke across her face. “Does that mean we can go to Edgartown?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but we have to leave soon if we wanna make it on time.”

She squealed and clapped her hands together. “Yes! I’m gonna get 4 lobster rolls!”

“You’ll throw up if you eat 4 lobster rolls,” Bucky said.

“You only say that because you can’t eat 4 lobster rolls.”

He scoffed, clutching his chest in offense. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, sugar?” Well, now they would be playing the game of who could eat the most lobster rolls. Lovely.

She was about to argue more, but then Bucky and Steve slipped out of bed at the same time. Her mind was suddenly overloaded—while she had seen their bodies before, she had never taken the time to appreciate them. Now in the dying light of the evening, she could see every line of their hard bodies, every tattoo on their skin, their soft cocks unimposing against strong thighs.

She realized they were beautiful, and her mind flickered to when the nuns took them on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When the class wandered into the Greek and Roman Art exhibit, the nuns adamantly steered them away from all of the beautiful statues of naked people. The glimpses that she saw before Sister Alice reprimanded her for sinning were marvelous, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of those statues now. While it seemed like such a cliché to compare them to Greek gods, that’s how she felt—like some dull girl amongst immortal, inhuman beings, yearning for their attention, if only to bask in their glory for a little bit.

Maybe they had awakened something sexually in her, but she not only wanted to keep staring at them, but also run her hands along those hard muscles, touch them everywhere that they were beautiful to try and capture it. She wondered how it would feel to run her tongue along the “BROOKLYN” tattoo on Steve’s lower abdomen, to feel Bucky’s chest hair on her as he rubbed against her.

Almost as soon as these thoughts crossed her mind, she chastised herself (in the name of Jesus, of course). She shouldn’t be thinking these things! The nuns taught her better—and she was not a desperate whore. Having them force her into those depraved acts (and practically forcing her to enjoy them) was one thing, but actively wanting them—that was something else. Something much worse. God wouldn’t forgive her for that.

She didn’t realize she was blushing in her shame, but the men had seen how she looked at them, they saw how red her face was, her worried expression as she quickly looked away from their bodies. Steve and Bucky shared a smirk, and Bucky winked at him.

“Get dressed, baby,” Steve ordered her, pleased when she obeyed immediately. While Steve and Bucky went to their rooms, Y/N picked out a flirty floral skirt and a white tank top, then tied her hair back with the silk scarf Steve had bought her.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s get a move on!” Bucky called from downstairs.

After rushing through a coat of mascara and lip gloss (and quickly thanking God that she didn’t have a bruise on her face from where Steve smacked her), she rushed down the stairs and met them at the bottom.

Bucky smiled widely upon seeing her, an almost lecherous grin, while Steve smirked, a plan forming in his mind immediately. She didn’t notice the way either of them looked at her.

“You look lovely,” Bucky complimented, stepping in front of her. He towered above her as he used one finger to tilt her chin up before capturing her lips in a kiss. She sighed into it almost happily before he pulled back.

Steve took his place in front of her, running a hand through her hair, down her neck, the bare skin of her décolletage, before resting it on her waist. His pinky brushed back and forth over the ruffled waistband of her skirt. “This is pretty…”

Blushing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“Now, darling, we’re going to play a little game tonight while we’re out. How ‘bout it?”

“What kind of game?” she asked, her hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers digging into the front of his shirt, brushing over the soft cotton subconsciously. She felt apprehensive at the predatory look on his face.

“You’re gonna let us play with you and you’re gonna do what we say, no arguments. Do you think you can do that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, a frown causing wrinkles on her forehead. He smoothed them out with his thumb.

“Let me show you.”

Before she could react, he had his hands bunched up under her skirt and was yanking down her panties, forcing her to step out of them before she could collect herself. When he stood back up, she was looking at him with anger sparking in her eyes.

“What are you doing, Steve?” she asked as he surveyed her underwear, silky and light pink. Perfect for their little doll, Steve thought, but unnecessary all the same. “Give them back!”

 “I don’t think so,” he said, stuffing them in his pocket. “I want easy access to you at all times. Panties just get in the way, but this little skirt is really just perfect for it. Well done.”

She bristled at his words, trying to ignore the way her belly fluttered at the praise. “We’ll be in public! Why would you need access to—to… there?”

Steve grinned—she was making his plan just too easy. His hand darted under her skirt again and buried itself in the cleft of her thighs, feeling her soft and warm. “So I can touch your pretty pussy any time I please, baby. That’s part of the game. You’re ours to do what we want with, and I want to be able to touch you all the time.”

They locked eyes for a moment, staring each other down, waiting to see who would break first, but then he pressed down hard on her clit and her body jolted against his, and she broke eye contact first.

“I don’t want to play.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Of course she didn’t.

Bucky spoke then. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve said amicably, still circling her clit. Her pussy was getting wetter with every touch, all against her will.

“I say we lose the bra, too.”

Steve’s smile widened, looking down at her. She wore a nude bra under the tank top, and one of the straps peeked out on her shoulder. “I agree. Go on, sweetheart, lose the bra.”

“What? No!” she cried. Then her nipples would show!

Bucky approached from behind, tracing the bra strap with his finger. “Do what he says, or else your punishment will be way worse than this. I can guarantee it.”

She glanced between them, huffing, but she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against them. They looked at her predatorily, and she knew they would get what they wanted however they had to force her.

Slowly, she slid the straps down her arms and then unbuckled the strap in back before pulling it out from under her shirt. She rarely went braless, and she felt indecent now—no bra, no panties. Her nipples pebbled against the white tank top, and the material was just thin enough to see the outline of her areola if you looked hard enough.

Steve hadn’t stopped playing with her pussy, and suddenly he slid one finger into her. She was still a little sore from that morning, but the ice pack and Advil they had given her earlier helped a lot. Her cunt was soaking wet by now, which further eased the intrusion of his finger in her.

“Seems like the idea of this is getting you off, sweetheart,” Steve teased her, pumping his finger in and out, then pressing against that spot inside of her that made her fingers and toes feel fuzzy.

She whimpered and her legs buckled, but Steve and Bucky held her up. “It’s—” she gasped when he did it again. “It’s not that—it’s—you keep touching me—that’s—”

“Aw, you broke her brain, baby,” Bucky cooed, kissing her shoulder, sliding the strap of her tank down to bare the skin. “Can’t even put together a sentence.”

“Shut—up—” she growled between surges of pleasure, teeth gritted.

Steve laughed. “Mouthy, baby. Don’t get bratty now—I’ll have to punish you.”

“No, don’t,” she whimpered, sure that her next punishment would be far worse than this morning, based on how her cheek ached when she poked at it.

“Then play the game with us and you won’t get a punishment,” Steve said. “If you’re a good girl tonight, you get to come. That’s how you win the game.”

As Steve’s hand quickened on her pussy, now fucking her with two fingers and circling her clit with his thumb, her breathing quickened along with it. Once she started moving her hips against his hand, he knew it was time to stop.

She whined when he pulled his hand away, watched wide eyed and blushing as he reached over her head for Bucky to lick his fingers clean.

“Mmm,” Bucky moaned once he was finished, “You taste so delicious, baby. But I’ve got the appetite for a lobster roll, so let’s get a move on.”

“Wait, that’s it? But I was good!” she exclaimed, indignant, as they moved her towards the front door. Her skin buzzed with pleasure, and she was so uncomfortably wet between her legs. If she sat down she might soak through her skirt—at least the busy floral print would hide a wet spot.

“Can’t finish the game so soon, sugar.” Steve practically steered her out of the house and into the back seat of the car, buckling her in and running his hands over her body again to tease her. He groped her breasts, pinched her nipples, then teased her up and down her legs, ignoring her aching pussy completely. She whimpered at his touch and reached for him, but then he was pulling back and shutting the door in her face.

She pouted the entire drive until Steve threatened to take her over his lap if she kept being a brat about it.

“You’ll get yours later,” he promised, “I won’t leave you hanging forever—if you’re a good girl, that is.”

“Steve just wants you wet and wanting for him all the time,” Bucky explained. “Wants you begging for it by the end of the night. That’s how he wins the game.”

Well, she most certainly wasn’t going to beg for anything—that just wasn’t ladylike.

And she definitely didn’t feel ladylike without any undergarments. As they walked through the docks, even the gentlest winds had her yanking her skirt down, praying that nobody saw what was (or wasn’t) underneath.

Steve’s or Bucky’s hands would occasionally slip underneath, squeezing her ass, brushing along the inside of her thighs, and she thought she might explode. Despite how nervous she was, her wetness hadn’t dried up. It dripped down her thighs, and she was so slick she thought she would leave a puddle wherever she sat—and wouldn’t that be embarrassing.

It wasn’t until they sat down at a booth in the restaurant and ordered their meals did she really understand the problem. Each boy beside her rested a hand on one of her thighs, innocuously at first, but she noticed them slipping higher and higher.

Steve and Bucky were talking about something pointless—the Knicks’ newest point guard and how the Nets had been doing last season—she didn’t know. How could she care about basketball when all of a sudden Bucky’s fingers were on her pussy and then ohmygod they were inside of her and they were in public!!!!

She whined, sure that her face was as flushed as a tomato.

“Quiet, baby,” Steve chastised her, “We’re talking here.”

“But Steve—”

“Shhh.” He pulled his hand away from her thigh to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead, pulling her against him as she slumped down. He stroked her hair, her neck, her shoulder, while his other hand drifted over to rest on her thigh instead. “If anyone catches onto our little game,” he murmured in her ear, lips brushing against her earlobe, “Then you lose.”

“Be good, let us play with you,” Bucky whispered to her, the scent of his woody aftershave washing over her when he got close.

It was too many things to focus on at once. She let out a shuddering breath as Bucky steadily pumped his fingers in and out of her, occasionally pulling out and flicking or pinching her clit. Her eyes drifted closed and the din of the restaurant dimmed, her mind focusing solely on the pleasure she was receiving.

Steve’s hand came down to cup her breast, fondling it briefly before he slipped his fingers underneath the hem and took her breast fully in his hand. While she was apprehensive about his groping her so obviously in public, that was at the back of her mind, and she was quickly becoming disinhibited as Bucky brought her closer to release. She moaned at the feeling of his warm hands on her, and both men shushed her instantly.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby,” Bucky crooned, crowding his body around her so nobody would catch Steve with his hand down her shirt. “Can’t let anyone know what we’re doing to you.”

“Please,” she whimpered when Steve pinched her nipple.

Her noise only caused him to pinch it harder, digging his short nails in. “We told you to be quiet, darling,” he reprimanded her. “Don’t make me punish you right here.” The stern tone of his voice along with the pain in her nipple only heightened her senses, pushing her closer to the edge.

Bucky hummed in her ear at the feeling of her pussy fluttering on his fingers. “You like it when Steve talks to you like that, don’t you, sugar? When he plays with you in public like this? You act all sweet, but really you’re just a dirty little girl.”

She was practically on the verge of her orgasm, but then suddenly Steve’s hand was back on her shoulder and Bucky’s fingers had stilled but remained inside of her. When she opened her eyes, she saw their waiter approaching from far away.

“Did he see anything?” she gasped.

“You’d better hope not,” Steve growled in her ear, giving her shoulder a tight squeeze.

“Here, we’ve got the lobster rolls, crab cakes, smoked scallops…” She drowned out the sound of their waiter’s voice as he set down plate after plate of delicious food, food that she would normally be salivating over, but now she could only focus on the way her body yearned to be touched. As the waiter set down the last plate, he caught sight of her flushed face, his eyes flickering down to her breasts, her hard nipples. “Everything okay here?”

“Everything’s fine,” Steve said firmly. The hand on her shoulder caged her in possessively—a signal to the waiter that she was taken. He turned to her and smiled. “Right baby?”

She nodded, trying to smile, but maybe grimacing instead. The waiter frowned but left them with their entrees.

“This food looks delicious,” Bucky said, finally pulling his hand away from her center. He discreetly wiped his hands on his napkin before digging into his first lobster roll.

Well, Y/N hardly had an appetite anymore. She stared at Bucky, betrayed and forlorn, needy, wanting, willing to do almost anything so they would stop teasing her. “Bucky,” she whined softly, tone a little reedy, “Please let me finish.”

“The only thing you’ll be finishing right now is your food,” he responded. “Game’s not over yet.”

“Eat your food, baby,” Steve commanded sternly before biting into a crab cake.

Her appetite gradually returned, and although she didn’t eat more lobster rolls than Bucky, she was glad they came all the way out here for food. Even if their treatment of her was embarrassing and anxiety inducing, the food here was almost so good that it was all worth it.

Steve allowed her a few sips of his gin while Bucky let her to try his pale ale, which she thought was disgusting, and by the time they were done with their food, she felt a little looser, a little giggly. She would never admit it to them, but the alcohol had some kind of relaxing effect on her and it only enhanced her senses. Her arousal never really subsided, as evidenced by her increasingly slick thighs.

Rather than squirming in her seat and squeezing her thighs together, however, she tried to remain still so as not to alert them of her predicament. She couldn’t fathom what they would do if they found out how horny she suddenly was.

If only she noticed their predatory gazes directed at her all throughout dinner, then maybe she would have realized that she was not hiding her arousal nearly as well as she thought. Steve’s mind reeled with all of the ideas he had for her, and their bodies buzzed with anticipation for the night ahead. Truthfully, all three were excited for the rest of their little game, eager to see how it would conclude, and who would win by the end of the night.

Chapter Text

“Here, baby, you got a little—” Steve reached his hand towards her face to wipe off a smear of chocolate syrup from the corner of her mouth, but she caught on too soon and her own thumb beat him there. A quick swipe of her finger and the chocolate was gone, and her thumb was in her mouth, sucking it off, wide innocent eyes flickering back and forth between Steve and Bucky.

Bucky didn’t realize he had groaned until Y/N was smirking at him with glossy pink lips, her ice cream cone melting in her hands. After dinner, they had walked around and finally decided on ice cream. That had altogether been a mistake for Steve and Bucky, because it allowed their girl to finally realize that she had just as much power to tease them in public as they did.

She felt much looser after Steve had secretly gotten her a gin of her own at the restaurant, and now she was settling back into their old dynamic with the added exception that they touched her much more than usual. The sexual tension was driving them all crazy.

They were both painfully hard in their jeans watching her lick creamy vanilla drops of melted ice cream off her waffle cone. At least they were sitting at a table outside the ice cream shop and the surrounding area was mostly deserted.

“Seems like I’m winning the game, now,” she simpered, her mouth running quicker with the alcohol in her blood.

Bucky swallowed hard, because she was right, but he schooled himself and smirked at her. “In your dreams, sweetheart.”

Steve was a little more flustered and was having a harder time with her newfound confidence. “You don’t win the game. That’s not a thing. It’s rigged against you for a reason.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she glanced surreptitiously to their crotches, the prominent bulges confined by denim. “But I’m clearly winning.”

The waffle cone dropped to the ground with a sad crunch as Steve grabbed her arm and started pulling her in the direction of the car. “We’ll see how long that lasts when we get back to the house.”

Once they got back, Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter with their girl wrapped in his arms, hands wandering around her body as she squirmed. Meanwhile, Steve rooted through the liquor cabinet.

“How long of this can you take, doll?” Bucky whispered, breath hot against her ear. His hands trailed up her thighs, raising the hem of her skirt indecently high.

“Hey!” she whined, breathless, as he revealed her pussy, although of course nobody was there to see it except Steve, who glanced up from the liquor cabinet to leer at her before going back to his search. She had no idea what he was looking for, but he had told Bucky to keep her busy, so she suspected that he was taking a long time on purpose.

“Ah-ha!” Steve exclaimed, head emerging, a twenty-year-old bottle of cognac in his hands, while Bucky’s fingers skated over the juncture between her leg and pussy, the tips just grazing the outside of her labia before disappearing, and then she felt the soft fabric of her skirt against her once again.

“I like the way you think, Rogers,” Bucky said as Steve brandished the liquor bottle. His arms returned to her waist, and he squeezed her tight. The sound she made was in between a squeal and a giggle and it made Bucky’s stomach do a cartwheel.

As Steve reached into the upper cabinets to take down three of her father’s brandy snifters, she said, “My dad got that for my mom for their fifteenth wedding anniversary.”

“Your mom likes cognac?” Bucky was surprised. They usually saw her mother with a vodka soda—fewer calories, of course.

“No,” she laughed, “That’s why she left it here.” Steve snorted, pouring their glasses before handing one to each. “Here, I’ll teach you guys the proper way to drink it,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“There’s a proper way to drink cognac?” Bucky asked.

“There’s a proper way to drink all alcohol,” she answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Well go on then,” Steve said, nudging her with his elbow. “Teach us what you know.”

She held the glass with the palm of her hand cupping the rounded bottom. “Hold it like this so the heat from your hand warms up the cognac.” The boys followed her lead. “The way the top of the glass is narrow traps the aroma, so then you can smell it,” and she did, and the boys did too. She continued, “And you can make some kind of bullshit comment about how the oak note is most profound, and there’s a subtle fruity scent, and a spicy undertone like cinnamon or nutmeg. And then everyone thinks you’re really cultured but the truth is you’re just making everything up but nobody else knows enough about it to contradict you.”

Bucky snorted and ducked his head against her shoulder, and even Steve huffed a laugh. “Who taught you that? Your dad?”

“My dad’s that type of guy,” she confirmed, sipping the drink. “They’re both all into that high society stuff. I could tell you what meats go best with cognac, what cheeses to pair with it. How to make a good sidecar—I think we have Cointreau down there, actually.”

“I thought you never drank before,” Bucky said.

She shrugged, “My dad would let me have a little sip every now and then. That’s how you’re supposed to drink cognac, not chugging it like that,” she nodded to Steve how had been taking a long drink. Immediately he lowered the glass and glared at her.

“If you’re so cultured, what’re you doing here slumming it with us Brooklyn boys?” Bucky asked, squeezing her again with the arm he still had wrapped around her middle.

“Hey,” she whined, jabbing back at him with her elbow. “I’d prefer hanging out with you over going to one of my mom’s fancy dinner parties any day.”

And it was true. Despite all that they had put her through over the past few days, she still cherished their friendship, and she still enjoyed hanging out with them—when they weren’t testing her physical boundaries, that is.

Even when they were, maybe she didn’t mind it as much as she let on. Or maybe she was only thinking that way because of the alcohol.

“Aww,” Bucky cooed teasingly, “Our girl’s such a sap, Stevie.”

“Both’a you are big saps,” Steve said, hiding his smile in his glass.

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I like you guys again?”

They continued their little banter, getting looser and looser as they finished their glasses. Bucky and Steve each had another glass, but she only got halfway through her second before Steve decided she had had enough.

Bucky’s hands continued roaming her body throughout, sometimes teasing her enough to distract her from whatever she was saying only for his hands to move back to innocent territory, leaving her wanting and needy and frustrated, although she wasn’t quite ready to speak up about it yet.

Truthfully, the alcohol was the only reason she wasn’t objecting to his touch as much as she usually would. Her brain, in its alcohol-induced haze, reasoned that she needed to pick her battles, that maybe she could relax for the night.

She just felt so good, like honey flowed through her body, and she relished the slow, sweet, stickiness—and oh boy, did her thighs feel sticky. It was almost distracting—but then again, everything was distracting. Was she drunk? Is this how being drunk felt?

“Let’s take a walk on the beach,” Bucky suggested, “It’s a nice night out.”

“Good idea,” Steve smirked at him and she easily agreed, inhibitions lowered. She leaned into their touch as they led her outside. Steve had one arm slung around her waist while Bucky held onto her hand, shoulders brushing.

Once they reached the sand, she kicked off her sandals with a giggle and left them at the back gate to the house. Bucky and Steve toed their shoes off, too, leaving three pairs waiting for them to get back.

It was a quiet night, a crescent moon shining in the sky and sending barely enough light down to see in front of them. Stripes of silver reflected off the waves and the only sound was the hush of the water and their mild conversation, Y/N’s occasional giggles.

As they walked further down the beach and away from the house, Steve slipped his hand down, playing with the top of her skirt and then cupping her ass through the thin fabric. At first, she tensed again, but then relaxed when all he seemed content to do was touch her through her clothes, going no further for a long while. Steve’s touch had her feeling more apprehensive for some reason—maybe she was getting used to Bucky after the past few days. Maybe she would get used to Steve with time, too.

The cognac had hit her by then, and she had her own arm draped across Steve’s wide back for balance. Her mouth was running on its own as they talked about nonsense.

“I really like your tattoos,” she was saying.

“Well they’re all mob tattoos, sugar,” Steve said. His own tattoos included the one on his lower abdomen, the official seal of the mob across his chest, a large piece on his back with an eagle emerging from the sun, and a tribute to his mother on his arm—a custom design of a blue jay perched on a heart, surrounded by her favorite flowers: Queen Anne’s lace, hydrangeas, and gladiolus flowers. There were more, small and large, and she wondered how many there would be if she counted them.

Both he and Bucky had gotten a matching tattoo together, a black star on their bicep, to memorialize their brotherhood. Bucky had fewer tattoos than Steve, but he also had the seal of the mob, a traditional portrait of the Statue of Liberty on his other bicep, and a piece on his stomach that included a white wolf.

“That’s a lie,” she said, and her fingers skimmed over his right bicep where the tattoo for his mother was. Steve stiffened a little, not wanting to get into this conversation. She didn’t say anything about it though, and then her hand dropped, running down his chest, dipping up under the hem of his t-shirt and tickling across the BROOKLYN tattoo on his stomach. It was a bold move for her, but her brain didn’t question it, the alcohol controlling her actions now. His cock twitched at her touch and he squeezed her tighter, imagining her hands drifting lower.

Before he could do anything, her hand was gone and she was saying something else. “I think I’ll get a tattoo one day.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, right, sure you will.”

She smacked him in the arm but then he captured her hand in his again, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “I will!”

“You’re a little goody two-shoes Catholic schoolgirl,” Bucky said, “You’re not gonna get a tattoo. Plus, you father would never let you.”

“I don’t need his permission. I’m 18.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Yes you do, sweetheart.”

“And I’m not that good!”

“You sing in the church choir,” Bucky said, “You’re literally an angel.”

 “I break the rules sometimes!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, squeezing her ass tight. “What rules have you broken?”

She had to think about it. “One time I skipped class with Wanda and we went to Prospect Park and got ice cream.”

“What class?”

“…Okay, it was our free period. But we’re not supposed to leave campus during free period!”

“Oh, Stevie, I think she wants to be a bad girl. She’s trying so hard to prove herself.” She spluttered in response, not knowing the right thing to say. Because it wasn’t true—she didn’t want to be bad… She just wanted them to know she was capable of it. The alcohol made her want to match their debauchery, although she had never had the urge to before.

Steve turned to her, stopping her in her tracks. He pulled her closer and took her chin in his fingers. “You know when you break the rules, you get punished, sweetheart. You willing to accept the consequences?”

She frowned and said, “You only get punished if you get caught.”

“I’ll catch you every time.”

Lost in his intense gaze, the alcohol and her arousal dulling her brain function, she could only pout at him.

“C’mon,” he groped at her ass again and then swooped her up over his shoulder while she squealed. “Let’s get in the water.” He wanted to see her wet and shivering for him—ever since he saw her in that little white tank top, all he could think was how the fabric would look when it was soaked.

“What?” she cried, “No way! It’s too cold!” She hit at his back but before she knew it, he was tossing her into the ocean. The water wasn’t that high, but he set her down with enough force than she fell over onto her ass, a wave rushing over her suddenly. She shrieked at the feeling and then scrambled up. It was barely shin-deep, and the bottom of his pants were getting wet, but it was worth it to see her like this.

The fabric of her top was soaked through, clinging obscenely to her breasts, nipples clearly visible beneath. Her skirt was dripping wet and sticking to her hips. As Steve admired her, her anger was charging up, and then she came at him, hitting his chest with her little fists.

Her weak punches only made him laugh and he easily captured her wrists in his hands. “Sorry, baby,” he shrugged.

“No you’re not!” she yelled, struggling against him. “You’re such a jerk sometimes!” She was mad, but only a little. Truthfully, she was feeling so great that she didn’t really mind, nor did she realize how provocative her clothing had become.

He laughed at her feigned fury and held her back at his arm’s length, eyeing her body again—although she seemed almost oblivious to his wandering gaze. She only noticed when he spoke. “Look at you, doll.” His voice was almost a growl, low in his chest, rumbling through his body and to hers. She shivered as the wind swept by them, and her nipples pebbled in her top.

“Wow,” Bucky drawled, now stepping up next to them. He had rolled his jeans up so they wouldn’t get wet. “Lookin’ like a wet dream, sweetheart.”

She blushed and ducked her head, but Steve lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. This time, she didn’t pull away or struggle, she only gave into it, leaning into him and kissing him back tentatively. It helped that his body was so warm and she was freezing now, soaking wet. He dominated her mouth, the kiss, but she sank into the sensation, the anxiety that usually fueled her resistance quelled by the rush of alcohol through her veins.

On his tongue, she could taste cognac and peppermint and the Parliaments he smoked, and his lips were a little chapped, rough on her own. A shudder went through her and he wrapped her up in his arms. Bucky came up behind her and ran his large palms up and down her arms. Their warmth seeped into her, making her feel like she was melting against them like warm honey, every part of her going loose and limp. Wetness gathered between her thighs, only heightening her arousal, which had been simmering in her stomach all night.

Bucky’s hand snuck between their bodies and he cupped her sex fully in his hand, the only barrier between their skin being her skirt, the fabric still damp with seawater. She moaned into Steve’s mouth and he brought his own hands down to grab her ass, pulling her body further into Bucky’s hand.

“Oh,” she groaned at the delicious pressure, allowing Steve to grind her hips against the hand.

“Soaking through your skirt, baby doll,” Bucky growled into her neck. His hand bypassed her skirt and then it was on her heated skin, and she mewled from the dizzying sensation. While palmed at her clit, his fingers slipped through her folds, needlessly spreading her wetness—she had already dripped halfway down her thighs. “Stevie, she’s so wet for us,” he moaned against her shoulder, easily slipping one finger into her cunt.

Steve broke the kiss, and she turned her head to gasp at the barrage of arousal sweeping through her. Chuckling against her cheek, Steve muttered, “I’m sure she is. Her nipples have been hard since we were at the restaurant—seems like she liked our teasing more than she let on.”

“Is that true, darling?”

“No.” Shaking her head, eyes shut, her head lolling back onto Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not true.” But her pussy contracted against his finger and when he slid another in, she clutched at Steve’s arms, crying out breathily.

“Stop lying to us,” Steve grunted against her neck, pressing slick kisses along her skin. She smelled like lavender and oranges and vanilla, the new perfume she wore sinking into her damp skin, the wetness and the heat between their bodies amplifying the scent. “Stop lying to yourself.” He pressed her down harder onto Bucky’s hand and the tips of his fingers pressed into places so deep, places that had never been touched before.

She keened and panted, then collected her wits and said, “’m not lying.”

Immediately, suddenly, Bucky pulled his fingers out and smacked her pussy twice, hard, causing her to cry out and lurch forward. She collided with Steve’s chest and stumbled, but he steadied her before she fell. “Good girls don’t lie, baby,” Bucky growled, biting down hard on her shoulder. “Do they?”

She shook her head, but whether it was at his question, or at the notion that she was lying, or at him denying her pleasure just as she was about to come, was anybody’s guess.

Then Steve’s hands were working at Bucky’s fly. “Bucky’s gonna fuck you, baby doll, and you’re gonna come so hard for him, as many times as I say, until—”

“Wait!” she gasped, some of her senses coming back to her suddenly as she reminded her own drunk ass that they were in public and someone could see.

It was one thing to have Bucky touching her when they were on the sailboat in the middle of the bay, and another to have them touching her at a booth in a private little corner of a restaurant across the island. But it was an entirely different thing to have Bucky’s cock against her ass on the shoreline in this area of town. It wasn’t incredibly busy, but there were a few other houses up and down the beach. None too close—they weren’t fucking in someone’s backyard—but someone could walk along the beach and come across them right there.

Despite her sudden protest, they ignored her—like always. As Steve’s hands unzipped Bucky’s jeans and Bucky flipped her skirt up, she darted out of their grasps, past Steve, and up the shoreline, into the shallower waters until she was almost at the sand.

They caught up to her in no time, and Steve wound his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, practically carrying her now. Her feet left the earth and he growled in her ear, “Baby, good girls don’t run.”

“Wait!” she turned in his arms and placed her delicate hands on his broad shoulders. “Let’s go back to the house! Please! Someone could see!”

He smirked and Bucky positioned himself behind her. They were no longer so deep in the surf—the waves only lapped at their feet occasionally now, the foam tickling their toes.

“No one will see, doll,” Bucky assured her, running his hands up her arms soothingly. “I promise—I’ve never seen anyone out here this late. Plus, a lot of people just went home so all the summer homes are vacant now.”

Her face showed skepticism but she allowed Bucky to pull her down to the ground, her knees sinking into the sand, and Steve followed when Bucky tugged on his hand.

“Just relax. No one will see,” Steve whispered to her before taking her face in his hands and kissing her. This was remarkably affectionate for Steve, and it caught her so off-guard that she sank into the kiss, paying more attention to his thumbs stroking her cheeks than Bucky lifting her skirt up. Bucky kissed her neck and his stubble on her sensitive skin added to the sensations her mind was processing as he touched her ass, spread her cheeks apart.

“So fucking pretty,” he rumbled against her neck, his hand drifting down to play with the wetness on her thighs. “Stevie, you should really feel her.”

Steve’s hand joined Bucky’s, his short fingernails raking up the inside of her thigh before pressing against her pussy. “Oh, Bucky,” Steve groaned, “She’s ready for you. Aren’t you, baby?”

“No, I—I’m—” She had no idea what she was about to say, why she was still protesting, when they had teased her to the edge so many times that night that she would do just about anything to come. Her words were cut off when Steve pressed three fingers against her cunt, spreading her labia open before sinking his fingers deep inside. “Please,” she squeaked when he found that spot deep inside her that made her cry out without even realizing she made a sound, and then his fingers were pressing hard and fast into that spot until she was practically limp as she leaned back against Bucky.

“Ah, right there,” Steve said pridefully, dragging her almost to the edge and pulling back right as she was about to come. He licked his fingers off with a smirk and when she whined about his stopping, he said, “I want you coming on Bucky’s cock so he can feel how good it is.”

 The next moment, she felt Bucky’s cock where Steve’s fingers had been, the blunt tip pressing inside of her and splitting her apart. As she was distracted by the feeling of Bucky slowly filling her inch by inch, Steve tugged down the thin straps of her tank top, fingers drifting to pull at the neckline until one of her breasts was freed. Bucky’s hands held her hips in place and Steve’s lips met her own, kissing her lax mouth.

She held her breath once she felt Bucky’s pelvis meet her ass, his cock completely sheathed inside of her, and she felt so full, almost on the edge of too much, but Jesus it was good. A little ball of anxiety remained in her head about if someone were to see them, but every time she dwelled too much on it, she felt overwhelmed, adrenaline coursing through her—and not necessarily in a bad way, she realized.

Then Bucky pulled back out and she actually whimpered at how it felt, the contrasting feelings of full and empty inside of her, the way his cock stretched her so perfectly.

“Fuck, her pussy feels so good,” Bucky groaned. Steve observed the scene, enraptured by the view. Bucky’s eyes shut tight, mouth open in a groan as he fucked back into her; her own face, so blissed out and flushed, lips swollen in the sweetest pout; her body, wet and wanting, clothes clinging to her skin and providing the barest amount of cover; her legs quivering, hips shifting back subtly into Bucky’s every thrust.

“Good God,” he grunted, trying to breathe through his own arousal. He could probably come right there, but he definitely wanted to wait.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Bucky asked in her ear, thrusting shallowly inside of her.

She nodded and keened at his hand sneaking around her hip and cupping her pussy again, just like before, long fingers feeling the way his cock slid in and out of her, the ball of his hand pressing up into her clit.

“Fuck,” she mewled, bucking her hips into his touch.

“Hey,” Steve snapped, twisting her nipple. “I don’t like hearing that kind of language from your mouth.” A loud cry left her lips, and Steve continued, pinching at her other nipple with quick hands. “Not so loud, baby girl,” he murmured, “Wouldn’t want the whole neighborhood to hear, would we?”

And she was so wound up already, so on the edge from their teasing, from not being able to come all night, that his words did it for her, and she was coming, hips canting back onto Bucky’s cock, back arching, chest pressing into Steve’s harsh touch.

They held her gently in their arms as she came until she was trembling, her pleasure sweeter than any drug for them. She whimpered and moaned, gasped when they touched her in just the right spots, tight hands on her hips, lips mouthing at her shoulder, harsh pinches to her nipples. Steve kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, then nudged her chin towards Bucky’s waiting lips, and Bucky kissed her through the aftershocks, still pumping his cock inside her until she whined into his mouth.

When she was done, panting into the air between the three of them, Bucky’s breath hitting her cheek, Steve chuckled against her neck. “You love this,” he told her, fingers finding her clit, Bucky thrusting harder inside of her now. She shook her head slightly and Steve grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. Lying.” His teeth were gritted and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “We can both tell how much you want it, how fucking filthy you are for us. You wanted us all throughout dinner and you want us now, and we’re not going to stop until we get our fill.”

“No,” she gasped, still trying to fight the pleasure that was building back up so quickly again. “I—I don’t—”

Steve stood up and stepped back, “Buck, hold her down and fuck her hard.”

Without the support of Steve in front of her, her body collapsed forward into the wet sand, holding herself up now on her forearms. Her body jolted forward with each punishing thrust of Bucky’s hips. Bucky leaned down over her and then she was flat on her stomach as he rutted her into the ground. Sand stuck to her skin on her arms, her chest, high on her thighs and all down her legs.

“That’s right, baby,” Bucky growled in her ear, hips thrusting wildly. “Take my cock, take it, take it.” And she was forced to do just that—lie in the sand and take it, whatever way he wanted to fuck her. She felt dizzy, her mind fuzzy, and his cock almost hurt with the force that he was fucking her. So soon after her last orgasm, it felt like it was tearing through her, and she could feel every inch of him, hard and heavy.

He shifted his hips on his next thrust and hit her g-spot dead center, and she cried out at how good it felt, hands digging into the sand in an attempt to grab onto something, coming up empty as the grains slipped through her fingers.

Bucky chuckled above her as she squirmed. “That’s it, right there, isn’t it?” He hit the spot again and again, grunting in her ear.

“Make her take it, Bucky,” Steve said, palming himself through his jeans, “Force her to take your cock. I want you to fuck her until she’s coming again. She wants you so bad, baby, I can tell.”

Bucky held her wrists in one hand and thrust into her continuously until she was practically crying, another weaker orgasm washing over her. Once it was over, she laid limp in the sand while he used her body. “We know you love it, sweetheart. You love my cock inside you, love it when we fuck you. Your pussy needs it, ain’t that right?” She shook her head feebly and he chuckled.

In one movement, Bucky yanked her upright by her shoulder into his chest, taking all the pressure of his cock off of that spot inside her. She cried out from the sudden change in stimulation. It would have been a relief if his cock wasn’t stretching her now in a totally different way, almost burning, painful, but only fueling the fire in her body more. “Please, Bucky, please—" She had no idea what she was begging for, but she needed something—a break, maybe. A minute to rest. Maybe she needed to come again. She didn’t know.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me you need me to fuck you, that you need me to make you come.”

But the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth—she couldn’t make herself say them, she was too overwhelmed. The connection between her brain and her mouth was severed, and all she could do was cry out and moan into the salty air around them.

“If she’s not gonna answer you, let’s put her mouth to better use,” Steve suggested, pulling his own cock out of his jeans. He had been content to watch them, but now he was so painfully hard, he had to get his hands on her.

“No, wait, don’t—” She didn’t know how she would be able to breathe with his cock in her mouth when it was already so hard, every one of Bucky’s thrusts pushing the air from her lungs like she was being winded. But her protests fell on deaf ears and then his cock was lodged in her throat.

Fellatio wasn’t an entirely pleasant experience, she was finding—at least not like this, as she gagged and choked and slobbered all over herself. Although she did like the sounds Steve made, his little groans and grunts, the occasional whimper. It made her feel like she was taking something from him, making him more vulnerable. It made her feel powerful.

As Steve fucked deep into her mouth, her airway was cut off, and eventually she needed to breathe. Struggling and smacking against his thighs, she tried to pull away but he had a tight grip on her hair.

“Get her hands, Buck,” Steve grunted, thrusting in a little deeper and holding himself there. Once Bucky restrained her wrists behind her back, Steve took one hand from her hair and used the other to pinch her nose shut, further cutting off her oxygen supply as he fucked her face. As her body became looser and more pliant with oxygen deprivation, her mouth and throat became lax, allowing Steve’s cock to go deeper in her mouth, and when Bucky let go of her wrists, she was too weak to struggle.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Good girl,” Steve breathed, voice low in his throat, guttural and strained, “Taking us so well, just like you’re meant to. Doing such a good job for us.”

“Gonna come soon,” Bucky grunted, forehead pressed against the base of her neck.

“Make her come again first,” Steve breathed, “Then you can come.”

Bucky brought one hand to her clit, rubbing in quick circles. Her body jerked between their grasps, every muscle quivering as she was brought closer to orgasm. The oxygen deprivation made her every nerve feel fuzzy, somehow accentuating the pleasure she felt in her core. “C’mon, honey, be a good girl and come for me.”

He wound her up tighter and she vibrated with need, letting the pleasure wash over her like a riptide in the ocean overtaking her, pulling her under as she came so hard she blacked out. They both came at the same time as her, with Bucky pulling out of her pulsing cunt to empty on her ass while Steve pulled away from her mouth and came on her face so she wouldn’t choke.

Steve had been supporting almost her entire weight with his grip on her hair, so when he finally stepped back and let her go, she almost collapsed forward before Bucky caught her. “Woah,” he breathed, easing her onto her back when he realized she was not entirely conscious.

Quickly stuffing themselves back into their pants, they kneeled at her side. Blood turning cold with fear, heart pounding out of his chest, Bucky shook her limp body gently by the shoulders. Remaining calm and collected, Steve said her name a few times, hoping to rouse her. “Baby,” he said, voice stern, “Wake up, honey.” She shifted, but did not open her eyes until Steve smacked her cheek lightly. “Wake up now, Y/N.”

Bucky felt immeasurable relief when she finally responded, frowning a little bit as she awoke. She gazed up at them with unseeing eyes, her entire body exhausted from the events of the night. Blinking lazily, eyes glazed over, she turned her face into Steve’s touch when he ran a hand through her hair.

“You did really well for us, sweetheart,” Bucky said, straightening up her clothing and brushing the sand from her skin. Whining, she twitched and shied away from the coarse gritty feeling scraping at her delicate skin. “There you go, baby, just a little more.” His hands ran over her breasts and arms, her thighs, even brushing some sand from her cheek, trying to be as gentle as possible. Meanwhile, Steve tried to wipe the come off of her face but only served to messily rub the semen into her skin before he gave up.

“We gotta get you cleaned up. How do you feel?” Steve asked, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face.

“Tired,” she responded, closing her eyes again.

“Hey, stay awake until we get back to the house,” Steve said sternly.

She laughed weakly, just a little huff of air and a lazy twitch of her lips. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Steve smirked while Bucky laughed. “I’ll carry you,” Bucky said, collecting her from Steve.

“Was it good?” she asked, voice cracking, eyes oddly watery as she gazed up at him. He knew she was probably feeling vulnerable and sensitive after being used by them so roughly, and he knew the importance of taking care of her after a hard session like that. Aftercare was his forte, after all, and he was well-versed in comforting her after Steve’s outbursts or admonishments. This wasn’t very different from that.

Bucky nodded, cupping her cheek. “It was really good, sweetheart,” he reassured her, “You were really good, such a good girl for us.”

She looked over at Steve, an unsure look on her face. “Did you like it, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes softened and he nodded. “I loved it, darling. You did amazing. You pleased us so well, and we can’t wait to do it again.”

Turning her head into Bucky’s chest, she nodded, seemingly content. “So did I win?”

“Win?” Bucky asked.

“Did I win the game?”

Steve laughed at that. “Yeah, honey, you definitely won.”

“I thought it was rigged against me,” she sassed him as they stood up and started to walk back to the house.

“Just because you won doesn’t mean we lost,” Steve said.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to. I make the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

As they walked back to the house, Bucky kept a running dialogue of praise, telling her how good she was for them, how much they loved it. However, she was unusually quiet, even as Bucky rinsed her off and dressed her in a pair of athletic shorts and a sweatshirt.

As he tucked her into bed, he asked, “You okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, an absent look in her eyes. “Tired.” Truthfully, she didn’t know how to feel. A dozen different emotions ran through her head, and she didn’t know which ones were rational responses to the events of the night and which were not, but she didn’t have the will to process them right now. Her mind still felt fuzzy, her body weak, sleep calling to her louder and louder with each second.

“Okay, honey.” He kissed her forehead, each of her cheeks, and finally her lips, so gently that she would have cried had she not felt so drained. “Get some sleep, baby.”

Bucky slipped into his bedroom where Steve was waiting, fresh clothes and all. As Bucky changed his own sand-covered clothes, Steve said, “I should’ve gotten a picture of her with my come all over her face.”

He hummed, because yes, that would have been hot, but also his blood still felt cold from how scared he got when she passed out. “We need to be more gentle with her,” he said finally, frustration evident in his voice as he yanked his sweats on. “You need to be more gentle.”

Slumping down on Bucky’s bed, Steve scoffed. “She won’t break. She’s perfectly fine.”

“Steve, she passed out. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Steve was on his feet then, squaring up to Bucky, faces almost touching. His tone turned cold when he spoke next. “I think I’m running the show here, Buck. I say what should or shouldn’t have happened.”

Bucky wasn’t scared by his intimidation tactics. “It’s different with her and you know it. She isn’t like the other girls we’ve shared—she’s not used to it. We need to work her up slowly to this kind of shit.”

The sound of Steve’s phone ringing interrupted their conversation. He pulled it out and frowned. “It’s Tony,” he told Bucky before answering. Tony started speaking as soon as Steve picked up, and Bucky could hear his rapid voice from the other end, although he couldn’t make out specific words. “Slow down, Tony,” Steve said, “What happened?” After a moment, he blew out a breath, his face falling. “Shit.” Tony said something else, and Steve responded, “Of course. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Then Steve hung up and Bucky asked, “What’s that about? We need to go back to Brooklyn?”

Back to his stoic demeanor, Steve nodded, expression severe. “We need to pack up. Stane got arrested and Tony wants us back in New York immediately.”

Chapter Text

The sounds of city traffic through the open window and the feeling of Hermes’s hot breath panting in her ear awoke her, and it took her a moment to realize they were on Atlantic Avenue, no longer the quiet island life of Martha’s Vineyard. Cigarette smoke from the front drifted into the back seat before being swallowed up by the wind, leaving a lingering stench of Steve’s Parliaments.

Steve and Bucky spoke in hushed voices. Bucky was on the phone, but he said a quiet goodbye and hung up.

“They’ve got him on extortion,” Bucky informed Steve, “No word on other charges yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they get him for money laundering, weapons dealing. Racketeering. Murder.”

Murder?

That made her sit up, heart hammering in her chest. “What’s going on?” she asked. Her mind was fuzzy, groggy. The last thing she remembered was Bucky putting her to bed, but she didn’t recall getting in the car. She wasn’t even wearing shoes.

“We’re back in Brooklyn,” Steve answered after a beat, an edge to his voice that matched the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel. Bucky stayed silent, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Why? We weren’t supposed to be back for a couple more weeks.” He didn’t answer for a moment. “Bucky?” she asked urgently as panic filled her. “What happened?” She clutched the back of the passenger’s seat and leaned forward to look at them. The clock on the dashboard said it was after midnight. Both boys looked exhausted, bags under their eyes. “Please tell me.”

Bucky sighed, finished his cigarette, threw it out the window. “Tony and your mother will explain to you once we get to your house.”

“My mom? And Tony?” She paused before continuing, biting at her thumb nail. “…What about my dad? Did something happen to him?” Their silence confirmed her suspicions. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Steve snapped, “Sit back, we’ll be there soon. You can hear it from Tony then.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he sighed, teeth gritted, “Just don’t.” The anger in his voice had her cowering back into her seat.

For the rest of the drive, she chewed on her lips and picked at her cuticles, and Steve and Bucky went through the rest of the pack of Parliaments, two more cigarettes each. The fifteen minutes it took to get through Brooklyn felt like hours until they were finally back in front of the brownstone she called home.

Before Steve even put the car in park, she flung the door open and was running up the stoop, still barefoot, Hermes on her heels. The door was unlocked, and as soon as she stepped in, she heard her mother from the kitchen.

“I warned him not to get involved, Tony!” Her voice was hoarse, thick, like she’d been crying. “I told him not to fucking get involved with Loki Laufeyson and he did, and now—oh, God—” her mother let out a sob, and then Y/N entered the kitchen to the sight of Tony hugging her mother, rubbing her back gently.

“I know,” Tony sighed.

“What the hell am I gonna do now?”

“There, there.” Tony’s voice was monotone, a blank look on his face—clearly his patience was wearing thin.

“What’s going on?” she asked, voice shaking. Only then did Tony and her mother notice her presence.

Her mother pulled back from Tony and braced herself against the kitchen counter. The grey Michael Kors dress she wore had a large red stain all down the front. Tony avoided looking at either of the women and instead poured two glasses of vodka, handing one to her mother and then taking one for himself.

When her mother drank the glass in one go and still didn’t respond, Y/N snapped, “Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is happening? Where’s Dad?”

“Your father has been arrested,” her mother replied blankly.

“What?” she gasped, mind reeling.

“We were out at dinner, that nice Italian place downtown that he loves, and the police came to arrest him in the middle of the salad,” Mrs. Stane clutched the pearls around her neck.

“Is… is that blood?” she asked, pointing to the stain on her mother’s dress.

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Stane sniffed. “Your father’s not one to go down without a fight. He flipped the table in an attempt to escape and spilled a 20-year-old bottle of Sangiovese all over me.”

“Is he okay?” Urgency coated her question. Her heart pounded at the thought of her father being apprehended by the police, trying to escape from them. “Why was he arrested now?” Why not before this? What had changed? She knew her father was a criminal, but she had always thought he was untouchable.

Her mother scoffed and turned to make herself a drink. She poured a glass half full of vodka and added a splash of club soda. “Oh, darling. You don’t know the half of what he’s done. It was all bound to catch up with him eventually.” She added two lime wedges, stirred with her finger, then sucked lime juice and vodka off of her manicure.

Y/N noticed her fingers felt numb, tingling, and that’s when she realized how quickly she was breathing. Next to her, Hermes whined and nuzzled at her hand, wanting to comfort her in her distress. “Is he going to get out? What’s gonna happen?”

Tony answered this time. “We don’t know yet. Why don’t you go up to your room and go to sleep? It’s late. We’ll know more in the morning.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he scowled, using the commanding tone of the fearsome leader of the Brooklyn Mob. “Go upstairs. Now.”

She knew better than to argue with Tony, so she obeyed, exiting the kitchen promptly and hurrying upstairs. As she came onto the landing, she saw Bucky putting her luggage just outside her room. The boys must have packed her bags for her—she hadn’t realized.

He turned to go back downstairs but froze when he saw her. “Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, walking over and ushering her into her room with an arm around her shoulders. He sat her on the bed and crouched in front of her, hands on her bare knees.

“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked, voice shaking. Bucky wiped away a tear that fell down her cheek.

“We don’t know yet,” he answered, voice gentle like he was speaking to a child. “He might go to jail for a really long time.”

“I’m confused, Bucky.” She allowed him to take her in his arms. His large hands rubbed up and down her back as she sobbed, and her tears wet the sleeve of his shirt. “Why is this happening now?”

Bucky didn’t have a chance to answer before Steve was at the door, carrying in the last of her bags from the car. “Bucky,” Steve’s said, voice stern. They both looked up at him, and his eyes seemed to soften momentarily at seeing Y/N in tears, but it was so quick that Bucky thought he might’ve imagined it. Eyes cold once again, Steve stalked over, towering before them both. He placed a hand on her chin and turned her face up to look at him. His shoulders were tense, his grip on her chin tight. “You need to be strong right now. No crying, alright?”

Wiping her face with her sleeves, she sniffled, but said in a small voice, “Okay…”

“We need to leave now. Do what your mother and Tony say. Stay in your room. Got it?” She nodded. “Good girl.” With that, he released her. “We need to get going, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, leaned up and kissed her forehead. “We’ll be back soon, honey.”

Her mouth twitched, but she nodded and looked down at her legs. She had been digging her fingernails into the skin of her kneecaps without realizing it. After Steve and Bucky closed the door behind them, she released her grip and saw angry red crescents embedded into her flesh. Her tears dried up. A knot formed in her stomach and slithered up her ribcage, seizing her lungs and stopping her heart.

She could still hear her mother sobbing and screaming downstairs. Although she tried to listen in, she couldn’t make out any of the words. Maybe it was for the better, but her hands still shook no matter how she tried to relax.

It took all her energy to lean back on her bed. She laid on her side facing the door, and stayed there, hollowed out, unfeeling, until the sun rose.

She woke up at noon the next day, sweat covering her body, heart racing as she tried to catch her breath through the panic. Although she couldn’t recall the dream she had been having, she remembered faces in the dark, twisting and contorting, and hands reaching out to grab her.

Once she calmed down, the silence of the house registered, and she suddenly recalled the events of last night. Her father was in prison. What was she supposed to do now? She felt so helpless. This couldn’t be fixed—her father was going to be locked away for a long time, and there was nothing she could do about it. Things weren’t going to be alright. She wasn’t going to be alright.

Tears fell down her cheeks, wetting her face and running cold tracks down her skin before she even realized she was crying. It only took a minute or so to cry herself dry as she wondered what was going to happen from here.

Presumably court proceedings would occur, and only then would they know how long her father would be imprisoned for. Until then—she didn’t know what to focus on.

After trudging to the bathroom, limbs filled heavy with sand, she sat in the shower for more than an hour, sobbing on and off until the water ran cold. She applied a charcoal face mask with the hope that it would make her feel better, but she started crying again halfway through and ran tear tracks through the black paste. Once she dried her hair and got dressed in leggings and another huge hoodie, she contemplated calling Steve or Bucky. They hadn’t called or texted her since the previous night, and she wondered what they were up to.

They were probably taking care of mob business, like they usually told her, but now she wanted to know more about what that meant. What exactly did “mob business” entail? Was it dangerous? Did it have something to do with her father? She could assume as much, but she wanted specifics.

She knew they would never tell her if she asked. But maybe her mother would.

Her mother wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room or any of the downstairs rooms, although there were two empty bottles of vodka and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. She found her mother in her parents’ bedroom, a large suitcase on the bed, her mother struggling to zip it shut.

“Mom?”

Mrs. Stane turned to face Y/N, a cigarette sticking out of her mouth. Her usually tidy hair stuck up in all directions, deep bags under her eyes, a pallor to her skin tone. The French tips of her manicure had been chewed right off and she hadn’t changed out of the wine-stained dress from the previous night. Her hands shook as she took hold of the cigarette, flicking the ash right onto the carpet.

“Darling,” Mrs. Stane greeted her daughter, voice hoarse.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, eyes flickering between the suitcase and the passport sitting on the dresser next to her purse.

“I’ll be going away for a little while.”

“Why?”

Her mother sighed. “Y/N, you’re old enough to know about all this now. Your father and I have done illegal things, and now that he’s in jail, I’ll surely be next, especially if he takes a plea deal and sells out half the mob with him. It will be much safer for me to leave now before things get worse.”

None of this made sense. How could her mother leave now, when her life was already being turned upside down? “Where are you going?”

“It’s best if I don’t tell you,” her mother said gravely, “I can’t let anyone find me, and you wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.”

“I can’t come with you?” Her voice cracked and her lip trembled, panic rushing through her. Was she about to lose both of her parents in the span of a day? “I can’t even visit?”

“No, honey,” her mother answered, approaching her. Hands rested on her shoulders, keeping her grounded as her mother spoke to her. “You need to stay here. You will go to NYU and live a normal life. A life without the mob.”

But she didn’t know how to live a life without the mob, without her father’s looming presence and protection in the background.

Before she could ask her mother anything else, her mother took her hand, leading her out of the bedroom and to the middle of the hallway. “I need to show you something,” her mother said, reaching for the string hanging from the ceiling that would release the trap door for the attic. As far as Y/N was concerned, the attic only stored a collection of old items, like her baby clothes and tacky Halloween decorations and a bunch of useless stuff they had inherited when her great-grandmother died.

“Mom, what do you need to show me that’s up here?”

“Just follow me,” Mrs. Stane answered, ascending the ladder into the attic.

It smelled like dust and mothballs, and the air was still and silent. She followed her mother straight into one corner of the attic and watched as she dug through a few boxes before pulling out a small wooden box. “There are things you don’t know, my dear. Things that we’ve kept from you for so long.”

Her mother sat down on the floorboards, the skirt of her dress dirtying at the hem where it dragged in the dust. She pulled a few items out and set them down. A stack of pictures wound together with a rubber band. An envelope dated from eighteen years before. An official-looking piece of cardstock, the label on top reading Certificate of Death. Her mother handed it to her.

“What is all this?” Y/N asked, hands shaking as she took the paper. She didn’t recognize the name on the certificate, but it said the man died of unknown causes eighteen years ago, four months before she was born.

“Obadiah is not your real father,” her mother said. Y/N’s world stopped but Mrs. Stane continued, not allowing a moment for the bomb that she had just dropped to settle. “I was in a relationship with Obadiah for a year when I was twenty. I left him after he got more involved with the mob, and I fell in love with another man. I was only with him for a few months before I got pregnant, but he was the love of my life. The perfect man for me, and I knew I wanted to marry him.”

Mrs. Stane paused, looked down at her knees, and a tear fell onto her dress where it was stained with red, wine and tears mixing on the expensive fabric. The dress was ruined, it would have to be thrown away.

“Obadiah discovered that I had moved on and that I was pregnant with you. He had been bothering me for months to go back to him, but I was firm that I wanted nothing to do with him. Then one day, your father—your real father—disappeared. I filed a police report but before they could do anything, his body washed up in the Hudson. The cause of death was inconclusive and when Obadiah swooped in to comfort me after the funeral, I let him.”

“Was it—was it him? Did he kill him?” She already knew the answer, but she needed confirmation. Confirmation that her father—or not her father, apparently—could do something so terrible.

“I’m sure it was him. I’ve never gotten solid proof, but I’ve always been sure. When he wanted to marry me, and when he wanted to pass you off as his own child, I allowed it. He never wanted you to know.”

“Oh my God…” It was as if the world had stopped turning. Her heart hammered hard in her chest and bile threatened to come up from her stomach. Her entire life was a lie—her father wasn’t her real father; he had, in fact, murdered her real father in cold blood. None of this made sense—how could this all be happening to her? “This isn’t true… This can’t be true, please tell me—"

“It is,” her mother said vehemently, taking Y/N’s hands in her own. Her grip was tight; pain shot through her fingers. “I’m sorry we kept it from you all these years, my love…”

“Why are you telling me now?” Fury ran through her as suddenly as her denial dissipated, turning her blood cold. Her hands shook violently; she could hardly think at all.

“You don’t have Obadiah’s protection or money anymore,” Mrs. Stane answered, taking the envelope and pulling out a few papers. “The feds are going to come and take all of our assets. But there is one thing that belongs to you, that your—that Obadiah hasn’t soiled.”

She extended her hand for Y/N to take the papers. When she took them, she saw that it was a will and testament. “What is this?” she asked as she skimmed the words. There was a lot of legal jargon that she couldn’t comprehend.

“Your real father’s last will and testament. He left everything he had to you. The bank information’s all there. I kept this from Obadiah so he wasn’t be able to take any of the money. It’s for you to use however you need it. Tuition, housing—whatever you need. You won’t have Obadiah and I to support you anymore, so use it wisely.”

Y/N was crying again, tears dripping onto the paper where her real father had outlined the terms of his estate, left everything to his daughter, and signed his name at the bottom.

“I’ve arranged everything with the bank—it’s all in your name now.”

She didn’t respond for a long moment, still trying to process all that had just happened. Not only was the only father she had ever known in prison, but now her mother was leaving. The man she thought was her father had committed murder and forged their little family from blood. Her family was a lie, and now it was disintegrating.

“I’ll give you a moment to look through all this. I need to go soon,” her mother said. “The sooner I’m gone, the better.”

As she stood to leave, Y/N caught her mother’s hand. “Please don’t go, Mom. Please.” She was crying more now, sniffling back snot and trying to control her breaths. Although she was angry about being lied to, about the knowledge of her real lineage being kept from her, she didn’t want to lose her mother. Not now.

Mrs. Stane bent down and took her daughter in her arms, hugging her tight. The smell of her perfume, Chanel No. 5, brought her back to her childhood when she thought her mother’s arms were the safest place in the world. How naïve had she been all her life?

“You’re going to be okay, sweetie. You need to be strong.” She pulled away and looked into her eyes, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “I believe you can do this. You’re going to be okay.” With that, her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek and climbed down the attic stairs.

She didn’t stop crying as her mother grabbed her luggage, slammed the front door closed, and drove away. Just like her entire life had been, the last words she would ever hear from her mother were a lie. She wouldn’t be okay. How could she be, after all that had happened?

The Widow’s Web was a lounge in Bushwick, owned by the Brooklyn Mob’s own Natasha Romanoff. The top floor was the lounge where patrons could have a good drink served by pretty girls in cocktail dresses. The basement held the “Gentleman’s Floor”, not quite a brothel, but much more than a strip club. With no cameras or police nearby, it was the first place Steve and Bucky thought of to meet with their associates.

They were seated by the hostess at one of the sofas in the lounge. It was dark, jazzy music playing through the speakers. Luckily there weren’t many people there during the day.

“Where the hell is Barton?” Steve grumbled. “Thought he’d be here already.”

Bucky shrugged, checking his phone as it rang. “Y/N’s trying to call me.”

“Send her to voicemail,” Steve replied, “We don’t have time for her right now.”

Although it made his stomach clench, Bucky obeyed. When she tried to call again, he turned his phone off. All he wanted to do was drive back to her house and take her in his arms, comfort her, allow her to cry on his shoulder, tell her everything was going to be okay. But everything wasn’t going to be okay—not for her, at least; Steve and Bucky were certainly making sure of it.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in.” They heard Natasha’s drawl before she approached them from behind, slinking up beside Bucky with a hand on the back of the sofa. “Fancy seeing you two here.” She looked sleek and composed as always, black jumpsuit accentuating her lithe limbs, red hair coiffed to perfection, painted lips matching the huge ruby ring on her finger.

“You know exactly why we’re here, Nat,” Steve said shortly. He wasn’t in the mood for her teasing or flirting, nor the way she looked at him like she could see right through him. Natasha had a history with both men, and although they had all been on amicable terms for years at that point, Steve had a low tolerance for her in times of high stress.

She smirked. “Barton’s downstairs. I’ll show you the way.”

The downstairs area was even darker, filled with cigarette smoke. There were a few patrons scattered about, some with waitresses in their laps. The girls down here wore less clothing, usually in lingerie rather than the skimpy dresses the waitresses upstairs wore.

“Right this way,” Natasha said. “He’s already got some ideas for you.” A beat passed, and then she added, “So do I, actually.”

“Well I’d love to hear them once I have a drink,” Steve muttered.

Tony had tasked Steve and Bucky with a specific mission: arrange for Obadiah Stane’s assassination. Obadiah, the rat, was almost assuredly going to take a plea deal and sell out the entire mob, including Tony and all of the higher-ups. It was imperative that he never had the chance to squeal in the first place. With the man in jail, it was proving to be pretty difficult.

Considering the enormity of the task, the delicacy of the situation, Steve wasn’t sure they were meant to succeed. He was sure Tony was testing them, but he wasn’t sure why he would do so now when their failure meant the downfall of the entire mob.

Maybe Steve was being paranoid—at least that’s what Bucky thought.

Natasha led them to a booth at the back. These booths were usually used for private dances with the waitresses, but they also worked well for covert meetings between mob members. Steve and Bucky slid in next to Clint while Natasha waved a waitress over.

“Nice to see you,” Clint grumbled, shaking their hands. He was another associate of the mob, one of their best hitmen, but he usually lived upstate with his family. With Stane in prison and the mob shaken up, he was staying in the city to help out.

“Not under these circumstances,” Bucky replied with a grimace.

“So it’s gonna take some work getting into MCC but I think we can manage. How much outside work do you want on this job?” Clint asked.

Before Steve or Bucky could answer, Natasha shushed them as their waitress approached. It was Wanda Maximoff, one of the girls that Y/N went to high school with. Instead of the scandalous lingerie of the waitresses downstairs, she wore one of the black cocktail dresses.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working upstairs?” Steve asked, referring to her clothing. He was a little suspicious of her presence here—he didn’t want anything getting back to Y/N about the business with her father.

“We’re short staffed down here today, so Wanda’s helping out with the waitressing,” Natasha replied with a saccharine smile. Wanda only smiled and nodded nervously.

Steve placed a hand on Wanda’s thigh, making the young girl shift back anxiously. He gripped her tight so she couldn’t move away from him and looked up at the girl with a sinister smile. “Does that mean I can order a little more than a drink from you?”

“Knock it off, Rogers,” Natasha snapped, pulling on Wanda’s hand. Steve released her easily and Wanda backed away. Still holding Wanda’s hand and caressing it gently, Natasha purred, “Sweetheart, why don’t you get us a bottle of Maker’s Mark for the table?”

“Okay,” Wanda agreed, and when she turned to go, Natasha slapped her on the ass, making Wanda giggle as she retreated.

Bucky looked at Natasha with a raised brow. “What’s that about?” Bucky was used to Natasha’s eclectic taste in romantic partners, which included members of the Russian mob, politicians of New York City, and—least bizarrely—him. He had never seen her go for someone so young, however.

Natasha only smirked. “She’s been sweet on me since she started working here. I don’t mind. She’s pretty fun.”

“What are you, her Sugar Daddy?”

“I prefer Sugar Mama.”

Steve asked, “And what does her father think of that?”

“He doesn’t care as long as we maintain our business contracts.” Mr. Maximoff, one of Tony’s oldest associates from Sokovia, became successful in the Brooklyn Mob for his bootlegging of liquor. He was a quiet man, but his daughter tended to create trouble wherever she went. Bucky still remembered how Wanda brought a flask to Y/N’s birthday party, so it didn’t surprise him that she was now working in a place like this. He was a little more surprised that Natasha had taken a liking to her.

Just as they were about to start talking business, Wanda came back with their bourbon and four glasses. As she poured them out, Steve’s phone rang. “It’s Y/N,” he muttered, sending her to voicemail again. Bucky wondered how many times she had called his own phone before calling Steve instead. He hoped she was okay.

“How’s she doing with the news of her father?” Natasha asked, accepting her glass from Wanda with a smile, batting her eyelashes.

“Not sure.” Bucky sipped his bourbon. It went down soft and smooth, spicy and fruity like the end of summer, the beginning of fall. “We’ve been pretty busy.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and Steve and Bucky ignored her disbelieving scoff. Wanda spoke up, “I went to school with her. Maybe I could check in, make sure she’s okay.”

“That’s so nice of you, sweetie,” Natasha cooed.

“That won’t be necessary,” Steve said shortly. “She’s fine.”

Natasha glared at Steve. “It wouldn’t hurt to check, don’t you think, Steve?”

Lighting up a cigarette, Steve took a long inhale to calm the anger building inside of his chest. “We have business to discuss.” He looked to Wanda, giving her an insincere smile. “Run along.” He knew if she got to their girl, started hanging around her more, she would be nothing but trouble.

After Wanda left, Natasha said, “You’re one of the rudest people I’ve had the displeasure of meeting. Did you know that?”

Ignoring her, Steve asked, “Barton, how many people do you need to get this done? Sam’s already gotten us the authentication and CO uniforms to get inside MCC.”

“I think we should have two inside, two outside, and one with the getaway car. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve answered. “I want to keep this close to home. The four of us and Sam. You and Sam will be inside, Bucky and I outside. Natasha will be waiting with the car. How’s that?”

Natasha nodded. “Perfect. Now how do we want to do this?”

“Stage it as a suicide?” Bucky suggested.

Steve shook his head. “Tony’s spoken to the lawyers and Stane’s already got a plea deal on the table. Suicide would seem too suspicious.”

“And foul play won’t be?”

“It’ll look like foul play regardless. What we need is easy and quick so we don’t draw suspicion.”

“I think I have just the thing,” Natasha said with a smirk. “It’s a little something I had imported from Russia that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Just a little needle prick and he’ll be dead within the hour. The poison will paralyze him first so he won’t be able to call for help. How’s that for quick and easy?”

Steve wasn’t given the chance to answer when his phone rang. “It’s Tony,” he muttered before answering. “Rogers.” The conversation was short, only a few words exchanged. “I’ll be right there,” he said before hanging up.

“What did he want?” Bucky asked, draining the rest of his bourbon.

“Apparently, Stane’s wife left.”

“Left?” Natasha asked, eyebrow raised, the corners of her red lips turning into a frown. “What does that mean?”

Steve finished his bourbon and stubbed his cigarette into the crystal ashtray in the middle of the table. “It means she packed her bags and fucked off to who knows where.”

Bucky sat up, alert. “What about Y/N?”

“She’s at the house. Apparently she’s inconsolable.” He looked to Bucky, “She was asking for us.”

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, “What’re we waiting for?”

They slid out of the booth, and before they left, Steve turned to Clint and Natasha. “Finish planning everything out and we’ll meet up later. 10 o’clock sharp.”

“We’ve got it covered,” Clint confirmed.

Natasha added, “I’ll have Wanda stop by to see Y/N later tonight after her shift.”

Although he knew Natasha could be persistent, he couldn’t help but glare at her. “I already told you, that won’t be necessary.”

“Steve, the girl just lost both of her parents. Do you think it’s the best idea for her to be alone right now?”

But Steve’s stubborn streak wouldn’t allow him to admit that she was right. “She’ll be fine. I don’t want to hear about it again.”

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out of the lounge. Bucky sent Natasha an apologetic look. “It’ll be nice to have Wanda with her tonight. Have her give Y/N a call.” Natasha winked at him and Bucky left, hurrying to catch up with Steve.

Inconsolable was putting it lightly. When the boys arrived at the Stane household, they found their girl in the attic, surrounded by old pictures of her mother and, surprisingly, her biological father. Tony had visited the house to check in on the family, only to discover Y/N in the attic and Mrs. Stane nowhere to be found.

“She wouldn’t come downstairs for me,” Tony explained as they looked on at the girl. She was still crying, lying on the dusty floor. “From what I can tell, her mother told her the truth about her father and then left.”

“Figures she’d leave,” Steve grumbled.

“Well she’s definitely got as much blood on her hands as any of us,” Tony replied. In a quieter voice, he addressed Bucky and Steve. “Listen, I need to go. Rhodey and I are still trying to tie up any loose ends in case the feds still come after us once Stane’s out of the picture. You’ve got the plan for tonight all worked out?”

Steve nodded. “We’re getting help from Romanoff, Barton, and Wilson.”

“Good team,” Tony patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

With that, he descended the attic stairs and left them alone with their girl, who was only crying quietly now.

Bucky approached her, crouching to her level. “Hey, darling. C’mon, it’s all dusty up here. Let’s go downstairs.” Steve crouched down right next to him and started clearing up, gathering the pictures into a tidy stack.

“Bucky,” she whimpered. “He’s not my real dad. Obadiah isn’t my real dad. He killed my real dad—how can any of this be real? Why would he do something like this?”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky cooed, taking her in his arms. She slumped against his shoulder, tears starting anew.

“And why would they keep it from me?” she sobbed. “How could they keep something like that from me?”

Steve answered, “They wanted to protect you from the truth. You were never supposed to know.” He hadn’t realized what he said was a mistake until she suddenly went quiet.

“Wait.” She pulled back to look at both of them. Her eyes darted between Steve and Bucky, and a realization lit her eyes up. “You knew. You both knew about this, didn’t you?”

Their silence was enough of an answer. Bucky tried to placate her, hands running gently along her arms. “Darling—”

“Don’t!” she shouted, wrenching herself away from him. She scrambled up to her feet, running into the wall of the attic behind her. “Don’t say anything—you both—you knew.” Her lip trembled and fell into a frown. “This whole time, you knew. And you never told me?”

“Y/N,” Steve began. They were both back on their feet, approaching her like she was a wounded animal. She felt cornered by them, ready to lash out.

“Stop,” she uttered, voice hoarse, tears falling silently down her cheeks. “Don’t touch me. I can’t believe you. How could you? How could you never tell me something so important?” She felt so betrayed by not only her own parents, but her two closest friends, the men she had become so close to in the past few weeks. The men who had taken advantage of her, manipulated her to their will. Rage rushed through her like river rapids, unstoppable, insurmountable. The volume of her voice steadily increased to the point that she was yelling.

And Steve wasn’t about to let her yell at them.

He reached out and grabbed her by the arms in one smooth motion, shaking her and growling in her face, “How were we supposed to tell you something like that, Y/N? How were we supposed to tell you something your own parents didn’t want you to know? Do you know what Stane did to people who even mentioned your real father? He would’ve killed us.” His anger increased exponentially with hers and he shook with it, muscles tensing as he restrained himself from his violent tendencies. That wouldn’t help either of them right now and he knew it.

She glared into his eyes, staring him down petulantly. “Get off of me,” she snarled. When he didn’t let go, she struggled, trying to get out of his grip. “Let me go!” she screamed at him, smacking at his chest until he immobilized her arms.

Steve held her tightly in his arms, dragging her towards the attic stairs. It was difficult to get her down the steps with her struggling the entire way, but he managed, and then proceeded to carry her to her room. He kicked open the door and tossed her in, where she landed on her ass, hair in her face as she looked up at him with feral eyes.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he spat at her. “We’ll be back later tonight and until then, you’re going to stay here. You’re not to go out that door, do you understand me? I’ll have people watching the house and they’ll know if you leave, got it?” When she didn’t answer Steve sneered at her. “You’re just making it worse for yourself, girl.”

He didn’t give her the chance to respond before slamming her door closed and stalking out of the house, beckoning for Bucky, who had been a silent observer throughout the entire debacle, to follow in his wake.

Chapter Text

For the next hour and a half after Steve left, Y/N paced around her room muttering to herself. Her sorrow and despair had been suddenly washed away like a riptide only to be replaced with outrage and utter indignance at what was happening to her.

How dare her mother and her supposed-father lie to her for her entire life? How dare they try and hide this from her, only to reveal it at the worst time? How dare her mother leave her behind in Brooklyn, while Obadiah rots in prison, leaving Y/N vulnerable to everyone the man had ever made an enemy of?

And then there was Steve and Bucky.

Steve certainly had some gall to treat her the way he had, and Bucky just sat around and let her have it. Bucky didn’t care enough to intervene or even try to stop Steve. What kind of friends were they? It was clear neither of them cared enough about her to even comfort her in her time of need. Would the mob always come before her, or just when it was convenient for them?

It didn’t help matters that almost immediately after they had left, two members of the mob barged into her house to “keep an eye on her”. Steve had sent them in to babysit her, and now she was confined to her room as they played cards and drank Obadiah’s liquor downstairs. 

She felt patronized, infantilized, and she just wanted some form of agency in all of this. Her rage was the only thing she had to herself anymore, the only thing she could control, and she wasn’t about to let that go.

What was worse was that she still wanted her boys to come back and comfort her in her time of need, but she stamped that thought down, clinging to her anger towards them instead.

She was so caught up in her emotions that she hadn’t heard her phone ringing, and it wasn’t until she picked up her cell phone to shoot Bucky and Steve a long, heated text message that she had been conducting in her mind, that she saw several missed calls and texts from Wanda.

Although she and Wanda were close friends in school, they hadn’t spoken much that summer aside from a few Snapchats and empty promises to get together soon. They had a blast together at her birthday party the previous month, but then she had gone off to Martha’s Vineyard and hasn’t spoken much to any of her friends since then.

Now she had five texts and three missed calls within the past half hour.

Wanda: Hey babe I just wanted to check in on you.

Wanda: Heard about your dad and I’m here if you wanna talk. You know I can relate.

Wanda: We should hang tonight to get your mind off things.

Wanda: I’ll take you out it’ll be fun!

Wanda: Call me!!

Just as she was reading the last text, her phone rang, Wanda’s picture appearing on the screen. She answered the phone, her voice small as she greeted her friend. “Hey Wanda, I just saw your—"

Wanda cut her off before she could finish. “Y/N! I’m so glad you finally answered! I was getting really worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m fine…”

Wanda snorted. “I doubt you’re fine. When Pietro got arrested, I was a mess.” Her brother had been arrested the spring before—right before their high school graduation—for charges related to their father’s bootlegging business. Somehow, Tony had gotten him off the hook, but she remembered the stress it had caused Wanda at the time.

“Wanda,” she sighed, reluctant to reveal how angry, sad, and conflicted she felt inside. In her case, it was more than her father being arrested—it was the fact that he wasn’t even her father, that her mother had dropped that on her and left, and that her two closest friends were doing nothing to help or support her in her time of need. Instead, they abandoned her to do God knows what with the mob—the very thing that had gotten her family into this mess in the first place.

But Wanda said her name gently, understanding and softness seeping through her tone. “You don’t have to lie to me. Really, you don’t.”

Y/N let out a shuddering breath and replied, “It’s just a lot happening all at once. And I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it… Steve and Bucky are being huge jerks.”

“Boys are dumb. They have the emotional capacity of a peanut.”

That made her laugh, and she wiped at the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “Thanks for calling…”

“Come hang out with me tonight! We can do whatever you want—it’ll get your mind off of everything.”

“I can’t. Steve has people here babysitting me.”

Wanda scoffed. “Well Steve didn’t count on me. My dad has people watching every time I’m grounded, but that’s never stopped me before.”

“What are you going to do, sneak me out?” Y/N asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wanda answered matter-of-factly.

“How?”

“Your window is on the second story, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, crossing the room to look out her window. It was a straight drop to the garden down below, right into her mother’s prized hydrangeas. She had never tried to sneak out before, or even thought about it, but the logistics wouldn’t work. “But I don’t have anything to climb down.”

“Just trust me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”

This time, trusting Wanda paid off beautifully. Wanda had shown up and snuck her out with a cleverly constructed rope made of bedsheets knotted together. Once Wanda had flung it up to Y/N’s window and she had caught it, it only took tying it to her bedframe and climbing down before she landed in the hydrangeas next to Wanda.

“Well if you’re mom’s not coming back, it shouldn’t be a big deal that her flower garden is ruined,” Wanda whispered, tugging on Y/N’s hand and quickly moving towards her car on the street.

As they buckled in and Wanda took off in the direction of her own house, Y/N asked, “How do you know my mom’s gone?”

“I was working at the Widow’s Web this afternoon and Bucky and Steve came in. They got the news about it and I overheard.”

“Oh.”

“I’m really sorry she left,” Wanda frowned and reached out a hand to take Y/N’s. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m here for you for whatever you need.”

Y/N nodded, mulling this over. After a few minutes, she said, “Tonight, I just want to forget about everything that’s happening.”

“Well I can definitely help you do that!” Wanda exclaimed, excitement coming over her face. “There’s a few parties tonight around the city. How does that sound?”

Y/N hadn’t been to that many parties, certainly never the crazy ones that Wanda always spoke about. The thought of it made her slightly nervous, but then she realized that Steve and Bucky definitely wouldn’t want her going to any parties. “That’s perfect,” Y/N answered confidently, a newfound urge to rebel against them surging through her.

“Great! But you can’t go to a party in that,” Wanda said, looking pointedly at her sweatshirt and leggings.

“I don’t have anything else…”

“You can borrow something of mine! We’ll go back to my place—my parents and Pietro are all gone tonight, so we can get ready in peace. I’ll do your hair and makeup, too!”

Y/N smiled. Maybe this was exactly what she needed—girl time with one of her best friends. “I really missed you this summer, Wanda.”

“Hey, don’t get sappy on me!” Wanda winked at her, then squeezed her hand. “I missed you too, babe.”

Once they arrived at Wanda’s house, Wanda put on Y/N’s favorite music and announced that they were going to pregame. Wanda made her a fruity drink with enough vodka to make her cringe with every sip, and they danced and laughed tried on clothes, and she easily forgot about how many tears she had spilled over the past 24 hours.

“That one looks so good on you!” Wanda squealed about a tight blue minidress that hugged every curve of her body.

“You can see my panty lines,” Y/N protested.

“You can borrow mine!”

“I’m not gonna wear your panties, Wanda!”

“Then go without.” 

Just the suggestion had Y/N bursting into giggles. “That’s out of the question!” 

“Ugh, spoilsport!” Wanda grunted and tossed her a black leather skirt. “Put that on. It’s thick enough that there won’t be panty lines.”

After stripping off the minidress and squeezing into the skirt, she looked expectantly at Wanda. “Well? Am I supposed to go to the party in my bra?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t look bad—”

“Wanda!”

“Here!” Wanda emerged from her closet with a black crop top with lace overlay. Once she slipped it on, Wanda smirked and nodded. “Yes, that’s the one. You look so hot!”

“Isn’t it a little too revealing?” she asked, tugging at the clothes on her body. The top’s neckline dipped low enough to reveal her ample cleavage, and it didn’t quite reach the high waist of the skirt, so a thin strip of her abdomen was revealed as well. The skirt reached her mid-thigh at least, but that was still more revealing than she usually wore.

“It’s perfect. I swear you look amazing!” Wanda rushed to get her strapped into a pair of stilettos, and then ushered her over to her vanity. “Now let me do your hair and makeup!”

After Wanda started curling her hair, they fell into conversation about Wanda’s new job, as well as her new romance.

“So you and Natasha are together?” Y/N asked in shock. She sat at the bench in front of the vanity, Wanda standing behind her curling her hair. Through the mirror, she could see how Wanda smiled excitedly at the mention of Natasha.

“Yeah, and it’s been really great!”

“But she’s so much older than us.” Although, Natasha was the same age as Bucky and Steve—and look at what they’ve been doing with Y/N. She supposed it was a bit hypocritical of her, but she had never considered their age difference, especially because they had been friends for so long.

“She’s not that much older than us! Besides, she’s so sweet and she buys me nice things. Like this, look,” Wanda pulled a silver chain out from under her shirt and revealed a big emerald pendant hanging from the end.

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh, Wanda, that’s beautiful!”

“I asked her for diamonds but she said we had to be more committed first.”

She snorted. “That’s so typical of you.”

“What can I say? I have good taste and I know what I want.”

“Ouch!” Y/N hissed as the tip of the curling iron brushed against her ear. “Watch it with that thing!”

“Sorry!”

“You’re too drunk to be wielding a hot tool.” She numbed the pain by taking a large gulp of her drink, grimacing at the sourness of the cranberry juice and the aftertaste of vodka. “Natasha always seemed so intimidating to me. How did this thing between you even start?”

“Well, I interviewed for the waitress position at the Widow’s Web, and she was flirting with me all throughout the interview. Then after my first day on the job, she asked me out. What was I gonna do, say no to my boss?”

Y/N frowned. That arrangement didn’t sound exactly right, but she didn’t have enough relationship experience to know better.

Wanda started to brush out the curls, turning them into glamorous waves. “So what about you, huh?” she asked, “Any boys in your life?” The blush that spread over her face told Wanda everything she needed to know. “Oh my God! Who?”

Her blush only deepened as she shook her head, taking another big sip to avoid answering. Then she took a moment as Wanda locked in the curls with hair spray, closing her eyes and mouth tight, but after Wanda was done, she had no more excuses to stay silent. “It’s complicated!”

“Who is it?”

“It’s nobody you know!” Well, Y/N had never been great at lying to anyone, so Wanda could see through her lie like it was plastic wrap.

“Uh-huh, yeah. So who is it? Turn around, time for your makeup.”

“I won’t tell you!” However, she obliged in turning around on the vanity bench.

Wanda reached behind her for some face primer and got to work. “Then I’ll guess! Is it… Peter Parker? I know he likes you!”

“No, it’s not him! And he doesn’t like me!”

“Is it… Dave from French last year?”

“Ew, no, it isn’t Dave.”

While Wanda guessed through every boy in their graduating class, she finished applying a light layer of blush and bronzer to Y/N’s face. As she swiped a golden-hued highlighter onto her cheekbones and down her nose, Wanda huffed. “Is it Pietro? If you’re fucking my brother, I’ll kill him.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “No, it’s not Pietro!”

“Good,” Wanda grumbled, reaching for a tube of eyeliner. “Close your eyes and don’t move a muscle.” Neither of the girls spoke as Wanda meticulously applied a perfect winged eyeliner to her eyelids. “There, perfect.”

Y/N turned to look in the mirror, and then took it upon herself to apply her own mascara. The end result was a glowing, sun-kissed look, perfect for the end of summer; the eyeliner and long lashes complimented the natural look perfectly with just enough of a dramatic flare for the party.

“I’m gonna get your secret romance out of you somehow,” Wanda said, and handed her a red liquid lipstick. “Here, this is perfect.”

“No way, the eyeliner is already dramatic enough.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Babe, winged eyeliner and red lips go together like Jay-Z and Beyoncé, please put on the damn lipstick.”

She conceded, applying the bright red lipstick carefully before blotting it on some tissue paper and moving aside so Wanda could do her own makeup. As soon as Wanda started on her eyeshadow, she started guessing again.

“Is it someone in the mob?”

“No…”

“That’s a yes,” Wanda rolled her eyes. “We really need to work on your lying skills.”

“I usually don’t need to lie.”

“Lying is a very useful skill. The trick is to not think about the fact that you’re lying.”

“That’s all I can think about when I lie.”

“Of course it is—you have too many morals to lie successfully. Don’t worry, I’ll break those down for you,” she smirked, sending her a sly wink through the mirror. Then she continued. “So it’s someone in the mob… One of Pietro’s friends?”

“No.”

“Someone way older than us?”

She hesitated. “Not that much older…”

A strange look crossed Wanda’s face that almost at once turned into realization. “Oh my God, you’re fucking Steve or Bucky! It has to be!”

“No!” But her voice was so high pitched, it gave her away immediately.

“It has to be!” Wanda repeated. “I’m so stupid—why didn’t I guess them before? You’ve been away with them for the past month at Martha’s Vineyard! Who else could you possibly be fucking other than them!” Y/N’s silence confirmed this. “Which one?” Wanda asked, pleading for the answer, desperation in her voice. “I have to know!”

“Neither!”

“Is it Bucky? It has to be Bucky, Steve’s still dating Peggy, right?”

A guilty look crossed her face. She had completely forgotten about Peggy, aside from Steve mentioning very briefly the previous day at dinner that Peggy wasn’t in the picture anymore. He had shut down any questions she had immediately.

“It’s Steve then?” Wanda asked, carefully reading her expressions. “Did Steve and Peggy break up?”

“I guess,” she shrugged. “I don’t know much about it.”

“So you’re with Steve now, then?”

“I don’t know, it’s complicated…”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I always pictured you with Bucky rather than Steve.” When Y/N didn’t answer, her eyes wide at the notion, Wanda’s sixth sense seemed to come into play again. “Oh my God, did you fuck him too?”

“No!”

Wanda squealed. “You did! Oh my God, you fucked both of them! I’m so proud of you,” she gushed, wiping a pretend tear from her eye. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Shut up!”

“Who did you fuck first?”

“Uhm… It’s complicated.”

Wanda’s excitement was palpable at this point. “I’m getting you so much drunker and you’re going to spill every detail to me!”

Two shots of vodka later, both of which burned going down and made her gag, Wanda was calling them an Uber to go to a party in Chelsea.

“I figure we’ll start with the one in Chelsea. Peter told me about it, and his friend MJ will be there too. Then we can skip down to Tribeca—my friend’s having a rager and I promised to stop by. Then we’ll see what happens from there!”

And although Y/N was apprehensive, nervous about the first real party she would be attending, the alcohol running through her system gave her courage, and Wanda’s excitement was so palpable that it rubbed off on her in all the best ways. She was buzzing for the night ahead, eager to see where it would take her, eager to forget about all of her troubles until the morning.

Sam: Past security. Going to find him now.

“They’re past security,” Steve sighed after he read the text message from Sam, leaning back against the wall outside the Metropolitan Correctional Center. He and Bucky were stationed outside the prison as security, while Clint and Sam were dressed as correctional officers in order to infiltrate inside, find Stane, and bring him down.

“Hopefully they take care of this quickly,” Bucky grumbled, pacing in front of Steve. Natasha was parked in front of the building in a white van, ready as their getaway. 

“Why’re you so antsy?” Steve asked, watching Bucky fidget with his security belt.

Bucky shrugged, wringing his hands, cracking his knuckles all at once. “I don’t like this, Steve. What if Y/N finds out it was us?”

Steve scowled. “We’re not the ones injecting him with that poison.”

“But we’re orchestrating it,” Bucky said. “We’re not innocent here.” Bucky looked at him with a gaze so full of fear and insecurity, Steve couldn’t help but get lost in it. Bucky’s emotions always tended to rub off on Steve at the worst of times, but it came over Steve like a spell now, the enormity of what they were doing, and how it would affect their girl.

Their girl. He kept thinking about her that way. In his heart, she was their girl, and now that her father would be out of the picture, she really could be.

But he wasn’t acting like it, he realized. Not with how he had treated her earlier that day.

Steve shook his head, sighing, all of the tension releasing from his muscles. “She can’t know,” he answered, a warning and a plead all at once. “She would never forgive us.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive us for everything that’s already happened?”

“For keeping the secret about her father from her? She’ll have to. It wasn’t an option for us to tell her.” Stane would have killed them—he had done it before, after all. The man had never had any qualms about killing to keep his secrets.

“And for everything else?” Bucky asked. When Steve didn’t answer, only looked down at the ground, Bucky continued. “Stevie, we haven’t been good to her. You’ve been a real asshole to her these past few days. She just found out her dad isn’t her real dad, and you locked her in her room.”

Steve sighed, considering the situation. The concerned look on Bucky’s face told him that he truly may have gone overboard. In the stress from Stane’s arrest and planning his assassination, Steve lost control of himself, of his anger. This sort of thing had happened before, but he had never lashed out at Y/N so cruelly. Steve wasn’t above admitting to his mistakes—at least not to Bucky, his oldest and most understanding friend.

“It’s been really stressful,” Steve said finally, taking a deep breath before continuing, “And I let it get the better of me. I was a real jerk about it.”

“Don’t tell me that, tell her.”

“I will, after this.” He couldn’t risk losing her, not when she was one of the only good things in his life.

“Good.”

“We should probably bring her something to eat. She probably hasn’t eaten all day.”

“How about sandwiches and soup from the deli?” Bucky suggested.

“Perfect.” Steve cut the conversation off at that—they were still on a mission, after all, and they needed to focus, just in case anything went awry. 

The time passed dully as they alerted the others to guards entering and exiting the building. Sam and Clint had already locked onto Stane’s location in the prison and were on their way to him, and as soon as they injected him with the poison, they would be out of there. 

Steve was getting more antsy by the minute, eager to get back to their girl, to have this over and done with, ready to take care of her in the aftermath of Stane’s death. She would need their support then, more than ever.

Finally, a text message came through. 

Sam: Done. On our way out. Meet at van.

Less than a minute passed before they were all sitting in the white van, Natasha pulling onto Pearl Street and merging onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Sam and Clint quickly debriefed them.

“Got in and out without anyone seeing us,” Sam said. “Nobody even glanced our way.”

“Stane didn’t even notice us when we got him with the stuff. Stuck him right in the back of the neck,” Clint explained, lighting up a cigarette and rolling down the passenger side window.

Natasha accelerated the van to 15 miles past the speed limit. “The poison will mimic the effects of a heart attack. Nobody will know what hit him.”

“Good,” Steve muttered, lighting his own cigarette. “Because if any of us get caught, we’re all paying the price.”

“Jesus, Nat, slow down, will ya?” Bucky grumbled, “You tryin’ to draw attention to us? We’re right by the police department.”

“I’m eager to get back to the lounge,” she said flatly, “Some of us have obligations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve snapped, on edge at her tone of voice, at the way she glared at him through the rearview mirror.

She shrugged, turned her gaze back to the road. “Just saying, you don’t seem to be too concerned about how a certain daughter of the mob is handling her parents abandoning her.”

Steve breathed out slowly through his nose, trying to control his temper. He wasn’t sure what Natasha was getting at or why she cared now. Plus, he had already realized he had fucked up, and he didn’t need her rubbing it in.

However, Bucky cut in before Steve could send any harsh words her way. “Cut the shit, Nat,” he said sharply, and when Steve glanced over at him, he saw an unusual expression of annoyance on Bucky’s face. Steve had never seen Bucky get cross with Natasha before. “What did you expect us to do? Disobey Stark’s orders to stay with her? She’s at the house, she’s perfectly fine there until we get back.”

Natasha didn’t respond, only accelerated faster. Steve spoke up, trying to keep his tone even. “We’re plenty concerned about her. Now we actually have the time to make sure she’s doing alright.”

The ride back to the Widow’s Web was tense and silent. Steve sent a text to Y/N that they would see her soon, hoping to butter her up a little and earn her forgiveness.

Steve: Sweetheart, we’re gonna pick up some dinner and head back to see you. You want your usual from the deli on Atlantic?

By the time they had gotten all the way to Bushwick, Steve had sent three more texts and still hadn’t gotten a reply, and he was starting to get worried that she was so angry to the point of ignoring him.

“Call her, would ya?” he directed to Bucky as they neared the Widow’s Web. “She’s not answering my texts.”

Bucky obliged, but his call went directly to voicemail. “Her phone must be dead,” he said, frowning. Natasha pulled up to the curb next to the lounge and stopped the car.

As they filed out of the car, Natasha cut into the conversation. “You can’t reach her?” When they confirmed this, she said, “Who do you have babysitting her?”

“Lang,” Steve answered, “I’ll text him about it.”

After sending Lang a text that instructed him to check on Y/N and ask her what she wanted for dinner, Steve followed Bucky to the back room of the lounge, where they all changed out of the uniforms that Sam had provided for them.

“Thanks for everything tonight, guys,” Steve said, shaking Sam’s and Clint’s hands. “I appreciate your help in this.”

“No problem, man,” Sam nodded, gathering up the uniforms. “If you need anything else, let me know. Hopefully the girl doesn’t give you too much trouble with all this,” he said with a wink. Somehow, Sam always seemed to see right through Steve.

Clint nodded. “I’m going back home after this, but Tony’ll give me a call if you guys need me.”

As they departed, Steve’s phone chimed. When he checked the message from Lang, his face fell. “Bucky,” he said sharply, “She’s not in her room—and her window’s open.”

“What?” Bucky asked, alarmed. “Where is she?”

“I have no fucking idea, but she’s not at the house.”

Bucky looked at Natasha, who had been lingering in the background. “Nat, did you ever send Wanda to go see her?”

“I told you not to,” Steve snapped, eyes flashing between Natasha and Bucky. A tense moment was shared between them, the vein in Steve’s temple jumping, Natasha’s fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, the only tell that she wasn’t as calm and collected as her expression would make it seem.

Her tone was cool as she spoke. “Yes, I did. I haven’t heard from her all night, though.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, then focused their attention on Natasha. “Call Wanda,” Bucky commanded, “Find out where she is and if Y/N is with her.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Natasha drawled, but obeyed and stared at them with narrowed eyes and a scowl while the phone rang.

They could hear Wanda pick up the phone, her voice ringing through the speakers, music and voices loud in the background. “Hi, Nat!”

“Wanda,” Natasha said evenly. “Is Y/N with you?”

Wanda replied, “Yeah, we’re at a party right now! Why?”

Natasha sighed. “Where are you?”

“What? I can’t hear you, it’s so loud here!”

“Where are you?” Natasha repeated, louder.

“Manhattan!”

“Yeah, Manhattan’s a big place. Where specifically?”

“I can’t hear you! I’m gonna text you!” And with that, Wanda hung up the phone.

Steve glared at Natasha. His patience was wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second that he didn’t know his girl’s location. The city was dangerous, she could be anywhere, getting up to anything—how was he supposed to protect her if he didn’t even know where she was? “I told you not to send Wanda over. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, tapping out a text to Wanda. Seconds later, a reply came through. “They’re at a house party in Tribeca. I’ll drive you guys there.”

“Don’t bother,” Bucky said, “Just send me the address. We’ll go to pick her up ourselves.”

Natasha frowned as they turned to leave. “Steve, James… I was just trying to help.”

Steve looked back at her with a cutting stare. “Next time, don’t.”

The lights flashed red and pink and purple in time with the bass of the electronic music blasting through the speakers, and Y/N had never felt more happy or dizzy or ecstatic in her life. She and Wanda had been at a more relaxed party in Chelsea first, and after spending a few hours there playing drinking games with Peter’s friends, they took an Uber to Tribeca. 

Now they were three Jell-O shots in, and she felt like she could burst out of her skin. She told Wanda as much, and Wanda just laughed. “I knew you’d love this! I just wish I had dragged you out to parties sooner!” The song changed to something full of synthetic chords and a heavy drum beat that vibrated the floor and walls around them. “I love this song! Let’s dance!”

She had no time to protest before Wanda was dragging her onto the dancefloor and grinding up against her. Y/N got lost in the feeling of her body moving, the way the bass thrummed up through her skin, made her heart pulse in time to the tempo. She didn’t even realize when someone pressed up behind her and started grinding on her. Not that she minded—she was too drunk to mind anything, too wrapped up in the sensations inside of her to even pay attention to her surroundings.

So that’s why she didn’t realize Steve or Bucky were there at the party, storming towards her, until a large hand gripped her around the upper arm and yanked her away from the dancefloor.

Her eyes flew open as her center of balance distorted, and Steve’s bruising grip on her arms kept her from falling, just like his cold blue eyes glowering into hers pinned her in place, his face flashing crimson and violet with the lights. She froze, her wildly beating heart the only part of her moving as she waited for her predator to strike.

He shook his head slowly, a sinister smile spreading over his face, the calm in his expression only a façade for the fury raging beneath. “You’re in so much fucking trouble, sweetheart.”

Chapter Text

 Tears blurred her vision and alcohol rolled in her stomach as Bucky yanked her down the stairs of that apartment building in Tribeca and into their car. She nearly tripped over her heels at least three times, only saved by Steve’s strong hands steadying her waist. 

The drive back to Brooklyn Heights was tense and deadly silent. It made her want to implode in on herself until she was small, nothing but a speck of dust floating in the wind out the window and away from the seething men in the front seat. She stayed still in the back where Bucky had roughly strapped her in, muscles aching from tension, head spinning, a sickeningly sweet tinge of alcohol and artificial cherry on her tongue.

When she had decided to leave the house and go to the party with Wanda, Steve and Bucky discovering her activities had been the last thing on her mind. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the possibility. She had thought they were too busy with “mob business” to pay a single thought to her.

Now, though, she knew she was in for something bad once they got home. From the way Steve’s white knuckles gripped the steering wheel, the way Bucky went through one cigarette after another, the way neither of them spoke at all or even glanced her way. Acid spread through her stomach and up her esophagus.

Once they finally stopped in front of her family’s brownstone, neither of the boys moved for a second. For one bright moment, she hoped they would just drop her off and leave. As she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, however, so did Bucky and Steve. Bucky grabbed her once more and hauled her inside. 

It was silent. Lang and his buddies were gone, the only evidence of their presence being the half-empty bottle of Grey Goose and their abandoned poker game on the dining room table.

Bucky let go of her once they reached the living room. “What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted at her. She had never seen him so enraged. 

When she didn’t answer, Steve stepped forward, his tone low and quiet, the calm before the storm. “Answer him, sweetie. What were you thinking?” 

Breathing raggedly, she replied, her voice low, “I don’t feel like I did anything wrong.”

Steve’s hands twitched with the urge to grab her, slap her, put her in her place, but Bucky stepped forward before he could lay a hand on her.

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Bucky laughed in her face. “Sneaking out, going to parties, drinking, grinding on other guys? And what is that you’re wearing?” He dragged his hand across the leather, taking hold of the hem and yanking it down.

She stepped back before the skirt could budge, body shaking like a leaf. “You aren’t my parents!” she snapped, rage filling her up and overflowing out her mouth like a flash flood. “You can’t ground me and lock me in my room! I’m an adult, and both of my parents are gone, if you haven’t noticed!”

“Oh, we’ve noticed,” Bucky growled, the thunderstorm that caused the rain, “Why do you think we locked you in the house and sent people to keep watch? You’re vulnerable now without your father’s protection. He made a lot of enemies, and now they’re gonna come looking for you with him out of the picture. We’re trying to protect you, but you’re making it pretty damn difficult!”

“I don’t need your protection!” she shouted. “I need you guys to leave me the hell alone! I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to apologize!”

Finally, Steve had to step forward, glaring down at her. "Sweetheart," Steve pinned her with a sharp look, that muscle in his jaw ticking, "Don't make this harder on yourself."

"Plus,” she started, the alcohol making her mouth smarter, one finger held up in Steve’s face, “You said not to go out the front door.” Her lips set in a pout as she waved her finger around, almost poking him in the eye. "You didn't say anything about the window."

Bucky’s nerves were set immediately on edge from the dark, feral look that came over Steve's face. Without warning, Steve grabbed her by the upper arm, dragged her over to the sofa, and yanked her down to lay over his lap. The girl was too shocked for anything to come out of her mouth except for an indignant little shriek.

"If you want to act like a little brat," Steve growled, "Then I'm sure as shit gonna treat you like one." He looked up at Bucky, still standing in the middle of the living room. "How many, Buck?"

"How many?"

"How many times should I spank her? How many does she deserve?"

Well, Bucky had to stop and think that one through.

Images of her dancing and grinding on that guy at the party flashed through his mind, her skin glowing shades of pink, her abdomen on display, that damned leather skirt riding up her thighs. That son of a bitch with his hands on her, one on her hip, the other following the hemline of leather up her leg. The fact that she would even allow another man to touch her sent anger pulsing through his veins.

“Let’s start with twenty and see if she’s begging by the end of it.”

“No!” she gasped, throat rasping with what was almost a sob, not quite, and Bucky wanted to tear it from her throat. She struggled on Steve’s lap, pinned down by his hands on her back and over her thighs.

“Get me something to tie her hands with,” Steve commanded, catching her wrists as she flailed her arms out.

Bucky was only gone for a moment and came back with a thin silk scarf from the coat rack in the foyer, quickly weaving the grey fabric over and between her wrists, yanking a knot into the fabric so tight that they would have to cut it off later.

“Ouch!” she cried, twisting her body away from him, into Steve, who took her thigh in a bruising grip as Bucky stepped back. “That hurts!”

“That’s the point,” Steve muttered, yanking the stiff leather skirt up and over her hips.

She writhed even harder at this, but Steve’s forearms held her down, iron bars caging her into her punishment. “Get off me, let me go!”

“That’s enough from you,” Steve grunted. “I don’t want to hear another Goddamn word.” With that, he tore her underwear from her body, cream colored lace digging into her hip bones before the fabric gave way to his force, threads fraying, unraveling, burning harsh red lines into her skin. She let out another yell at that, but it was quickly muffled as Steve forced the bundle of fabric deep into her mouth.

“Twenty then?” Steve asked, looking up at Bucky, hand resting on her thigh.

“Twenty to start,” Bucky agreed, “More if she hasn’t learned her lesson.”

They shared a wicked grin, then Steve’s hand came down on her backside with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs. She shouted into the makeshift gag, struggled harder, and he gave her no reprieve, blows coming one right after the other. Burning slaps to each cheek, then to both at once, stinging swats to the crease between her ass and thigh, and then an aching blow higher up, nearer to her tailbone. And he didn’t hold back, using all of his strength, each one hurting more than the last, until she thought her skin might peel off from the pain of it. 

As Steve spanked, Bucky lectured her in a stern voice. “I know you’ve had a hard few days, darling, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to act out.” Bucky spoke louder as her cries increased in volume. “I know you’re sad and angry with your parents, but we were planning to come back to you tonight, bring you dinner, let you cry to us or rant, whatever you needed. We were busy earlier, and I’m sorry we weren’t able to be with you before. But that’s the reality of our job.”

By the fifth, she was attempting to squirm away from Steve, by the fifteenth, she was crying, and by the twentieth, she sobbed into the gag, body jerking with every hit. 

Steve picked up the lecture from there, granting her a reprieve, hand caressing her flaming ass cheeks reverently. “When we couldn’t get a hold of you on the phone, do you know how scared we were that something might have happened to you? Then hearing you were all the way in Manhattan—so far away that we wouldn’t be able to protect you if something went wrong? Do you know how that made us feel?” She stayed silent and he delivered another harsh slap. “I’m looking for an answer, Y/N.”

She shook her head, dropped her chin, and her body shook with silent sobs. It wasn’t just the spanking—she hated the entire situation. That her parents were gone, that her boys were going to comfort her tonight but she had ruined that by going out with Wanda. She hated that they were so mad at her over it, but she was also angry that she wasn’t allowed to go out freely. Instead she was confined to wherever they wanted her at any given time, trapped in her brownstone tower in Brooklyn like some sort of princess locked away to preserve her purity, an infantilized damsel in distress.

And she hated feeling sad and helpless over her situation; it fueled her rage against them.

Not to mention, their punishment against her hurt. Her skin stung while her muscles ached from the position. Vodka still sat in her stomach, swirling, threatening to come back up at any second.

As she sobbed, Bucky swallowed hard, his own hands shaking almost imperceptibly. “I think that’s enough.” Not that he didn’t enjoy seeing her take it—he did. But he was impatient; he wanted her so badly, he was getting antsy to show her who she belonged to, take her until she was begging, then comfort her until she loved him again. He kept thinking of her at the party, dancing with that other man, and it incensed him. 

“Why don’t you check if she’s learned her lesson?” Steve asked, jerking his head at Bucky.

“Looks like she has.”

Steve scoffed. “You’re too soft on her.”

With a roll of his eyes, he walked over and crouched in front of her face, fingers pulling the gag out of her mouth. “How ‘bout it, sweet thing?” he asked her as she sniffled back her tears. “Learned your lesson yet?”

And then she spat on him, right in his face. She didn’t know why she did, she was just so angry and fed up, and her arms were tied and what else could she do? Everything seemed to stop as she snarled at him, eyes more hateful than he’d ever seen, the seed of regret not yet growing in her mind.

Maybe he had been too soft on her. Maybe he shouldn’t rush this—how else would she learn her place, after all?

Steve immediately gave her a forceful slap across the most sensitive part of her bottom, then growled, “I should trade my hand in for my belt—might make a better impression. Don’t you think, Buck?”

Bucky wiped her saliva from his cheeks and laughed at her, low and menacing. “You just keep digging that hole, don’t you?” Before she could respond, he shoved her panties back into her mouth and rewarded her with a slap to the face, hard enough to leave a stinging mark. “Make it fifty, Steve. Let’s save the belt for later.”

Steve wasted no time in raining down more forceful hits against her ass. Bucky didn’t stick around to watch it all. He wandered to the kitchen, made himself and Steve a drink, and meandered back in just as her sobs turned pitiful and harsh.

Meanwhile, Steve spanked her with steady hits, lecturing her all the while. “All we do,” he said, his voice clear and unwavering, anger simmering below, “Is try to protect you. That’s all we’ve ever tried to do. How can we protect you if we don’t know where you are? Hmm? If you’re going off to all sorts of bad places in the city with Wanda?” Another hard spank and she cried out again. Steve continued. “You’re making our job pretty damn difficult. You’ve been insolent.” Another harsh slap. “Disrespectful.” And another. “I just don’t understand why you’ve been so misbehaved. Bucky, any ideas?”

Bucky shook his head. “I have no idea, Stevie. Before we came back to the city, I thought things were going so well. You were finding out your place,” he brushed a hand through her hair, gentle and calming. “You belong here, sweetheart. Right between us.”

“That’s right,” Steve cooed, tone too gentle considering the pain his hand inflicted. “You belong to us now, darling. Always will. It’s about time you learn that.”

“Had enough?” Bucky asked her, handing Steve his drink. Steve paused his spanking to take a sip and let her answer.

When she elected not to respond, instead ducking her head and refusing to look Bucky in the eyes, Steve kept up her punishment until she was limp in his lap, body jarring with the force of the hit.

Steve’s large hand smoothed over her skin, dark red and sensitive, and she whimpered, but didn’t have the energy to squirm away. “Ready for me to stop, honey?” Steve asked her, hand still rubbing circles into her sore flesh. She nodded and hiccuped, tears drying on her skin, leaving salty, gritty trails down her cheeks and neck. “Are you gonna apologize to Bucky?” Another nod and Bucky reached down to take the gag out, looking down at her from where he stood.

“What d’you wanna say to me, hmm?”

“I’m—” she cleared her throat, her voice thick with spit and tears. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For spitting on you.”

“And?” Steve prompted.

“I’m s-sorry for going to the party,” she stammered. “And for dancing with that guy…”

Bucky cooed, crouching to place a kiss on her cheeks, swiping up her tears with his lips. Then he kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth as Steve’s hands massaged her ass and thighs. One slipped between her legs, long fingers finding her clit and rubbing soft circles against it. She jolted at the first touch, shaking her head. “No, no,” she breathed, trying to pull away from Bucky’s mouth.

Steve landed a quick slap to her cunt that had her shuddering. “Let us take care of you now.” His tone was the commanding one, the one he used as a member of the mob, one that she couldn’t help but obey.

Bucky kissed her again, swallowing her renewed sobs while Steve continued his work. “That’s it, baby, let it out,” Bucky purred, strong hands caressing her face, her hair, her neck, her shoulders, wiping watery mascara and eyeliner from her cheeks, smoothing down the curls that had been messed up since earlier that night. “Took your punishment so well, now you just relax, let us make you feel good.”

As Steve drew shapes against her pussy, Bucky soothing her and gifting her with sweet kisses, her body slowly relaxed, hips occasionally jerking against Steve’s hand. As soon as she let out that first little moan, shaky and uncertain, Steve felt it.

“There we are.” He smirked and held up his fingers, wet with her unwilling arousal. “That’s right, sweetheart. Just let it happen. Such a good girl for us.”

Whimpering against Bucky’s skin, she writhed in Steve’s lap. Her ass was still on fire, and Steve’s other hand smoothed over it, caressing her inflamed skin. This time, the pain added to her arousal, shooting sparks up and down her thighs, right to her pussy as Steve massaged her wetness into her clit. Tears continued to leak from her eyes without her realizing, too emotional from her scorning—too drunk off her ass—to control it. 

But Bucky kept praising her, telling her to cry it out, while Steve cooed gentle words at her as he manipulated her body, and soon she was on that precipice of something grand, body shaking, pussy spasming, and her cry of pleasure was cut short when Bucky kissed her, tongue sweeping through her mouth as he consumed her, tasting vodka and cherries and tears, bitter and sweet and salty all at once, just like the girl he drank from.

Only when Steve started moving her body did he stop kissing her. “Help me get her on the ground,” Steve grunted, “I’m gonna fuck her.”

With her arms still tied painfully behind her back, she couldn’t move herself very well, so Bucky lifted her off Steve’s lap and lowered her onto the ground, where she lay face down, suddenly dizzy and acutely aware of how drunk she was.

“Wait,” she gurgled, shutting her eyes tight when the geometric pattern of the woven rug swirled in her vision. “Wait, don’t—”

But Steve had already unbuckled his jeans, cock out, pressing against her ass. “Can’t wait anymore, baby,” he said, voice quiet but determined as he manhandled her hips into the air. Her cheek rubbed uncomfortably on the carpet with nothing to support her head.

She needed to escape him, to fight the man, get away from the predator about to take her. Violently, with all her strength, she wrenched herself away from him, out of his grasp, onto her side. Rolling to his left, she got onto her knees and took a few stumbling steps away before he tackled her back to the ground, straddling her thighs and pinning her entire body to the floor with a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s your rush, sweetheart?” he asked, lowering his hips to align with hers, laying his entire weight on top of her to hold her down. Winded from when he tackled her, she took a moment to try to catch her breath, to stop the spinning that seemed to only get worse when she closed her eyes.

“Stop,” she croaked, weakly. She could barely breathe with his weight on her. “Please.”

“It’s okay, baby, you’re gonna love it,” he whispered in her ear before forcing himself into that space between her legs. Her wetness eased the way but with her positioning—legs closed, flat on her stomach, pinned to the carpet with his body—it was a tight fit. Steve had to stop once he was all the way in and center himself before he came too soon. 

When he pulled back the smallest amount and gave a short little thrust back in, she cried out, sobbing again. Bucky kneeled beside her and stuffed the gag back into her mouth, patting her cheek gently. “Shhh, baby, just lay back and enjoy it.”

There were so many sensations all at once—stinging pain where his cock entered her pussy, the dull ache deep inside every time he bottomed out, her ass smarting and sensitive as the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against her reddened skin. And yet, every time he pushed back in, he hit that spot inside her, the one that sent her spasming in pleasure.

As he used her, a tiny spark of pleasure formed in her stomach, growing bigger and bigger as he ground his hips against her, barely thrusting, more so humping her into the ground. Forcing himself onto her, forcing pleasure and pain onto her all at once. She wondered how something so horrifying could feel good. “Take it, be a good girl for us, just take it,” he grunted into her ear. 

He consumed her whole being. Sandwiching her between his hard body and the carpet, strong arms caging her in next to her head, meaty thighs straddling her legs. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe with the weight of his chest on her, the power of his thrusts as he fucked into her, ruining her, her mind dizzy. Cologne and cigarette smoke and sweat filled her nose.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” Bucky cooed, stroking his fingers through her hair.

Steve’s hand slithered beneath her and came up to cup her throat, pulling her head back and cutting off her airway. In her ear, he whispered filthy words to her, words that made her shiver with anticipation and revulsion all at once. “This is right where you belong, sugar—below me, your little pussy stuffed full of my cock, taking everything I give you. Isn’t that right, baby?” She didn’t answer, but he didn’t need her to. He chuckled darkly in her ear when he felt her pussy flutter around him, her hips shifting back almost imperceptibly into his own. “That’s right, darling—I can feel you squeezin’ around me. You’re about to come, aren’t you?”

She shook her head, but Bucky, who still had one hand in her hair and one hand caressing her cheek, disagreed. He fisted her hair painfully and gave her cheek a sharp pinch. “Don’t lie to him, baby. You’re getting that face you get when you’re about to come. Let it go, baby—give it to us.”

Mouth open around the gag, eyes rolling into the back of her head, body shaking underneath Steve’s, her orgasm rocked her body. Steve fucked her through it, biting down hard on her shoulder as he succumbed to his own orgasm, spilling his come deep inside of her, each thrust burying it deeper in her pussy. His deep groan vibrated throughout her own limp body, and then he relaxed, releasing her throat, allowing her to finally take in several deep breaths of air. Her ears rang and it drowned out any words the men exchanged with each other.

Steve didn’t give her a chance to recover before he was hoisting her up and into Bucky’s lap until she was straddling his thick thighs, legs split apart by his massive frame. “It’s Bucky’s turn now, baby,” he commanded her when she struggled weakly. Finally, she conceded, too weak to stop them as Bucky pulled his painfully hard cock out, grabbed her hips, and pulled her forward until he was completely sheathed in her abused pussy.

Bucky allowed her a few moments to adjust to him, deeper than Steve was before due to the angle and positioning. Pulling the gag out of her mouth, he kissed her deeply, taking her face in both of his hands and commanding her mouth with his tongue. “Feel so good around me,” he groaned into her mouth.

“Go ahead and ride him,” Steve purred, still recovering from his own orgasm.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered against her cheek, “Fuck your sweet little pussy on my cock.”

She lifted herself up with shaking thighs, but couldn’t muster up the strength with her legs splayed so wide to properly do so. With her arms still tied behind her back, her body utterly speared on Bucky’s length, she was too weak and unbalanced to hold herself up. “I—I can’t,” she ducked her head and whined against Bucky’s neck. “Bucky, I can’t…”

Then she felt Steve’s solid body pressing up against her back, strong hands gripping her hard by the hips. “That’s alright, sweetheart,” he cooed in her ear, “I’ve got you.” With his strength, he lifted and lowered her body, manipulating her like a rag doll. Bucky’s hands on her waist and Steve’s on her hips supported all of her weight with their combined musculature. 

“God,” she said, voice thin as her breath was punched out of her with every jolt down onto Bucky’s cock. Her head lolled back against Steve’s shoulder, body limp between them. “Oh my God—”

Steve laughed and kissed her, forcing his mouth on her even as she backed away. “Pretty baby loves this, Buck,” he addressed the other man even as he looked predatorily at the girl between them, eyes roaming up and down, taking in her flushed cheeks, glazed eyes rimmed red, swollen lips slick with spit and smeared lipstick. “Say it,” he growled at her, “Tell us you love it.”

He should have expected her to disobey. She shut her eyes tight, turning her head away back towards Bucky, but Steve wasn’t having it. Slapping her sharply on the thigh, right where she was still sore from his earlier spanking, he repeated his request. 

She made a pathetic little noise and Bucky groaned, pulling her body further down on him. “God, Steve,” he grunted, “Do that again—her cunt squeezed me so tight—”

Steve chuckled darkly and wasted no time in raining down five more harsh hits on her ass, until she was crying out and falling forward onto Bucky in an attempt to get away from Steve’s torture. 

That was all it took and she was coming, cunt spasming, body shivering between them, sweet little sounds leaving her mouth as they helped her ride it out.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve grinned against her shoulder, “Tell us you love it when we fuck you,” Steve said, pulling her hips back towards him. “Say it, or I’ll keep going.”

“I love it,” she sighed, breathing heavily, her body still twitching with aftershocks, “I love it when you fuck me.” Both Steve and Bucky laughed at that, and she got lost in them. Their hands on her, lips on her skin, dizzy with pleasure and lust, crushed between their hard bodies. 

Steve learned forward to grab Bucky in a stinging grip by the hair. “C’mere,” he murmured before slamming his lips against Bucky’s, falling into the familiar routine of Bucky’s lips moving against his, tongues tangling. The girl between them froze and watched on, never having seen them intimate like this before. She took her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed on it, all the breath taken out of her, not having anticipated the sight to be as erotic as it was.

As Steve pulled back after a sharp bite to Bucky’s lower lip, Bucky groaned. “Want you to come, Buck,” he breathed into the other’s mouth, “Can you come for me, baby?”

Bucky nodded, gripping her waist tighter, bucking his hips up into her and making her cry out. Steve nudged his nose against her neck, saying loud enough for Bucky to hear, “Tell Bucky how much you want him to come, won’t you, sweetheart? Tell him how good he makes you feel.”

And she did, so caught up in her desire and the way they were corrupting her yet again, pulling her into their filthy fantasies, a pawn for their own pleasure. Before answering, she leaned forward to give him a lingering kiss, pulling back a little as Bucky began to deepen it, panting against his lips, “Please come, Bucky,” she simpered, “I want you to come, please come.”

Bucky chuckled. “Aren’t you just sweet as sugar?” Then he surged forward to kiss her again until she was dizzy, whimpering into his mouth as he fucked her mercilessly. Only when he felt pressure on his balls, Steve rolling them around with a firm hand, did Bucky break the kiss, crying out as his orgasm built. He didn’t realize he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood until Steve had his other hand on his chin, pulling his lip out and kissing him deep, the taste of iron and copper mixing between their tongues. Bucky pulled her hips down hard as he came, pulsing long streams deep inside her.

“Fill her up, baby,” Steve growled against his lips, “So good for me, Buck.”

Bucky and Steve kissed slowly, while their girl slowly slumped down against Bucky’s chest, all of them panting heavily trying to catch their breath. Bucky rubbed his knuckles over her back gently, and she felt so tired and heavy that by the time Steve and Bucky had finished kissing, she was practically asleep on Bucky’s chest.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky said, rousing her and lowering her skirt while Steve picked at the knot at her wrists. When he found it too tight to get undone, he pulled out a pocket knife from his jeans and cut her hands free. She hadn’t even realized they were all still clothed, her skirt thrown up haphazardly, the sharp heels of her stilettos digging into the meat of her thighs when she leaned back onto her feet.

Y/N sat back from Bucky and stretched her arms out, clumsily opening and closing her hands a few times. “My hands are numb,” she said with a little pout.

“Here,” Bucky took them and massaged gently, giving her a silly smile. She giggled, but looked down and frowned after a moment. “Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky took hold of her chin and tilted her head up. Her eyes looked glossy again. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated before answering. “Are you and Steve still mad at me?”

“No, honey,” he leaned forward to kiss her. “We’re not mad. Right, Steve?”

They both looked up at Steve, who had buttoned up his pants and was getting ready to go upstairs to draw them a bath. He frowned. “I’m not mad, darling. I’m just disappointed.” Her face fell, her lip wobbling, and she looked away from his intense gaze. “Come here.” Steve bent down and gathered her up, lifting her into his arms in one movement, carrying her bridal style towards the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up and we can have a talk. Buck, you coming?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, already on his feet. “Let me grab some water for her.”

“Good idea. Grab an ice pack too. She’ll need it.”

Steve brought her upstairs, but instead of going into her bathroom, he brought her to the master bathroom, sitting her at the vanity while he ran a bath. She cried silently, and he only noticed she was sobbing when he turned around to undress her.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, kneeling in front of her and wiping her tears with his thumbs. “I want you to understand why I was angry, and why I’m disappointed in your actions. Okay?” She didn’t answer, and he continued. “I’m upset that you left the house without telling us. It was dangerous to sneak out like you did, by climbing out of the second story window. You could have gotten very hurt. It was also dangerous to go alone with Wanda to Manhattan. Anything could have happened to you girls with nobody protecting you. My job is to protect you, and I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are. Now, this is the second time you’ve disregarded that. Next time, I won’t be so lenient. Understand?”

She nodded obediently.

“I’m also upset that you drank so much. That’s a new experience for you, but it could have turned out very bad. You’ll have a pretty gruesome hangover tomorrow, so I’ll let that be punishment enough. Okay?”

Again, she nodded, avoiding his eyesight until he forced her to meet his eyes. “I understand, Steve…” she said softly, voice cracking.

“Good girl. Come on, let’s get you in the bath.” She cooperated as he undressed her, lifting her arms so he could remove her lacy tank top, holding out each foot for him to unbuckle the stilettos. Once she was completely bare, he undressed himself and sat them both in the bathtub, an extravagantly large jacuzzi tub that would be able to fit all three of them.

After pouring water over her hair, she showed no signs of stopping her tears, so he held her as she cried into his chest. “It’s okay, darling, let it out. Cry it out for me.” His hands stroked gently through her hair and he planted kisses across her temples and forehead, finishing with a wet kiss on her lips. “I forgive you, baby,” he whispered. “I forgive you.” He kissed her tenderly until she stopped shaking with sobs, now only crying softly against his neck.

His heart ached for her, but this was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her pliant and receptive to him, distraught and teary for him to comfort. The way she curled up against his chest and clutched her hands on his shoulders showed how much she needed him, and it was exactly where he wanted her.

This is the scene that greeted Bucky when he walked in, holding bottles of water. “Aw, poor baby,” he cooed, undressing and climbing in next to them. “C’mere, sweetheart. You’ve had a pretty long day, haven’t you?” She nodded and settled in against his chest. “You’ve been a very good girl for us tonight.”

“Do you forgive me?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes, I do forgive you. I want you to drink some water, okay? Then we’re going to get you cleaned up, then it’s time for bed.”

She obeyed, drinking almost a full bottle of water and then allowing Bucky to shampoo her hair while Steve ran a soapy washcloth across her skin. When he ran the cloth over her ass, she hissed and flinched away from him. “That really hurts,” she whimpered, a few more tears falling.

“We’ll put some ice on it after this,” Bucky promised her, coercing her to tip her head back to rinse the shampoo out. He worked conditioner into her hair next, working out the tangles; meanwhile, Steve cleansed her face of mascara and eyeliner and tears and glitter. They worked together to wash her until she was squeaky clean for them, fresh for a new day.

“Good girl,” Steve praised her, allowing her to rest against the edge of the tub while he and Bucky quickly washed their own bodies. As soon as they were done, he scooped her up and Bucky wrapped her in a fluffy towel, and she let them dry her off and carry her to her bedroom.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Steve said, ushering her across the room.

“Wait,” she resisted him, “I need clothes to sleep in.”

“Baby, anything you wear is gonna itch and burn on your bottom,” Bucky said, running a hand over her ass.

“Ow! Stop it!” she whined, batting his hand away.

“Best to just sleep naked,” he told her.

She pouted but allowed them to guide her to her bed. Resting on her stomach, she leaned against Steve’s chest and let him tuck a soft blanket around them. Bucky got in bed beside her and rubbed lotion onto her bottom before applying an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel, Steve drawing shapes on her back gently as she squirmed at the pain.

Steve and Bucky both spoke to her softly, soothing her to sleep, until she was snoring gentle breaths onto Steve’s chest.

When they were sure she was asleep, Bucky turned to Steve. “What’re we gonna do with her?”

Steve shook his head. “We need to take care of her. She’s our responsibility now.”

“Then we need to start acting like it.”

“I know,” Steve said, and he did. But the girl just made it so damn difficult. 

Chapter Text

Steve slept fitfully and awoke gradually, warm and drunk with the feeling of Y/N’s soft body draped across him. Tightening his hold on her, he ran his hands up and down her back, hoping to coax her awake. She squirmed on top of him, sighing softly in her sleep, and Steve’s hands wandered further, down her waist, along her hips, ass, and thighs. When she shifted again, he gently encouraged her to spread her legs, one thigh draped wide across his waist so he had access to her.

His morning wood throbbed when he brushed his fingers down her slit, wet with the remnants of his and Bucky’s release from the previous night. A small whimper escaped her lips when he started working at her clit with small circles, trying to coax more honey from her to get her ready for him.

He didn’t know how, didn’t understand it, but he still wasn’t satisfied. After fucking her so intensely last night, his need for the girl had only grown. She was all he could think about. All night, he had dreamt about her, about taking her, making her his, about making love to her. 

With his other hand, he ran his fingers along her cheek, then rubbed his thumb gently against her lips, pouty with sleep. He wondered what this girl did to him, why she affected him so viscerally. 

She still hadn’t woken up—she had always been a heavy sleeper, though, so Steve wasn’t expecting her to wake up just yet. In fact, she probably wouldn’t until he got his cock in her. He pulsed in anticipation.

After easing one finger into her, feeling her clench rhythmically around him, he decided she was ready—she was certainly wet enough, dripping with her unconscious arousal. Hitching her leg up higher around his waist, he twisted his hips to the side to line himself up with her entrance. 

As he pressed his cock inside her, her eyelids fluttered a little, but she didn’t open them until he was bottomed out, pressing his pelvis tight against hers.

She awoke with a gasp, hands flying up to Steve’s face, and he caught her wrists before she could do anything. He took in her expression, shocked and stunned, the sleep in her eyes giving way to surprise and confusion. “Steve?” she murmured, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “What—”

Then he drew his hips back a little and thrusted back in, and her eyelids fluttered closed, pouty lips parting with a breathy moan. His lips split in a filthy grin, hips moving at a slow pace, fucking into her leisurely. She was so hot and wet around him, impossibly tight, and she whimpered every time he thrusted particularly deep.

“Just let it happen, darling," he crooned.

The slow rocking of their bodies together lulled her into a trance, and her body relaxed on top of him, allowing him to move her around like a doll, made just for his pleasure. He released her hands and ran his own across her back, soothing her even more, and she tucked her face into his neck, her hands tangled in his hair, holding on as he fucked her into a sleepy, sated stupor. Everything was warm and gooey and slick, and his gentle voice cooing in her ear only made her sleepier.

“Good girl,” he praised her, brushing his lips across the shell of her ear, her temple. “Such a sweet little thing, aren’t you? Letting me take care of you like this. You need me, don’t you?”

She sighed against his neck, the pleasure in her core building with each deep slide of his cock into her. Steve shivered when he felt the press of her lips on his throat, basking in the pleasure of how she felt wrapped around him. 

He began to wonder if Bucky was going to wake up when an interesting thought occurred to him about fucking her at the same time as Bucky. His hand wandered down her back and pressed between her legs. Deft fingers skimmed against her puckered hole; she tensed up, unsure what he was doing, and he was about to press his fingers in further when—

“What the fuck?” The shout came from the doorway of the bedroom doorway, and Steve instantly regretted not shutting the door the previous night.

Tony stood there—he must’ve entered the house without Steve hearing—and he was looking at the scene with shock and anger. Luckily, they were mostly covered by the blanket, but there was no mistake as to what was happening, especially as Y/N squealed and tried to hide her exposed body from his sight.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Tony yelled, his hands waving around and awkwardly covering his eyes. Y/N struggled in Steve’s grip and tried to bury herself under the sheets; Bucky was roused awake with the commotion, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and looking around, confused.

“Tony, get out,” Steve said sharply. “We’ll be right out.”

“You have two minutes to get your asses downstairs,” Tony snapped. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, slamming the door closed and stomping downstairs.

“Fuck,” Steve grunted, hand running down his face. He was still hard, but the girl was already wriggling out of bed and scurrying into the attached bathroom, slamming the door heavily. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Bucky asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Stark ruined my morning sex,” Steve snapped, grabbing the clothes he was wearing earlier and dressing hurriedly. “C’mon,” he said to Bucky, who looked about ready to go back to sleep, “He’s probably got news about Stane.”

As Bucky dressed slowly, Steve knocked on the bathroom door. “Darling, come on out.”

“No!” she cried.

“Y/N,” he sighed, gritting his teeth, trying not to get frustrated. “Let’s go. Tony’s waiting for us.”

He heard her sniffle. “I’ll be down in a minute…”

Steve was about to argue again, but Bucky swung his arm around Steve’s shoulders, making Steve support most of his weight in his exhaustion. “C’mon, let her be. We need to talk to him alone first anyhow.”

Steve let out a breath. “Be downstairs in five minutes or I’m coming back up here and dragging you out. Got it?”

“Fine.”

They found Tony downstairs in the kitchen rummaging through the refrigerator.

“Tony,” Steve began, but Tony cut him off, holding a carton of soymilk in his hand.

“What the fuck was that about, huh? Please tell me this little ménage à trois of yours only started last night.”

“It—”

“Because otherwise you two would have a serious fucking death wish. You really want to be the ones to defile Obadiah Stane’s daughter? Please tell me you’re not that fucking stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Stark,” Bucky growled, upset at Tony’s insinuation. “He’s out of the picture.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Mind your own business—we care about her.” 

“Yeah I can see how much you care by the way you rope her into some sordid threesome with the both of you—”

Steve snapped, “It’s not like that!”

Tony slammed the carton of milk onto the counter. “Oh yeah? Please tell me how it’s different. This is the kind of shit her father was trying to protect her from—”

“Oh please,” Bucky scoffed, “Stane was really trying to protect her when he would scream at her and beat the shit out of her? We never saw you say a word against him then, but you have a problem with this?”

“For fuck’s sake—” Tony began, but cut himself off when Y/N entered the kitchen. She wore a large sweatshirt and sweatpants, and her skin was a sickly pale. When she sat at the kitchen table, she winced as her bottom hit the chair. Giving a pained groan, she rested her head in her hands, and Tony asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s hungover,” Bucky answered. 

Steve added, “This is the result of her going out with the Maximoff girl last night.” 

Y/N shifted again, whimpering not only at the way her vision and stomach swirled in opposite directions, but also at the dull pain shooting through her backside from the previous night.

Ever the perceptive mob leader, Tony narrowed his eyes at her, picking up on the cues in seconds. Then he turned to glare at Steve. “Rogers, you fucking—”

Steve held up his hand. “Not a fucking word, Tony. Please.” Tony, Steve, and Bucky shared a tense glance.

“Fine,” Tony surrendered, sitting at the table in front of her. “Y/N, I have news.”

“What is it?” came her mumbled response.

Tony, being the bold and brash man he is, decided not to beat around the bush. “Your father died. He died in prison earlier this morning of a heart attack.”

Steve had expected her to lash out at them. Bucky had anticipated her to burst into tears. Tony had expected a combination of both. Instead, she sighed heavily into the table, almost exasperated. “Yeah,” she shook her head. “He’s not my father.”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it for a lack of words. Steve and Bucky had never seen him speechless. He looked up at the other men, eyes pleading for help. “Well. He raised you, and his name’s on your birth certificate, so—”

She raised her head, the glare sent at Tony reminiscent of her own mother’s ferocity, and Obadiah Stane’s coldness. “I don’t care. He’s not my father.”

“He deserves—”

“To rot in the ground? I agree.”

“Y/N—"

“Listen, just save your breath. You won’t get me to care by bringing up how he yelled at me any chance he could get and beat me whenever I talked back. Oh—you know what his most redeeming quality is? The way he killed my biological father in cold blood and forced my mother to marry him afterwards. Right?”

“Hey,” Steve said sharply, raising his voice to chastise her, “We all know he’s done some bad things, but he was the leader of the mob, and now he’s dead. You show him respect, got it?”

They maintained eye contact, waiting to see who would break first. Her eyes bored into his, hateful, the sneer falling from her lips as her face grew paler. Several beats later, she abruptly announced, “I’m gonna puke,” before getting up and running to the half-bath near the living room. They could hear her retching from the kitchen.

“She’s a fucking mess.”

“No shit, Tony,” Steve rolled his eyes. He wandered over to the fridge and looked through it for breakfast.

Tony rubbed his hand over his face, scratching at his goatee, which was grown out from the past few days. “I don’t think you boys are the right people for this. You’re only 23 yourselves. How much do you know about handling a girl on the brink of crisis?”

“Well who else is gonna do it?” Bucky asked, staring pointedly at Tony. They all knew Tony and Pepper weren’t going to step up and take the girl in, although Tony was her godfather. The couple was trying for a baby themselves, although the timing was inopportune with the mob practically falling apart.

Steve turned and picked up the soymilk. “She’ll be fine in a few days. She’s grieving—that’s all.” He gave it a sniff and wrinkled his nose at the sour smell. “Jesus. We’re gonna have to go grocery shopping.”

Tony dropped his head in his hands. “Listen, the funeral’s in two days. You have until then to prove that you can handle her. If not, we’re gonna need to figure something else out.”

“Tony,” Steve said, “She’s 18. She can make her own decisions.”

“She’s never made a single decision for herself. Why let her start now, when her life is in shambles?”

Steve couldn’t disagree with that logic. It’s not like he and Bucky were allowing her much agency as it was.

“Listen,” Tony said gravely, “Just because Stane’s dead doesn’t mean the FBI is dropping their case.” 

“What does that mean for us?” Bucky asked warily, muscles tensing.

“Luckily, he didn’t have the chance to mention anyone in the mob before he died—he only ratted out Laufeyson and his crew. But the FBI is going to be looking into his finances, and soon they’ll find out about the money laundering, the offshore accounts—everything.”

“They’ll take the house, won’t they?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded. “And anything else they can get their hands on. It might take a week or so, but you should try to move her out of here before then. It’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Great,” Steve said bitterly. 

“More shit to put on her,” Bucky muttered. It was then that the girl in question stumbled back into the kitchen, all but collapsing into her seat. “How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asked, running a hand over the clammy skin of her forehead.

She gave a throaty grunt in return and placed her head against the cool wood of the table. 

“Can you use words?” Steve asked. His tone made it clear it wasn’t a request.

“Little better,” she muttered. “Not nauseous anymore. Just dying.”

“I can make you my secret hangover cure,” Tony suggested.

Steve sent him a look. “A Bloody Mary isn’t a hangover cure. It’s just day drinking,” 

Before Tony could reply, his phone rang, and he stepped out of the room to answer it. While he was gone, Bucky got her a glass of water and a stick of gum. When Tony came back in, he announced, “It was Rhodey. We have to meet with the funeral home to arrange the service. Y/N, do you want to come with us?”

“No,” she grunted.

“It was worth a try.” 

Steve walked Tony to the front door, and before Tony left, he turned and leveled Steve with an intense glare. “You’re being safe, right?”

“Uh—” Not really. “Of course we are.”

“Good. That girl is too emotionally distraught to get pregnant, especially if one of you jackasses is the father.”

Steve gritted his teeth. “Goodbye, Tony.”

After practically slamming the door in Tony’s face, Steve went into the kitchen. “We need to figure out a plan,” he told Bucky.

Bucky ran his hand across Y/N’s forehead. “Honey. Do you want to stay here for the next few days or stay at our place?”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “We’re staying at our place then. Go pack a bag, Y/N.”

She groaned in protest, but with a sharp look from Steve, she acquiesced. “Fine.”

It didn’t take long for her to pack a bag with enough clothes and toiletries to last the week. Bucky kept her company while she packed, although she refused to say more than three words at a time to him. He was much more patient with her than Steve, however. 

“Grab something for the funeral, baby,” he reminded her.

She scowled, shoving a hairbrush into the bag with more force than necessary. “I don’t want to go.” 

“Baby—”

But she cut his attempt off. “I don’t want to talk about it.” With that, she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and made her way downstairs without another word. Bucky sighed, but didn’t push it. He rifled through her closet for a moment before grabbing a modest black dress, not looking forward to the day of the funeral when they would practically have to force her into it. 

He looked around her room before departing. They would have to figure out what to do with her enormous closet full of designer clothing, her lavishly decorated room, the dog, and her numerous other belongings. But that was for another day.

After coaxing her (and Hermes) into the car, they made their way across Brooklyn to Red Hook, stopping at a pharmacy along the way. They let her stay in the car with the windows rolled down while Steve bought groceries, just the essentials, and a few items that would help the girl with her hangover. The last thing he wanted was for her to vomit any more.

Once they got to their apartment, they settled her onto the sofa and Steve handed her a glass of water and three little pills—two white round pills of different sizes and an orange pill.

“What are they?” she asked.

“For nausea and headache.”

“What’s the third?”

Steve paused. “It’ll help you sleep.”

She frowned. “I don’t think I need that one. I feel tired enough as it is.”

“Just take the damn pills before I force them down your throat, got it?” Steve snapped, fed up with her questions.

With a pout, she took the pills and drank the entire glass of water. 

“What do you say?” Bucky prompted her, draping a soft grey blanket over her body.

“Thank you, Steve…” she mumbled, sinking further into the couch, pulling the blanket up around her neck. It smelled like spices and tobacco, familiar and warm.

“You’re welcome,” he said, still a little curt. Bucky sent him a stern look, so he brushed his hand through her hair and continued with a slightly gentler tone, “If you keep being good today, I’ll give you a reward later.”

She pouted and ducked her head. Bucky only chuckled and tucked a pillow behind her head. “Get some sleep. We’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

Luckily, she fell asleep quickly, leaving Steve and Bucky to make breakfast. As Bucky whipped up some eggs and bacon, Steve cleaned up the house. They had barely been back since before going to Martha’s Vineyard, and it needed a little tidying—especially if Y/N was going to be staying with them.

As he tossed some trash, he made sure to cover up the Plan B box he had gotten from the pharmacy labeled “emergency contraceptive”. They would have to be more careful going forward, but Steve would prefer that over a baby when she wasn’t ready.

Bucky eyed him as Steve buried the box in the trash. “Don’t you think we should’ve just told her?”

“She would’ve asked too many questions,” Steve answered, “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“What if she has side effects?”

“We’ll blame it on the hangover.”

Bucky sighed, stirring around scrambled eggs in the pan. “We should have been more careful.”

“Next time, we will be.”

Something was burning, like cigarette smoke mixed with plastic. Carcinogenic and nauseating, it burned the inside of her nostrils when she inhaled, sent a dull ache throbbing in her skull. But there were more pressing matters. She had heard a scream from the first floor, and as she crept down the grand stairs of her childhood home, she felt her heart beating rapidly in her chest and in her temples.

She emerged into the living room, everything hazy with smoke, dark except the fireplace burning in front of the sofa. Obadiah Stane stood in front of the fire, the flames lighting him from the front and casting his silhouette in a dark shadow. The hulking shoulders and imposing arms of her childhood, holding her up when she was five and still small enough to use him as a jungle gym.

“Dad?” she asked, before walking towards him. He didn’t turn, but then she saw her mother. Her body lay on the ground in a pool of blood, a bullet hole between her eyebrows, blank eyes staring straight at her father. 

Y/N followed her gaze to the man who raised her, blood glistening on the satin of his suit, soaking into the fabric until it was barely noticeable but for those who knew where to look. His tie painted crimson, an arrow pointing down to the gun he held in his hands, black metal as shiny as his eyes, staring impassively at his daughter.

“I did this for you.” His voice echoed and bounced off the walls, burning into her mind like the fire jumping out of the fireplace, flames licking her feet and singing her clothes.

Panic rising in her chest, she backed away from her father, who was advancing towards her as fast as the fire. Then she ran into something solid, and two arms slithered around her torso and squeezed her ribcage. When she turned to look, she saw Steve and Bucky, side by side, wrangling her body between them into their arms.

“No!” she gasped, throat stinging from the smoke inside the house.

“Come with us, doll,” Bucky said, pulling her away from her murderous father, her mother lying lifeless on the ground.

“Wait!” she cried, “My mom! What about my mom!”

“You’re ours now, sweetheart,” Steve said sinisterly, that cruel smirk back on his face. Her parents vanished, but the flames didn’t, the smell of burning flesh didn’t.

Engulfed in their arms, she had nowhere to go. Their eyes scorched into her, blue overtaken by red and orange, the feel of their skin sizzling on hers the worst pain she had ever felt.

“It hurts,” she said, tears of gasoline spilling down her face, only provoking the flames around them to rise up and burn brighter.

“You like it,” Steve hissed, “Admit it.”

“You can’t lie to us.”

“Admit it!”

“No!” Y/N cried and sat up on the couch, skin on fire, clothes sticking to her skin from sweat. It took a moment for her to get her bearings as she kicked the blanket off, looking around frantically, and then she realized she was in Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment.

The boys were at her side in an instant. “Are you okay?” Bucky asked, and when he realized she was physically fine, he pulled her into his arms to comfort her.

She stiffened at his touch, remembering his blazing eyes from her dream. When she tried to pull away from him, he only held on tighter, and she began shaking in his arms. “P-please let me go—” Her voice trembled with fear.

“Oh, doll,” he cooed, rubbing her back, but it only incensed her as she remembered him calling her that in her dream. Thrashing in his grip, she pushed at his chest with all her strength.

“Get off me!” she cried, voice hoarse with terror.

Bucky backed his body away but held his hands out to try to soothe her. “Hey, what’s the matter? It’s just me.” She was still in defense mode; he could see it as her eyes darted around for a way out. He had only seen her like this once before, many years ago. When she didn’t respond in any way, he tried again, going for a different angle. “Muffin,” he said—an old nickname, one he hadn’t used in over five years. But he had used it the last time he had seen her so defensive like this. “Muffin, it’s me. It’s okay, I’m here.”

She had been eight years old, and they were all at Bucky’s house one summer day. Obadiah dropped in, enraged about some issue or another—and he had yelled at her. It was the first time he had ever hit her. And she had come to Bucky, distraught and terrified like she was now. Once her father left, Bucky’s mother made them fresh-baked blueberry muffins.

“I love muffins…” she had said, voice small, eyes still red.

“I think you’re a muffin,” Bucky had replied, just trying to be funny, to cheer her up. And it had worked, because she thought that was the most hilarious thing, giggling so hard that she fell out of her chair, until his mother scolded them for getting too rowdy.

Since then, she had been muffin to them—until she was thirteen when she asked them to stop.

It had escaped his mind until then—hers too. But when he called her that, with the dream still fresh in her mind, she couldn’t help but burst into tears. She allowed him to pull her against his chest and sob.

Bucky and Steve—this was Bucky and Steve, for God’s sake. Her oldest friends, the boys who had always protected her from everything growing up. When she was in fifth grade, they had a “firm talking to” to a boy who wouldn’t stop heckling her to be his Valentine. They beat up a boy in her class when he didn’t like her back when she was in seventh grade. In her sophomore year, when her father wouldn’t let her go to prom with a senior boy, they took her out for milkshakes the night of the prom so she would forget.

They were still protecting her to this day. Steve kissed her the previous year when she cried to him about how some boys made fun of her for being a virgin. Bucky—sweet Bucky—was there the night of her birthday when her father screamed at her, comforting her with companionship and kisses.

And now, as he soothed her with gentle caresses and tender words, kisses to the crown of her head, after she dreamed of how horrible they were.

All along, they had only been trying to protect her. Right?

Her heart longed for them while her mind insisted that her boys were up to no good. She didn’t know what to believe.

There was more contributing to her distraught state. On top of her conflicted feelings about Bucky and Steve, she felt conflicted about Obadiah Stane—the man who raised her, the man who was supposed to be her father. He did so many horrible things, and now he was dead. Is that what he deserved? Is that what God intended? 

She would never get closure now, nor any answers from him. Would her mother come back? Would the mob still protect her in the same way without her father as its leader? Where did she fit in now, and where was she supposed to go? Who was she supposed to be?

The questions flooded her mind like a great flood, God’s wrath, and she didn’t know which memories to salvage on her arc, or if she could even survive.

“Breathe, honey, breathe for me,” she heard Bucky saying, but it was faint, far away. Her fingers tingled, and she couldn’t focus on anything except the uncertainty and panic for her future. 

“Y/N—” it was Steve, his clear, commanding voice cutting through the fog. “Y/N, breathe now. Listen to me.” And she obeyed, focusing on him at her side. Focusing on his eyes, greener than Bucky’s yet somehow colder, his brow furrowed in concern or something else, she couldn’t tell. “In and out—just like that. Slowly.” She felt his hand on her back, rubbing in time with the breaths she was supposed to be taking.

“Good girl,” Bucky praised her, “Keep breathing.”

It wasn’t long before she stopped crying, focused on her breathing. When she was only sniffling lightly, fists still clinging onto Bucky’s shirt, Bucky pulled back a little to look at her face. She avoided eye contact with him as he took her face in his hands, thumbing away the tears.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked gently.

“Bad dream…” she whispered, voice raspy.

He frowned. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

When she shook her head, Steve joined the embrace, wrapping them both in his arms. “You’re okay, darling. You’re safe here with us. I promise.” He placed a sweet kiss to the top of her hair, rested his cheek against her head.

His tone and gestures caught her off guard—gentler and kinder than he had been all day. It made her relax into their embrace and nod. Of course she was safe with them—why wouldn’t she be?

They were all she had left.

“Do you want to have a shower?” Bucky asked, brushing away sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. “Or a bath?”

“A bath,” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

Steve shifted and picked her up in his arms. “Let’s run you a bath then.”

The bathroom in their apartment was small, but they made it work as Steve sat her on the counter and undressed her while Bucky filled the tub. “We don’t have much,” he said offhandedly, throwing in some soap in place of bubble bath. Once it was filled with hot water, Steve picked her up again.

“I can go myself…” she mumbled, hiding her breasts with her arms.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Steve said softly. His temper from earlier had completely disappeared; seeing their girl so distraught had made him panic, and now he only wanted her to feel safe. Especially because he could tell her dream was about them, about her parents--just from the terrified look on her face, her despaired wails against Bucky’s chest. “Let us take care of you.” 

Once she was in the tub, she drew the bubbles up around her torso. “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, but she looked up at them with a slight smile. 

“We’ll make up some supper while you’re in here,” Steve said, crouching down. He took her chin in his hand, thumb rubbing gently over the bone. “Are you gonna be okay by yourself?” She nodded shyly, looking down into the bubbles, but he drew her gaze back up with a tap on her chin. He leaned in to press his lips to hers, some bubbles wetting the front of his shirt, but he didn’t mind as he kissed her slowly.

She allowed him to kiss her, and when he pulled back, she was blushing again. Bucky kneeled down next to them and smiled before kissing her with as much tenderness as Steve had. He licked his lips when he pulled back, looked over her flushed cheeks, red-rimmed doe eyes staring up at them so sweetly, vulnerability all over her face. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Be a good girl for us and just relax.”

The redness on her face darkened in color, drifted down to where her chest was concealed by the bubbles. Steve smirked at the effect they had on her, but only placed another chaste kiss on her forehead before standing up. 

“How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?”

“Good,” she answered, and gave them another watery smile before they left, leaving the door cracked an inch to keep an ear out for her.

Once they left, she breathed out a sigh, unable to identify the feelings inside her chest. Part of her was relieved they had left so she could be alone and sort her thoughts out, while another part of her yearned for their presence, their oppressive embrace and comforting arms. While she did feel overpowered by them, it was almost freeing. They made decisions for her—just like her father had—and they decided what was best for her. She could sink into that control, not have to worry about anything.

On the other hand, she wasn’t uncertain of so many things. She knew they would keep her safe, but what about everything else? What would they decide for her future? What about NYU? Would they allow her to go? Surely they would—they were proud of her when she told them the news. Maybe everything would be fine.

Maybe she would be fine.

That’s what she forced herself to believe as she laid back and let the hot water and bubbles surround her, getting lost in the blankness of her mind.

Dinner didn’t take long to make, between the two of them. Bucky whipped up his mother’s homemade tomato soup, which he had made for Steve so many times that he could do it blindfolded by now. Meanwhile, Steve fried up a bunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, and by the time they were crisp and ready, Bucky was getting Y/N out of the bath. 

He toweled her off and dressed her in a pair of sleep shorts and one of his own large t-shirts—the New York Knicks shirt she loved because it was soft and worn and the orange was so faded it practically looked yellow. 

She was silent as they ate at the table. Bucky and Steve chatted about various things. She was just finishing up the third square of grilled cheese when they addressed her. “Tony texted earlier,” Steve said. “The funeral is in two days. Ten in the morning. He’s gonna give a eulogy—wanted to know if you wanted to give one, too.”

Her lip twitched, and she looked down into her tomato soup. She shook her head in answer.

Bucky continued. “I brought you a dress from home to wear at the funeral.”

Her eyes turned glassy, and she didn’t look at them as she spoke in a timid voice. “I really don’t want to go…”

Steve sighed, and Bucky took one of her hands in his. “Sweetheart,” he started, “Honey, look at me.” He only continued once she did. “I know you don’t want to go. I know you feel hurt and upset after the past few days, and I know you’re angry. But it’ll be good for you to go to the funeral. It’s the last chance you have to get any closure.”

“Trust us, darling,” Steve said, and her eyes went to him, the somber expression on his face. “You’re gonna want closure.”

Steve’s moment of vulnerability and openness made her remember that they had experienced this before—their parents dying unexpectedly. Steve’s father died early in his life during a mob meeting gone wrong, and his mother died only a few years ago to pneumonia. That was when she had noticed Steve’s change in personality—while before, he had been happier, more carefree, he suddenly became stoic and angry, and it broke Y/N’s heart.

Bucky’s parents had died in a car accident around the same time, an event so tragic that Bucky had stuffed away any emotions about it, carrying on like it hadn’t happened. 

She saw the pain both of the boys carried now, saw it in their eyes as they looked at her. Eventually, she nodded and reached for them both, letting them engulf her in a hug tight enough to knock her breath away. None of them said anything for a long moment, simply taking comfort in each other in the wake of the harrowing memories floating around, until Bucky pulled back with a sniffle and a weak laugh.

“Your soup’s gonna get cold, honey.”

And with that, they went back to eating. Once they were finished, they curled up on the couch with Y/N between them cuddling her as they watched a movie. They barely got thirty minutes in before she fell asleep, head lolling back on Bucky’s shoulder.

“We’d better have her sleep in my bedroom,” Bucky said, “My bed’s bigger.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed as Bucky lifted her up. “You got her?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Once he tucked her in, he returned to Steve on the couch and sat close, allowing Steve to pull him into an embrace and cuddle with him as they both pretended to watch the movie. In truth, neither of the men could stop thinking about the events of the past few days, of their own traumas, of the girl sleeping in the room behind them whose father they killed.

Bucky’s guilt was eating at him, making him twitchy. Once the movie was over, he turned to Steve.

“Steve, can we talk?” he asked unsurely, chewing on his lip.

“Of course, Buck,” Steve replied, calm and collected, although he knew exactly what Bucky was thinking. 

“I think we fucked up.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, “Stane is better dead than alive.”

“He was her father,” Bucky hissed. “And we participated in his murder!”

Steve was silent for a moment. “Do you remember that time we all went to the Adirondacks with her family for winter break? That time when she was still in middle school—must’ve been thirteen or something.” 

“Yeah…” Bucky’s stomach dropped, knowing the exact memory Steve was about to bring up.

“And we took her skiing, and we convinced her to go with us out on that really difficult slope—what was it called?”

“Barkeater.”

“Right, Barkeater,” Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah, and Y/N almost fucking died because she fell down the slope, and miraculously she wasn’t injured at all. Remember?”

“Yeah, but she was really shaken up.”

“So then when we got back to the cabin, Stane was drunk off his mind, but had this look on his face like he just knew where we were. Remember, he only wanted her going on the easy slopes? One look at her face and he could just tell that she broke the rules. You remember what he did?”

“Yeah, I remember…”

“Got that fire poker so hot and stuck it right on her back, burnt through her clothes and onto her skin. You remember?”

Bucky remembered the smell of burning wool and flesh, the way she screamed so loud that he thought she was going to cause an avalanche. It made his stomach turn even now, five years later.

“She still has that scar on her back. Saw it yesterday when we were in the bath.”

Bucky shook his head with a bitter smile. “You know, she acted like it never happened. One time she said to me, ‘I don’t know why you’re so afraid of him. He’s all bark and no bite.’ Can you believe that?”

“She’s better off with him dead. Tony told me Stane was never gonna let her go to NYU. He was gonna marry her off to someone in the mob—or maybe to another gang, to improve relations.”

“I’m not surprised.” They had seen firsthand how cruel Obadiah could be, how cruel he had been even to his own daughter. Truly, it wasn’t surprising that Y/N didn’t want anything to do with him, especially now that she knew there was no blood tying her to him. Still, he was the man she had grown up knowing as her father, and the man who had caused her so much trauma, and both Bucky and Steve believed wholeheartedly that going to his funeral would benefit her in the long run when she came to terms with all that had happened to her.

Steve and Bucky didn’t hear their girl wake up, confused by her surroundings and needing a glass of water. They didn’t hear as she got out of bed and moved towards Bucky’s bedroom door, which was already ajar.

“Still, we did nothing wrong. We weren’t even the ones to kill him.”

Nor did they hear as she paused just behind the door, stopping in her tracks at the talk of murder, waiting for them to go on. She knew they would never discuss mob business with her in the room, and she was so, so curious.

“I know we weren’t the ones to stick it in his neck, but we were outside the prison. We drove Nat and Clint away—we’re accessories—”

Before he could finish, Steve cut him off, voice hard. “Buck, the drug mimicked a heart attack perfectly. That’s what the coroner’s report said. Stane deserved to die, and no one’s ever gonna know we had anything to do with it. Stop worrying so much.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Steve and Bucky—her boys—were responsible for the death of her father—the man who was supposed to be her father. 

For a moment, she worried that she would be sick with the way her stomach rolled, her saliva suddenly tasting of bile, fingers stuffed with static and fuzz. She was surprised they hadn’t noticed her yet, hadn’t heard how loud her heart was beating, the tremble of her breath as she tried to contain her emotions. Angry tears welled in her eyes and they fell down her cheeks in a slimy cold trail as she strained her ears, still trying to listen into their conversation.

But they deviated to another topic, instead—meal plans for the next day, breakfast at home and dinner out on the town. 

Her vision narrowed, something sharp ringing in her ears like warning bells, fingers twitching with fury and hatred. 

How they could discuss something so benign after recounting their vile actions horrified her. How they could act like they cared for her, act like they loved her, make plans to take her out, when they killed her father—how they could act so normal after everything that happened made her sick.

She loathed these men—these despicable men. She wished she could go over to them, hit them and slap them and take all her rage out, hurt them like they had hurt her. But she had no idea what they might do to her if they found out she had been eavesdropping, that she knew their secret. That wouldn’t bode well, especially since she was their responsibility now, staying with them at least until the funeral.

Then the realization settled in, and she was paralyzed, still as a statue, as her anger slowly muted, a sinking understanding coming over her that she was stuck with them.

They were all she had left.

Hands shaking, body trembling with terror, Y/N silently made her way back to bed without alerting them to her presence. She lay awake, staring into the darkness, wondering how she could possibly get out from under the thumbs of the men who killed her father.

Chapter Text

“Do you think this is normal?” Bucky muttered to Steve the next night. It was dinnertime and Y/N was sitting at the table, staring blankly at the pizza in front of her.

She had been like this all day. Silent, brooding, sad. She had stayed in bed until noon; although Steve had wanted to wake her up earlier, Bucky convinced him to let her sleep in. They only woke her up when it was time for lunch, which she barely touched. Now at dinner, she still wasn’t eating, although they had ordered from her favorite pizza place.

Steve, who was at the counter with Bucky dishing up their own pizza, frowned, replying in a quiet voice that she couldn’t hear, “She’s gotta eat some time.”

“She’s grieving. If she doesn’t want to talk, we shouldn’t make her.”

“We can at least make her eat,” Steve grumbled, irate at the entire situation. They went to go sit next to her at the table.

“Ready to eat?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his tone cheerful. After Bucky and Steve had already finished their first slices, she still hadn’t taken a single bite of hers.

Steve was fed up, and of course, he had never been the best at controlling his temper. The tension had been building all day, and Bucky should have expected things to blow up soon enough. “Eat your damn food, Y/N,” Steve barked at her.

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was hoarse from not speaking all day and from all the crying she had done when they weren’t looking.

“Can’t you just eat one slice?” Bucky coaxed, his voice soft. “Please?”

She clenched her jaw, a rush of anger towards Bucky surging through her. Stuffing it down into the depths of her chest, she tightened her hands into fists, trying her hardest to contain the rage within, body tense with the effort. “No,” she answered him shortly, afraid if she opened her mouth for any longer, she would let everything out, every vile thing she wanted to say to them.

Steve had just about had it. “Y/N,” he snapped, “You’re gonna eat a slice of that fucking pizza. Right. Now.”

“Or what?” The petulant girl before him maintained eye contact with him. Steve’s eyes flashed, the vein in his temple pulsing. She couldn’t help but challenge him. Maybe to show him that she wouldn’t bend to his will, maybe to see just what he would do about it.

He and Bucky were both on their feet at once. Steve started towards Y/N, hands ready to grab her by the hair, but Bucky stood in his path, stopping him from touching her.

“Steve,” Bucky grunted, using all his strength to hold Steve back, “Steve, think about this. Now is not the time!”

“The little brat needs to learn her place,” Steve snarled. Meanwhile, Y/N watched on, shocked. It was the first time Bucky had ever intervened in Steve teaching her a lesson. Even before that summer, back when Steve’s punishments didn’t involve sexual misconduct, Bucky had always allowed Steve to rebuke her and scold her to his heart’s content. But this wasn’t a matter of her disobeying little rules or being a brat. She wasn’t going to let them control her anymore.

“Go to bed,” Bucky ordered her in a low growl. She obeyed, not for the sake of following his orders, but because she couldn’t stand to be around Steve anymore. Scurrying to Bucky’s bedroom, she shut the door and locked it just as she heard the front door open and slam closed. The noise made her jump, and she rushed to get into Bucky’s bed,  curling up in his comforter. It smelled like him, his cologne, sandalwood and tobacco.

Despite her anger towards him now, her disgust at the man who helped kill her father, the scent brought back so many memories, and she let herself sink into them.

Snowy days curled up together watching movies, naps taken after school when she didn’t have swim practice, warm hugs and tender touches that didn’t mean anything more than friendship at the time. She and Bucky had always had fun together—he always seemed to encourage her rowdiness, her competitive side. Racing him downhill when they went on skiing trips, or competing who could do the most laps at the pool, or who could build the biggest sandcastle at the beach.

But Bucky was more than just that. Bucky was always her solace, not just a protector or guardian, but a source of comfort, peace. Memories of Bucky comforting her when her father yelled at her, distracting her while her father held tense mob meetings downstairs, keeping her safe when strange men came to their house, their predatory gazes pinned on her whenever she would enter the room. Not just safety, but security, especially when Steve wasn’t available to be that role for her.

Steve, on the other hand, had always been that rule maker, the one to lay down the law, to keep her safe at the expense of her happiness. At one point, he had been a friend, too, sweet and kind and coddling, albeit overprotective to a fault. But he certainly hadn’t always been angry and mean. She was 14 years old when his mother died, and that’s when Steve grew cold—not just with her, but with everyone.

Her memories of Steve before that were different. He always made sure she was fed, and warm, and safe, and happy. He used to pick her up every day after school and buy her food—hot dogs, or pizza, or ice cream, indulge her in whatever she chose. The only time he wasn’t kind to her was when she was a brat, and even then, he would reprimand her and then make it up to her afterwards with gentle words and hugs and treats to make up for it.

After his mother died, Tony took Steve under his wing, focused on him more than the other young men in the mob, groomed him to be cold and calculating and emotionless, just as a mob leader should be. The only emotion Steve was allowed to show was anger, all of his sadness bottled up inside him, waiting to be released as rage and violence.

Occasionally, she still saw glimpses of his old self. Those moments of softness became few and far between, and Y/N cherished them whenever they came. The locket he gave her for her birthday, the time he taught her how to paint, the morning cuddles they had shared just the other day—those rare moments of affection and kindness that she missed dearly, that she yearned for.

As sudden as the thought came, she berated herself for it. Steve had helped kill her father. She wasn’t supposed to want him, just like she wasn’t supposed to want Bucky. Her heart broke for the thousandth time as she recounted how sweet they could be. How could she ever reconcile that with their despicable actions?

Unable to help herself, she cried silently into Bucky’s pillow, until she fell into a light sleep.

Steve came back home a few hours later, knuckles bloody and bruised. In the meantime, Bucky had stress-eaten the entire pizza, half a tub of chocolate ice cream, and he was just considering whether to make a Cubano or a Reuben sandwich when the lock turned and Steve walked in.

Shiny with sweat, dirt all over his clothes, knuckles bruised and bloody, Bucky could tell that Steve had been beating something up. Or someone, based on his split lip and the cut above his eyebrow.

“Steve—”

Before Bucky could get a word in, Steve sent him a sharp glare, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. By the time he heard the sound of the shower running, he had all of the ingredients out for both sandwiches and was hastily slathering mustard onto bread.

He craved the sandwiches of the deli down the street, but he felt wary about leaving Steve alone with their girl.

The entire situation made Bucky unbelievably anxious, especially since Steve had been such a menace the past few days. Sure, the man had a temper—anger issues, definitely—but it wasn’t usual for him to be so cross with Y/N, even when she was acting petulant and obnoxious. Now, though, the mob was in danger. The tension was so high, Steve’s stress was peaked, and it bled into his mood, making him much more volatile than usual.

Another component was that they had begun this relationship with her. Now that Steve felt a broader sense of ownership and responsibility over her, it was different; her anger and defiance and deliberate disobedience felt more personal somehow.

Her behavior annoyed Bucky, especially the night she had gone to Manhattan with Wanda, putting herself in danger so carelessly. However, for the most part, he was just concerned about her, and frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help. He knew what it was like to lose parents, and he knew she would be going through the stages of grief. His mood had bounced all over the place in the immediate time after his parents died—until he had discovered unhealthy coping mechanisms, like sex and drugs and suppressing his emotions.

That had been years ago, and it had taken him a long time to get back to some sense of normalcy. He knew that she would be changed forever by this turn of events.

It broke his heart to see her like this. He hadn’t been with her for long—it had only been a week or so since their illicit relationship had begun, but Bucky already felt so strongly for her. He had only ever been in love with Steve—had never fallen out of love with him, to be honest—and he couldn’t help but think it felt much the same with Y/N.

Now wasn’t the time for that issue, though. He would only scare her away during her time of crisis and make everything worse.

By the time Bucky had made both sandwiches and mulled over the entire situation, the water in the bathroom turned off, and Bucky held his breath, waiting for Steve. He exited the bathroom along with a cloud of steam, a towel slung around his waist.

He looked miserable. The anger had worn off by then, leaving a sense of helplessness for the situation.

Steve sat on the couch, not bothering to put on clothes. “She’s never going to trust me.”

“Steve—”

“We did all of this wrong. Now I don’t know how to get a hold of her.” He couldn’t control her, and that’s what scared Steve the most. It scared him to the point of rage, to the point of violence.

Manipulating her had always been so easy. What had changed? Was it him? Had he lost his touch? Was he so terrifying now with the storm of uncontrolled anger and tension within, that he had lost her completely?

Or was it her? Was she old enough now to see him for who he really is?

And if that was the truth—well, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. Steve didn’t deserve anything as good as her.

Bucky sat beside him, sensing Steve’s self-doubt, his anger, his sadness. Steve always worked so hard to suppress the emotions, but Bucky could read him better than anyone. He couldn’t hide anything from Bucky.

“Here,” Bucky said, handing Steve the Cubano. “Eat up.”

And they ate the sandwiches, side by side, while the girl who owned their hearts slept in the next room.

The next morning proved to be even harder than the previous night.

“Darling. Honey. Sweetheart.” Bucky was given the task of waking Y/N up for the funeral. Steve stood in the doorway, observing, determined not to get involved. “You gotta wake up. You need to get ready.”

She grunted and shoved his hand away from stroking her hair. “No.”

“The funeral is in an hour. We need to get ready to go.”

“I’m not going.”

Bucky released a breath through his nose. “Honey, I know you’re mad at him. I know he did terrible things. But this is the last time you’re going to be able to get any closure with him. You need to go to the funeral.”

“I’m. Not. Going.”

“You’re gonna be mad for a long time, that’s not gonna change, but in the long run, this will help with—”

“Bucky, I’m not fucking going!” she yelled, smacking his hand away from her. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Rage boiled through Steve, a dangerous drug, a familiar old friend. He couldn’t stop it. “Y/N,” he seethed through clenched teeth, “Get up, you are going to the goddamn funeral.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Everyone is expecting you to be there!” he shouted, losing his temper once again.

Well, Y/N had a temper of her own, and after stewing in her rage all night, she was ready to yell at Steve for any reason. “Fuck you! You can’t make me go, Steve!” she sneered his name with so much disrespect, and Bucky only blinked once before Steve was on her, hand in her hair, dragging her out of bed. Her shrieks echoed throughout the apartment as Steve pulled her into the bathroom, and she scrambled behind him every step of the way, nails clawing at his wrist, trying in vain to keep up with his long strides.

He tossed her in the tub and twisted the shower knob with enough force to yank it off, and once cold water started to spray down on her, her yells only increased in volume, curse words and rude names sprinkled in liberally, language that they had rarely heard her use before.

“You fucking asshole, stop it! Let me go! I’m not going to the—"

Steve ignored the verbal onslaught, crouching down and trying to pull her clothes off. “Help me out, Buck,” Steve grunted when her flailing limbs became too much to handle. Bucky held her down, thwarting each attempted punch and kick, while Steve managed to get all of her clothes off. By the time she was nude, her face was flushed and angry tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Fuck both of you! You’re both bastards! I can’t believe I ever liked you—”

Steve silenced her by aiming the detachable showerhead directly at her face, making her cough and splutter as she got a lungful of water. It provided enough of a distraction for Bucky to start shampooing her hair while Steve scrubbed a bar of soap over her skin. All the while, her tears fell, but her tirade did not lighten between her sobs.

“This will be good for you in the long run,” Bucky said evenly as he washed her hair.

“No it won’t!” she growled, thrashing in their grip until Steve held her down with soapy hands, a bruising grip on her wrists.

“Calm the fuck down,” he grunted, “You’re going to the fucking funeral, you little brat, so help me—"

“You’re horrible!” she wailed, chest heaving as she gulped in more air. “You’re horrible, and despicable, and degenerate—and—and—and your mother would’ve been so disappointed in you Steve—”

Wasting no time, Steve silenced her with his fist against her face, something in between a punch and a slap that left her collapsed at the bottom of the tub, ears ringing, vision blacking out for a moment while she regained her wits.

Bucky pulled her back up, not to comfort her, but to continue bathing her. Rinsing his hands, he swiped his fingers against her aching cheek where Steve had left milky suds against angry red flesh, then continued scrubbing conditioner into her hair. “Tip your head back,” he instructed her, an impassive expression plastered on his face, guiding her head back with utilitarian movements. Not too gentle but not rough, either.

Towering above her, Steve met her gaze. She had never seen him look at her like that before—not just anger, but wrath and disgust written across his features. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother again.” His tone was low, threatening, and his eyes shone with hatred or tears or something else she couldn’t tell.

He stormed out of the bathroom then, and she resumed crying, silently this time.

Bucky didn’t have much sympathy for her, not when she delivered such a low blow. He continued his soothing actions of rinsing out her conditioner, then grabbed the bar of soap to continue washing her body. “You shouldn’t have mentioned his mother.”

I know, she thought. “I don’t care,” she replied with a sullen sniffle, taking the soap bar from him.

“Can you do this yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gritted. “You can leave.”

“Don’t take too long.”

As she scrubbed her skin with the soap, shivering from the frigid temperature of the water, she thought about what might happen at the funeral.

The Catholic traditions her family subscribed to mandate a wake, which was to take place that morning. Then the hour-long Mass to follow, and then the funeral afterwards. There would be so many people from the mob there—they would probably be the only ones in attendance, in fact.

Her father’s parents were no longer alive, and he had no siblings or other family. Her mother wouldn’t be there, of course—and her mother had no family left that cared about Obadiah.

Aside from the mob, who else did Obadiah have?

She didn’t want to see any of the mob, especially not for these funeral proceedings that would take hours. Her father had somehow betrayed them, and then they arranged for his death. Where did that leave her?

It was sure to be long, and tortuous, and painful, and…

Well, she had no intention of going either way.

She turned up the hot water and sat back, letting the stream warm her up and relax her muscles.

Twenty minutes passed and she still hadn’t come out or even turned off the shower, and Bucky was starting to get anxious again. Steve, on the other hand, was seething as Bucky tied his tie for him, a half-Windsor knot tied to perfection.

“Some nerve she has,” he hissed, every muscle in his body tensed up in the effort not to punch something—again. He had put a hole through the kitchen drywall after exiting the bathroom. “What’re we gonna do with her, Buck?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed as he tightened the knot up to Steve’s throat. “But now is not the time. We just need to get through this funeral—that’s it.”

“Well if she doesn’t come out soon, we’re going to be late.”

“I’m sure she’d be pleased with that,” Bucky muttered, leaving Steve’s bedroom and approaching the bathroom door. “Honey, time’s up,” he called, knocking gently on the wood. When he tried to open it, it was locked. There was no answer from her.

“Tony’s on his way,” Steve said, coming out of his bedroom, tapping on his phone. “She ready?”

“She locked herself in.”

Steve’s phone might have cracked from the force he gripped it at that news, face flushing again with anger. With how many mood swings he was having in that morning alone, Bucky wondered if he should be worried for Steve’s blood pressure. Steve stormed up to the bathroom door and practically pressed himself flat against it. “Y/N!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door, the wood rattling against the doorframe. “Open up this door, now! You’re in big fucking trouble!”

Still no response.

Big fucking Trouble—with a capital T.

A stifling panic began to creep over Bucky, a fleeting concern that maybe she had done something—something thoughtless, although she had never had a propensity for self-harm, these were dire times and God knows what was going through her mind—

Steve was yelling again—had never really stopped. “Answer me or I’m gonna break this fucking door down and—”

“Leave me alone!” came her despaired cry. “Go to the funeral without me, I’m not going!”

Relief flooded through Bucky’s mind, thankful at least that the worst-case scenario hadn’t happened.

“You little bitch, you are not going to ruin this today!” Just as Steve reared back to burst through the door, Bucky placed a calming hand on his back. “Steve, let’s just wait for Tony. Maybe he can talk some sense into her.”

“He can try…” Steve grumbled, turning around and storming into the kitchen. “I need a drink…”

“Yeah you do,” Bucky said under his breath. Steve didn’t hear. Bucky felt like he needed a drink, too.

It was only 8:30 a.m.

About ten minutes passed before the buzzer rang, and Bucky let Tony up promptly.

Tony let himself into the house. “How’s she doing?” he asked in a hushed voice. Then he registered the sound of water from the bathroom. “Wait—is she in the shower? She’s not ready yet?” Steve handed Tony a glass of scotch and poured himself another glass. Tony glanced between the glass, Steve’s expression (which could only be described as royally pissed off), and the bathroom door. “What the fuck is going on?”

“She’s being uncooperative,” Bucky said.

Steve snorted. “Uncooperative is putting it lightly. She’s a downright nightmare.”

“She’s being a little combative, using some vulgar language—”

“A little?” Steve rolled his eyes.  “Listen, she’s refusing to go to the damn funeral, and she locked herself in the bathroom.”

“Oh boy.” Tony sighed, drained his scotch, and rubbed a hand down his face. Then he moved towards the bathroom door, muttering to himself. “It’s only eight in the morning and I already have to deal with this shit. Should’ve known Obadiah Stane’s funeral couldn’t go smoothly. He always manages to fuck something up, even in the afterlife.”

Then he knocked gently on the door. “Hey kid, it’s Tony.”

“Go away!” The girl inside shouted, and something thumped against the door, like she had thrown something against it. Bucky thought it sounded like a shampoo bottle.

“Jesus,” Tony muttered, glaring at the other men in the room. “You really worked her up, didn’t you?”

Steve pointed his finger accusingly at the door. “She’s a fucking brat. You try to control her and see if it turns out any better.”

Tony rolled his eyes, then knocked again, harder. “Listen, you’re gonna turn the water off and put on some clothes and then we’re going to have a nice long chat about your behavior. If you don’t come out in the next two minutes, I’m busting this door down and I know you don’t want me to see you naked. So hustle.”

Much to the surprise of all the men in the room, the running water ceased, and a few minutes later, she came out, hair wrapped in a towel and body wrapped in Bucky’s flannel robe. It was way too big for her, the hem dropping to the floor, the sleeves encompassing her hands. Bucky would’ve thought she looked cute if she didn’t look like a tea kettle ready to boil over.

“I’m not going to that man’s funeral, and you can’t make me.”

Tony sighed. “Can we skip all the ‘he’s not my father’ bullshit and get straight to the point? There are people from the mob expecting you there to represent your family. This funeral means more than just you, so you’re going to stop being an insolent brat and get ready to go. We’re already going to be late for the wake.”

She laughed, mean and cruel and so unlike the girl they knew. “I’m fresh out of fucks to give about what the mob expects from me. I expected both my parents to be here for me as I’m growing up, but that’s not possible anymore, so.”

“You think you’re the only person in the mob with a tragic backstory? Abusive, absent parents? Parents dying? Read the room, kid.”

She glanced at all three men, anger flowing out of their eyes.

Tony continued. “You have a responsibility to the mob. We’re your family and we always will be—you can’t escape it, so put on your big girl panties and your funeral dress so we can get to the church on time!”

She sneered. “You’re not my family. And I have no responsibility to you.” Then she retreated into Bucky’s bedroom. Tony followed quickly and caught the door as she tried to slam it shut.

“Get out!”

Tony was getting desperate. “What will it take to get you to go to this funeral? I’ll literally give you anything you want.”

Her eyes lit up with something, and Tony knew he was speaking her language. Spoiled and pampered her entire life (with mob money, Tony restrained himself from pointing out), bargaining was the only way to get her to cooperate, especially with such a large-scale tantrum as this.

“I want to go to NYU.”

Well, Steve and Bucky didn’t like that.

“That’s completely out of the question!”

“How the hell are we supposed to protect you if you’re off in Manhattan?”

Her retort was sharp and bitter, “Oh and you’ve been doing such a good job of protecting me now? I’m gonna have a bruise on my face from your fist, Steve, or did you conveniently forget about that once Tony arrived?”

Tony groaned, rubbing his temples, then ushered her into the bedroom. “Can’t fucking think with you children shouting at each other!” He forcefully pushed her on the bed and she bounced a little as he began to pace around the room. “So they’ve been hitting you? That’s why you want to go to NYU?”

She swallowed down her nerves and glared at him. “I have a scholarship, Tony—I’m not just going to throw it away!”

Tony shook his head. “Your father was never going to let you go. He was going to marry you off to someone in another gang.”

She smiled, bitter. “I’m not surprised. But now he’s out of the picture. I’m 18, Tony, I can do whatever I want.” When Tony didn’t answer, she frowned. “Unless you were planning on doing that exact same thing?”

He shook his head. “Not to just anyone. You already seem to get along with Steve and Bucky. What about one of them?”

She shook her head, vehemence leaving her tone and desperation taking its place. “No, Tony, please don’t make me marry them! I couldn’t live with that!”

“That’s a little dramatic. You know, a few slaps and punches are less than what a lot of mob wives get. Your own mother included.”

“It’s not just that!” She exclaimed before she could think better if it and shut her mouth.

Tony waited for her to elaborate. “What else could it possibly be?”

She shook her head, then laughed. “I know they helped kill him. My father. I can’t marry the men who did that.”

Tony sighed and sat next to her on the bed. “You know, they technically didn’t kill him. They were just the lookout—“

“Oh, don’t try to rationalize it, Tony! They participated in the murder of my father—“

“Oh, so he’s your father now? What happened to all that crap about your biological father?”

Fed up, she jumped up from the bed and faced him, yelling out, “I refuse to live with murderers, Tony! That’s where I draw the line!”

Then it was quiet, and they both knew that Steve and Bucky likely heard her outburst.

Tony finally broke the silence. “NYU? Really?”

“Yes. I want to go to NYU and live in Manhattan. And if you don’t accept these terms,” she thought for a moment, “I’m going to make such a big scene at the funeral that you’re going to wish I had just stayed home.”

Well. He didn’t really have a choice, now did he?

Chapter Text

The wake was tedious. As soon as they got to the funeral home, crowds of people lined up to offer their condolences. Y/N, dressed in a sweet little black dress with cap sleeves, opaque black tights, hair pulled back with shiny barrettes, was a perfect little doll to receive her father’s mourners.

She stood at the entrance of the small chapel. Pym & van Dyne Funeral Home was owned by Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne, two of the oldest associates of the mob. Y/N didn’t know exactly what they did for the mob, but she had to assume that dead bodies were involved.

The body in question, her own father’s, was at the front of the chapel, his casket surrounded by people. As she had expected, all of the attendees were part of the mob. Tony had parked her in the doorway of the chapel to receive them, to listen to the kindhearted words and sad cadence and see their sorry eyes looking back at her.

They all wanted him dead. She knew it. It made dealing with all this bullshit that much harder.

Their words grated on her mind.

I’m sorry for your loss.

How are you holding up?

Is there anything we can do for you?

And she had to perform to them just as well as they did. A sad little smile. Soft tone and feeble words. Wiping away a tear every now and then. Playing the part of the mob’s little doll. Their crown jewel, ignorant to her father’s horrific crimes and the circumstances of his death. Nobody to protect her anymore.

Her eyes were vacant and her smiles were fake. Anyone who really looked could see it. Not that her audience did.

The casket drew her attention again and again. She hadn’t gone up there yet—hadn’t seen him. She didn’t want to. Her stomach felt like it was going to eject itself from her body whenever she thought about it.

“Here, honey, we brought this tuna casserole,” one of the mob wives said, pressing a Pyrex dish into her hands. “I’ll need the bakeware back once you’re done, if you don’t mind.”

Y/N looked at the dish, covered with aluminum foil. She forced a smile. I don’t want your shitty tuna casserole.  “Thank you, Jane. Thor.”

Thor placed an enormous hand on her shoulder in a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting. “Little one, if you need anything, we are here for you,” She drooped under the weight of his touch.

They moved on, and she looked back at the casserole.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

She looked up, blinking back tears—where did those come from? Fortunately, they immediately dried up when she caught sight of Bucky and Steve staring at her from across the room.

Once she had made her arrangement with Tony, she had hurriedly gotten ready while Steve and Tony had a shouting match in the living room.

“She’s not going to NYU—how the fuck are we supposed to protect her?”

“Maybe she can commute—”

“To Manhattan?” Steve scoffed. “Every fucking morning? Twice a day? Not a chance. You think she’s taking the subway at night—you’re out of your goddamn mind!”

“Then she’ll have to move to Manhattan, Steve! Jesus! I can’t make everything perfect!”

“This is absurd! This is a death wish for her!”

“No one seems to be after her—”

“Not yet!”

“I’ll have men watching her as security—”

Bucky interjected for the first time, calmer than the other two. “We’re better security for her than anyone, Tony. You know we are.”

“At this point, I’m not too sure about that,” Tony snarked. “My guys aren’t gonna beat her and take her innocence, that’s for sure!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up with that!” Steve yelled. “We do not beat her—alright? I’ve hit her a few times when she deserved it—"

Tony cut him off. “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to handle her—and I was right. Wasn’t I?”

“No, you weren’t fucking right!”

“Maybe this is what’s best for her. To be on her own for a little while. Maybe it’ll make her appreciate the mob a little more.”

She hadn’t seen so much as heard the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. “Steve,” Bucky sighed, exasperated. “Really?”

And then she heard Steve’s voice, strained and tight. “If she can find a way to pay for tuition, and if she can find suitable housing. Okay? If she can do that, then she can go to NYU.”

A long pause, and then Tony said, “That’s fair. You’ve got a deal.”

Steve snorted. “You really think she’s ever gonna be able to afford an apartment in Greenwich Village?”

Well, Y/N had scoffed at that and gotten right back to layering on mascara. Challenge accepted. 

The car ride to the funeral home had been tense, and Steve had resolutely ignored her the entire way. Even Bucky hadn’t seemed very happy with her, but it was more in a kicked puppy kind of way that almost made her feel bad.

Until she remembered that he helped kill her father.

Once they got to the wake, the boys mingled with a few people and then disappeared with Sam and Natasha. She lost track of them after that.

Until now.

They stood by the refreshments table, each holding a few vanilla sandwich cookies and little plastic cups of pink lemonade. Whoever had provided the refreshments had not done well by her father—especially with all the money that she suspected this funeral home regularly laundered.

Steve was glaring at her, and Bucky was looking at her with an unreadable expression. Somehow sad and angry and something else—he was closing off, she could tell, upset by her choices.

Well, tough . She was 18 years old—she could make her own decisions. And she had decided that she wasn’t going to let delinquent men embedded in organized crime run her life anymore.

She turned away from their intense stares. Part of her was wary about what they were planning to do to her. What could they do, though? She had Tony on her side.

For the rest of the wake, she held onto that damn casserole. At least it prevented her from having to shake everyone’s hands or give them hugs as they greeted her.

Slowly, all the people filtered out. Steve and Bucky’s eyes still bore into her back, she could feel it, but soon, the chapel was almost empty.

Tony approached her. “Whatcha got there, kiddo?”

“Tuna casserole.”

His brow quirked. “Ah. Hmm. Why?”

She shrugged.

“Have you gone up to see him?”

“Nope.”

“You should.”

“Um. No thanks.”

“Here, I’ll take that.” He took hold of the Pyrex dish and pulled, but she wouldn’t let it go. “Hon. Give me the casserole.” A few more tugs and she finally relinquished it, only because she didn’t want tuna and cream of mushroom soup all over her dress.

Tony breathed out a sigh and motioned to the casket with the casserole. “Go.”

Looking around, she realized she was surrounded by men trying to strongarm her into doing things she didn’t want to do. Steve, Bucky, and Rhodes were all in the room for backup. All bigger and stronger than her, all probably packing guns in the waistbands of their pants. Great.

She swallowed the taste of bile. “Fine.”

She approached the casket slowly, dragging her feet, her heart pounding harder with each step. It felt like she had swallowed a bowling ball.

A shuddering breath released from her lips when she got to the edge.

He looked almost the same. That was the most shocking part. It looked like he could be alive, if not a little sick, like he had the flu.

Veins jarringly blue underneath thin, waxy white skin. Deep bags underneath his eyes. The smell of antiseptic coming off his body—almost like vodka, if she stretched her imagination.

It made her sick, regardless.

She waited.

She didn’t know what to expect. She was almost waiting for him to open his eyes, look at her, say it was all fake. Maybe he faked his death. That would make sense—right? That’s something he could do as a mob leader, wasn’t it?

He stayed still. He wasn’t coming back.

It was foolish to think he would.

She took a deep breath. Was she supposed to speak to him? She wasn’t sure how this worked.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said. She reached out and touched his suit, his satin tie, perfectly knotted, the handkerchief in his pocket. “You’re not my father. I know that now. Great timing, right?” Her fingers trailed up and ran over his jaw. His skin was ice cold and she withdrew her hand quickly. “Well. I don’t know what I would say to you if you were alive. I’d ask why you did all this. And you would say some bullshit like you wanted to protect me. And that wouldn’t give me any real closure about why you’re a terrible man.”

She sniffed, wondering for a moment if she was being too crass for a funeral home. But when she looked back at Tony, he nodded at her, encouraging.

 “I get really mad about it sometimes. I get really mad about a lot of things sometimes. But when I get mad, I know I would never hurt anyone like you did to me and Mom. You’ve done a lot of shit. And now I don’t know how to feel about it, or you, or anyone. And—I don’t know. That’s kind of fucked up.

“Can you even hear me now? Is this how this kind of thing works? Are you in Hell, like the Bible says? Or is that all fake?” She laughed, bitter. “What’s the point of any of this?”

Then she turned around and walked right out of the chapel.

The car ride to the church was somehow more awkward than the one to the funeral home.

“That wasn’t how I expected that to go,” Tony said when they stopped at a light.

“What did you expect me to say?” she asked, staring out the window. She was in the passenger seat. Steve and Bucky were in the back, and she could still feel them looking at her. “Did you want me to have a heart to heart with his dead body and forgive him for all his sins? I can’t do that. Only God can.”

Steve snorted, and she turned to scowl at him. He held her gaze, expression not angry now, but almost mocking. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Thankfully, they pulled up to the church seconds later, and Y/N shot out of the car and up the steps before he could say anything.

The church had always provided her a sense of calm. Peace, and tranquility—a constant in her life. Mass every Sunday, church choir, volunteer events on Saturday mornings, and the entire church community she had grown up with. It had always been a place where she could go for refuge, particularly when her father was dealing with business and Steve and Bucky weren’t available. It was her last resort, but a comforting one, nonetheless.

Now, as she stepped into the chapel, she felt conflicted. All of the events of the past week came flooding back into her mind—namely the premarital sex, which the nuns at her school along with her priest had always warned her against. She used to meet every week with the youth group at the church and talk about saving virginity for marriage—but now, that life seemed so far away. She wasn’t the same girl anymore.

Her parents were gone, her best friends were murderers, and incidentally, they had also taken her virginity—forcefully, at that.

As she sat in the front row next to Pepper, the hard wood of the pew dug into the flesh of her backside—another painful reminder of her depraved transgressions. It no longer stung like it had that night—for the past two days, it had been an incessant ache, a fresh bruise that wouldn’t heal. The flesh was colored black and purple with splotches of broken red, tender and swollen to the touch. Now, the dull ache thrummed on her flesh and down her thighs, and she sat straight, still, embracing the pain rather than flinching away from it.

It allowed her something to focus on throughout the sermon. The words that the priest spoke were meaningless to her now. She didn’t want to listen about how Heaven had gained a good soul, or how Obadiah would be missed, or how we must believe in the resurrection of Jesus, or that we may reunite with our loved ones in the afterlife. She knew the truth—that her father had sinned beyond redemption and if any of this was true, he would be in Hell.

Somehow, she managed to dissociate throughout the remainder of the sermon until she felt Pepper’s hand on her shoulder.

“Time for the Eucharist, honey,” she said gently. “Come on.”

She received the body and blood of Christ with a blank expression, chewing the dry wafer with a clenched jaw, barely tasting the wine as she sipped from the priest’s chalice. She didn’t see the pitying expressions the priest and the rest of the congregation gave her as she walked back to her seat. She didn’t realize how well she was acting the role of the grieving daughter.

Muscle memory guided her through the rest of the funeral, as she recited the prayers and rites by heart, the wooden kneeler of the pew digging sharp into the bones of her knees, before her feet led her behind the coffin as they brought it to the graveyard behind the church.

It was a beautiful day—sunny and bright, one of the last warm days before autumn. She focused on how the sun felt on her skin while they said the last prayers, the Rite of Committal, and then Tony was taking her hand, leading her to the grave after it was lowered into the ground.

Following his lead, she took a handful of dirt. Before sprinkling it onto her father’s coffin, she stopped, paused to think, to take one last look and commit the sight to memory.

And then the dirt slipped through her fingers, sifting down onto the wooden casket with a whisper.

She was tired. They were back at the Brooklyn house she grew up in for the memorial service, the imposing brownstone that contained nothing but bitter memories. Everything looked the same—and she had only been gone for two days, so she should have expected as much.

So she sought refuge in the kitchen, away from the crowd. There was so much food. Not just Jane’s tuna casserole, but baked ziti, devilled eggs, blueberry muffins, macaroni and cheese, tiny meatballs, two huge Edible Arrangements. 

How could anyone eat? How was anybody hungry at a time like this?

She slumped down on the kitchen table, remembering when her life was normal, and her mother and father would come downstairs and eat breakfast with her, and then she would run off to school and she didn’t have to worry that her father was a mob boss.

Those days were long passed. She felt empty, knowing that her life would never be like that again. What was left for her now?

There was NYU, she reasoned—if Tony kept his promise, that is. But she needed a way to pay for it. Her biological father had left her money in his will—and from what she had seen, it would be enough to cover at least one year of college—she hoped.

And then she needed housing. That would be trickier.

As if God was listening to her, a saving grace walked into the kitchen at that exact moment. 

Wanda’s eyes lit up when she saw Y/N and she rushed over to the kitchen table. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I didn’t get a chance to see you at the wake.” Wanda enveloped her in a hug, her warmth and her scent washing over her, vanilla and oranges. Then she pulled back, looking over Y/N’s gaunt face and tired eyes. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know how to feel.”

Wanda nodded. “That’s normal. You’re grieving.” She paused, and frowned. “Have you eaten?” The look on her face gave her away—Wanda always could see right through her. “I’ll make you something.”

Y/N focused on the sounds of Wanda moving through the kitchen, even while her thoughts raced through her mind. Should she room in the dorms? Or get an apartment? What could she afford? She had no idea about any of this stuff, so sheltered throughout her life that she had no frame of reference for the cost of rent or how to acquire housing in the first place.

“Here.” Before she realized how much time had passed, Wanda was placing a mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of baked ziti on the table in front of her. “Eat.”

“I’m not that hungry, Wanda—”

“You’ll be hungrier once you start eating.” The look on Wanda’s face left no room for arguments. They sat in silence as Y/N ate for the first time in days—and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She was ravenous, almost choking on the noodles with how fast she ate it. Grieving and crying all the time really did work up an appetite.

Once she was done, Wanda got her a second helping, and she went through that one slower, taking her time to savor the flavor. Finally, she felt up to talking. “This is really good.”

“Natasha made it.”

“Oh. How are things going with you two?”

“Good. I’m gonna miss her when classes start next week.”

Then a connection sparked in her brain—the missing connection, the one she had been looking for. Wanda was going to NYU! How could she have forgotten?

“Wanda!” she gasped.

Wanda looked startled, eyes scanning for anything wrong. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to NYU, right?”

“Yeah?”

Y/N clutched Wanda’s hands and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tony said I could go to NYU! He’s letting me go—and I need your help!”

Wanda squealed, “Y/N! That’s so exciting—”

Y/N clamped her hand over Wanda’s mouth. “Shhh! We need to keep quiet about this!”

“Why?” Wanda’s voice was muffled behind her palm.

“Bucky and Steve don’t want me to go,” she explained, and a realization washed over Wanda’s face. “They said they would let me go if I could pay for it and if I could find housing. But I don’t think they expect me to be able to do it—so they’re not going to let me go if they can help it.”

Wanda nodded and Y/N’s hand slipped away from Wanda’ mouth. “They’ll probably do whatever they can to get in your way,” Wanda said, voice quiet.

“Exactly.”

“Listen—there’s student loans. It might be tough and you’ll be paying them off forever, but—”

“I have money,” Y/N cut her off. “A lot of it.”

Wanda grimaced. “I heard Natasha talking—the FBI is probably going to repossess all your dad’s money. We need a plan B.”

“I have a plan B,” Y/N insisted. Then she finished off the last few bites of ziti and stood. “Follow me.”

They slipped out of the kitchen through the back staircase and snuck upstairs to the hallway outside of her parent’s room. Y/N pulled the string for the attic and hoped that nobody heard the squeaking sound of the stairs pulling out, or their dull footsteps thudding as they climbed into the attic.

“There it is,” Y/N said, walking over to the stack of photos and papers. Everything was exactly like she had left it the other night before Steve had dragged her out of the attic by her hair. “Look at this,” she whispered, kneeling down, dust covering the knees of her tights.

“What is—” Wanda kneeled down beside her. “Holy shit! That’s a lot of zeros!”

“I know!”

“It’s yours?”

“It was left to me by my biological dad.”

“What? Your biological dad?” Wanda looked ready to launch into a thousand questions.

“I’ll explain later,” Y/N cut her off hurriedly. “My mom said the bank account is already in my name and I can do what I want with it now that I’m 18. And the FBI won’t be able to take it away.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“Three days.” Y/N could have laughed at the shocked expression Wanda wore, but she had other concerns. “I need help figuring out if this is enough to cover tuition—”

“Oh, it’s more than enough,” Wanda laughed. She pulled out her phone and went to the calculator app. “Let’s see… It’s just enough to cover tuition for four years.”

“That’s convenient.”

“But probably not enough to cover other expenses—rent and food and stuff.”

“Oh. Well I don’t even know where I’m living yet. Maybe I can find somewhere cheap.”

Wanda grinned, and Y/N was starting to really like the gleam in her eye. “I have just the place for you.”

It was surprisingly easy to sneak out of the house and walk the three blocks to the subway, jump on the F train and take it all the way to 2 nd Avenue Station. Last time they came to Manhattan, Wanda had called an Uber, but this time, Wanda insisted on the subway.

“You’re gonna have to learn how to use public transportation if you’re gonna go to NYU,” she claimed as the train jostled through the underground tunnels towards Manhattan.

“Where are we even going?” Y/N asked, but Wanda only smirked.

“It’s a surprise!”

And it was quite a surprise when they got off and promptly walked five blocks east to a brick apartment building, not the newest or cleanest in the city, but not quite in disrepair either. Y/N was confused until Wanda pulled her up to the front entrance, took out a key from her pocket, and unlocked the front entrance.

“We’re all the way on the seventh floor!” Wanda said, “And the elevator doesn’t work!”

The seventh floor, as it turned out, was the top floor. Y/N barely registered this as they burst through the top stairwell into a dim hallway, clutching their sides.

“Aren’t you a pro-swimmer?” Wanda panted, “Shouldn’t you be used to cardio?”

Still breathing hard, she followed Wanda down the hallway. “I’ve been slacking all summer. I’ll be surprised if the NYU team still wants me.” The hallway was lined by exposed brick walls and shabby, pilled carpet that was once red but now matched the brown of the walls.

“You’re gonna love the place!” Wanda said, stopping in front of a door with a dull gold plaque reading 7C.

She unlocked the deadbolt and stepped inside the apartment. “So,” Wanda breathed, “This is the entrance! We have a kitchen and living room here.”

Calling it a kitchen and living room would be generous. It was an open space, crumbling brick walls, concrete floors, exposed pipes and beams in the ceiling. The kitchen was set along the wall to the right—a stove, fridge, sink, and one small area of counter space. A table was crammed up against the wall opposite, six mismatched wooden chairs around it. To the wall opposite the door was a sofa, the brown leather faded and worn. The space was so cramped, barely any room to walk around the furniture. A wrought iron beam was placed awkwardly between the living room and kitchen, and next to the sofa there was a ladder leading up to a loft area.

“It’s not much,” Wanda said with a small smile. “We’re still looking for furniture and decorations.”

“You live here with other people?”

Wanda nodded, “Yeah, other girls who are going to NYU! I met them through my friend Kate Bishop—you remember her, right? You met her at that party in Tribeca, remember?”

Y/N vaguely recalled a girl with long black hair, bangs, telling her about her father’s publishing company in Manhattan. “Yeah, I think so. Who are the other girls?”

“There’s America and Kamala. They’re Kate’s friends—they’re really nice, you’ll like them a lot. We’ve actually been looking for a fifth roommate for a while now, so it’s really convenient that you need a place now.”

Wanda showed her the rest of the house—what little of it there was. There were four rooms and the loft. America had the biggest room—she was the one who had found the apartment in the first place. Kamala and Wanda both had the two other bedrooms, and Kate had chosen to make the loft her bedroom.

“It’s because the last bedroom—well—it’s kind of…” Wanda shrugged as they reached the end of the narrow hallway. “I’ll just show you.”

She opened the last door on the left, and led Y/N inside. To say it was small was an understatement. It was long and narrow, about the size of her walk-in closet in Brooklyn, barely any room for anything more than a bed. There wasn’t a closet or any lighting, but there was a window, and it barely let in enough natural light for the room.

“That window shares a fire escape with my room next door,” Wanda said. “This used to be a closet but when the owner was renovating, they turned it into a bedroom.”

A smirk played on Y/N’s lips. “The place is renovated?” She wouldn’t have guessed it from the stained concrete floors or the half-finished tiling in the bathroom or the exposed wires in the walls.

Wanda laughed. “Yeah, they didn’t get very far, clearly.” There was a pause as Y/N walked around the small bedroom. “What do you think?”

Their eyes met and she gave Wanda a wry grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll move in if you share some of your closet space with me.”

“It’s a deal!”

Before they left, Wanda helped Y/N figure out her expenses, showed her how to pay for her tuition online, and even helped her call the bank to get a debit card linked to the bank account.  

“So, your money will cover all four years of tuition, and barely enough for rent, but you’ll have to get a job to pay utilities and food.”

“Lucky that this place is so cheap. I just don’t know how I’ll have time for a job.”

“Well, look around at some openings—there’s a ton right now since the semester is about to start. You’ll find something, I know it. I’ll help you apply for more scholarships, too.”

They grinned at each other. “Thanks for helping me with this, Wanda. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Wanda scoffed. “You’d probably be paying $4,000 for a one-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village, that’s what.”

That sent them both into a fit of giggles, and when their laughter died down, they leaned against each other, sitting on the leather couch. “I don’t want to go back,” Y/N said.

“Well, we have to get your stuff and move it here.”

“Yeah… what are the logistics of that? How are we going to get any of my furniture here?”

Wanda shrugged. “We’ll take my car and fit as much stuff as we can into it. We’ll come back if we need to.”

And so it was settled, Y/N would move into the tiny fifth bedroom, and she would go to NYU, and she would finally be free of Steve and Bucky.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tony asked sternly when Wanda and Y/N arrived back at the house. They had been gone for about three hours by then, and most of the people have left, only a few upper members of the mob remaining—to include Bucky and Steve.

The boys had realized she was gone a few hours ago, and Steve had been chain smoking Parliaments while Bucky made his way through the entire tuna casserole, barely containing their rage and anxiety, respectively. By the time they returned, Steve was a few drinks in—at Tony’s insistence, who had been quite literally unable to deal with Steve’s uncontrolled anger suffocating everyone else in the room.

“I went to look at an apartment. I’m moving in with Wanda,” she answered simply before turning her back on him and heading upstairs. Wanda followed her, their hands full of flattened boxes for moving.

With her back turned, she didn’t see the way Bucky’s jaw dropped at the mention of her moving out, nor how Steve’s face began to turn maroon with pending rage.

As soon as they reached her bedroom, the pounding of footsteps up the stairs could be heard, and then Steve, Bucky, and Tony all crowded into her room, all different shades of shocked.

“You found an apartment?” Tony asked, disbelieving.

“Yep.”

“How the hell do you expect to pay for it? Or tuition, for that matter?” Steve demanded.

Y/N leveled him with a cool look. “My biological father left me money. It’s all in my name.” She walked up slowly to him until they were almost touching. “I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me. I’m not going to let you control my life anymore.”

She was surprised she was able to say it so calmly, unphased. Inside, she was shaking, a ball of nerves in her throat, pulse pounding in her neck.

It was silent then, and everyone waited for Steve to respond. His eyes narrowed at her, a sneer coming over his face. His hands clenched into fists and he moved to touch her, but he stopped himself with an incredible show of self-restraint. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, in and then out. “Is this really what you want?” he asked, every muscle stiff with tension.

“Yes,” she answered. “And I want you to leave me alone.”

His eyes opened, narrowing in on her, lips curling into a snarl. “And what if I don’t want to do that?”

She gulped and said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll call the police.”

He laughed. “You think that’s really gonna make a difference, sweetheart? You think the NYPD can stop me?” His warm breath and the smell of whiskey hit her nose when he spoke. She cringed away for a moment before drawing herself back up to full size, not allowing him to intimidate her. 

“It will if I tell them all about how you participated in my dad’s murder. Everything I heard you say, everything I know about it.”

“You don’t have any evidence.” 

Tony interjected then, exasperation mixed with exhaustion written in his tone, all over his face. This entire week, with Stane’s arrest, his death, arranging his funeral and then dealing with the breakup of the Three Amigos—it had all worn on him, broken him down, and he had no strength left for it. He had sworn to Obadiah that he would protect his daughter, and the safest place for her was probably NYU, away from the mob, away from other gangs. Plus, she was so determined to go, what could he really do to stop her?

“Jesus Christ, Rogers—let it go. She’s going. It’s done. I really don’t want the police poking around us more than they have to. Leave her alone—and that’s an order. Got it?”

Steve glanced between Tony and the girl in front of him, before sending a scathing glare her way and finally, stepping back, turning away, and stomping downstairs. They heard the front door slam closed, and then she felt like she could breathe.

Bucky, who had been watching the entire exchange with a pained look on his face, stepped up to her. “You’re really doing this?”

“Yes.” She looked at him impassively, uncaring.

“You don’t—” But he didn’t know what to say. He was beginning to realize just how far they had pushed her. They had caused this—with their actions against both her and her father. And he had done nothing to stop Steve from hurting her, nor had he done enough to comfort her in the aftermath of her parents abandoning her.

This was who she was now. She wanted to be alone now, and he needed to let her.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that she hated him now, and that he could do nothing to change that fact. For the last time, he leaned forward, placed a tender kiss on her cheek, surprised that she didn’t push him away. When he pulled back, he thought he saw something in her eyes, but the flash of warmth was quickly replaced by her cold gaze once again. It felt like sandpaper when he swallowed, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the tightening in his throat. 

There was a hoarseness in his voice when he said, “Call me if you need anything, doll.”

And with that, he turned away and left, wondering if he would ever see her again.

Chapter Text

Steve awoke early that morning from restless dreams, visions that haunted him inside and outside of sleep. His mother. Peggy. Bucky. His girl.

Their girl.

He hadn’t seen her in days—not since the funeral.

Part of him seethed when he thought about it, muscles tense, fists clenched. Another part of him, however—another part of him felt broken, chest and throat tightening, skin buzzing with pain.

It was a visceral response, either way, but he was more inclined to block out the sadness in favor of rage. He had broken knuckles and a bloody lip to attest to that.

 “Time to wake up, sunshine!” Sam’s voice rang through the small Brooklyn apartment.

Steve sat up and looked around. He realized quickly that he wasn’t in his own bed—he wasn’t in a bed at all, actually, but instead on Sam’s sofa. Sam was in the kitchen, a metallic clang against plastic echoing in the living room as he shook a protein bottle around.

“What time is it?” Steve asked. He went to rub his eyes and flinched when a sharp sting spread through his skin, mixing with the dull ache of a bruise.

“Almost ten,” Sam answered. “Want a protein shake?”

“Sure,” Steve grunted and stood up, stretching out his aching limbs. He was shirtless and he could see more purple mottling on his stomach, around his ribs.

Sam handed him the protein shake and nodded to his injuries. “How ya feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over,” Steve mumbled. He popped open the protein bottle and took a sip, cringing at the taste of watery vanilla—made with rice milk, no doubt, part of Sam’s new health kick.

Sam chuckled and went back into the kitchen. “Not a truck, no. But Rumlow wasn’t going easy on you last night.”

Steve groaned at the memory. He didn’t know if the throbbing in his head was from his hangover or his concussion.

Sam continued, “Still, man, congrats. Rumlow didn’t make it an easy win, but you managed it!”

The memories from last night flooded his mind. It wasn’t too different a night from the entire past week. There was an underground fight club they frequented in Brownsville, one that Steve participated in every so often. He hadn’t fought much for the past year—not since meeting Peggy—but now with so much built up anger and frustration over everything that had happened in the days leading up to the funeral, he needed to release his emotions somehow.

Fighting worked wonders for his excess energy.

He had fought every night that last week, and he had won every single match. Last night, he fought Brock Rumlow—one of the mobsters from Hydra, whose territory mostly spanned the other side of the Hudson despite their slow encroachment on New York City. Beating Rumlow to a pulp the previous night had not only won Steve ten grand, but it also established the dominance of the Brooklyn Mob over Hydra—informally, at least.

Steve finished off the protein shake and set the bottle on the kitchen counter.

“Feel free to take a shower, man,” Sam said, “You stink like shit and you got blood on my throw pillow.”

He glanced to the couch where his head had been resting, indeed finding dark brown stains of dried blood on the square pillow there. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that. I’ll just—” Steve motioned to the bathroom and got on his way.

“And Buck’s gonna be here in a few. We’re going out to breakfast—wanna come?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve mumbled, then shut himself behind the bathroom door. As he showered, wincing from the hot water running through the cuts on his face, he readied himself for Bucky’s arrival.

Things were tense between the two men since Y/N had decided to leave. Bucky wasn’t doing well with it—eating his feelings and drinking away the pain at night. He knew Bucky blamed him, and he knew he was falling back into old habits like drinking and partying. Not that Steve was doing much better. He drank just as much, his smoking had doubled, and of course the bruising on his face spoke for itself.

But he didn’t know what to do, or why he felt this way. The past year when he had been staying away from Y/N, focusing instead on the mob and Peggy—that had been fine. He had been fine.

But now…

He ran his hands down his face, rubbing soap into the lacerations until it burned so bad, the pain was all he could think of.

When he got out, he dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that Sam had left out for him before slicking his hair back to the best of his ability and running his knuckles against his jaw. He was getting a little scruffy, not having shaved for a few days, but the hair did a little bit to hide the bruising on his jaw and the cut on his chin from his fight two nights ago with one tough bastard named Wade Wilson.

As he entered the living room, he saw Bucky and Natasha sitting on the couch with Sam.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted his friend with a clap on the shoulder, pretending not to notice when he shied away. “Nat. Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Buck stayed at my place last night so he invited me.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t know what Bucky was up to lately, but now he wondered if he was back with Natasha… But Natasha was with the Maximoff girl… Right?

“You look like shit,” Bucky commented dryly.

“Yeah, Rogers, what happened?” Natasha asked, a smirk playing on her red lips.

When Steve ignored her, Sam answered, “He dragged Brock Rumlow across the ring last night.”

“Brownsville?” Bucky asked, turning in his seat to look at Steve, brows furrowing as he took in Steve’s full appearance, bruises, cuts, and all.

“Yeah,” Steve grunted, putting on his sneakers. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about it—not before a cup of coffee, at least. “Can we go now? I’m starving.”

It didn’t take long to walk to Coulson’s, only a few blocks down. The diner was a staple for them—they had been going there since high school for late night burgers and milkshakes, and Bucky realized that despite all of the stress from the last few weeks, his and Steve’s tumultuous relations with Y/N, some things never change.

He had to admit his annoyance and anger with Steve and how they had handled everything. Bucky didn’t think he himself was blameless—he acknowledged his own part, not supporting their girl enough, not being perceptive enough to realize how she was suffering. He wouldn’t apologize for punishing her when she deserved it, but he was sorry for everything else.

It was driving him crazy. He wished he could tell her this—beg for forgiveness—but he didn’t know how.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake,” Bucky said, looking over the menu. “And a BLT. And fries.”

Sam raised his eyebrows from across the table. “That all?”

“I’ll have a side salad, too. Dressing on the side.”

“You’re a beast, Barnes.”

Steve stayed silent through the exchange, only speaking to order a breakfast spread and a coffee. He remained as such throughout most of breakfast, even as the others made conversation; how Sam’s latest fling with a girl from the Bronx was going, the latest Giants game, and construction for the Manhattan location of the Widow’s Web. Only once Steve had finished his first cup of coffee did he speak at all.

After Natasha mentioned her relationship with Wanda, Steve asked, “She’s still working at the Web?”

Natasha nodded, eyes lighting up with amusement as if she could see where Steve’s train of thought was going. She was always able to see through him like he was made of plastic wrap. “Yeah, but it’s a pain for her to commute now that she moved into their new apartment.”

“Where is their apartment?” he asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

She scoffed, but the smirk on her lips told him she wasn’t annoyed with his query. “I don’t know if I should tell you, Rogers. I’m perfectly aware of how Y/N broke up with you—”

“She didn’t break up with me—”

One of her perfectly groomed eyebrows arched so high Steve thought it might detach from her forehead. “Oh? Well it sure seems like it.”

His voice strained with effort as he resisted the urge to yell at her, or punch something, or flip the table. He was working hard on not making scenes in public. “I’m not asking for the address. Just making conversation.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Right. Well it’s not too far from the university. Wanda said they can walk to class.”

“Classes have started already?” Bucky asked, eager to smooth over the tension still radiating from Steve.

“Yep,” Natasha popped her lips, that sly grin coming back. “And don’t ask me what classes your girl is taking—I have no idea about her.”

Steve rolled his eyes and mumbled into his coffee mug, “She’s not our girl…”

“Not anymore she’s not.”

“Nat.” Bucky sent her a look, not mean, but stern and exasperated as she tried to rile Steve up further. “Knock it off.”

 Steve looked at Bucky then, really looked at him—for probably the first time that entire morning. He took in the tight t-shirt Bucky wore, straining against his chest, the sleeves rolled up on his thick biceps. The man in front of him—the man he had known his entire life, who he had grown up with, who he had seen blossom from an awkward teenager into this beautiful man.

It wasn’t hard for Steve to admit that he missed him.

So things had been tense between them—Steve knew Bucky was mad at him, and Steve’s mood was rarely much better—but Steve missed Bucky. He knew Bucky would come around eventually. Not many things could get between their years of friendship.

Bucky held his gaze, wondering what Steve was thinking—and then Steve’s lips quirked up in a smirk behind his mug, his eyes sparkling with something suddenly.

Oh.

Well, Bucky was still a little pissed off, but he could work with that.

He was never good at holding a grudge, anyways.

Maintaining eye contact still, Bucky picked up his milkshake and wrapped his lips around the straw, taking a long sip and letting Steve observe the pucker of his red lips, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucked.

Steve licked his lips, mouth parted for a moment, entranced at the display, but their attention was diverted as the food arrived.

As Bucky started on his BLT, Natasha asked, “Buck, you coming to the party tonight?”

Bucky nodded, mouth full, and Steve asked, “What party?”

“A rave in East Village. Wanna come?”

Bucky swallowed and looked at Steve again—Steve, who was looking back at Bucky in an almost challenging way.

“Sure,” Steve said, surprising Bucky. “I’ll come.”

“Don’t need to go defend your title in Brownsville?” Bucky asked. Part of him still wanted to be angry at Steve. However, another part was excited for Steve to go tonight. He couldn’t remember the last time they had gone out together—it was before Y/N, maybe even before Peggy. Not that Bucky had been partying much the last few years after he got clean, but he was excited still. They could fool around like they used to, and it would be like old times.

Steve shrugged. “I think I’m done fighting. For now.”

Bucky snorted, but grinned at his friend. “You’re never done fighting, Stevie.”

It was later that night, almost midnight, when Steve saw Bucky outside of the nightclub in Manhattan, and he almost had an aneurysm at what he was wearing. A skintight silk button down shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, matched with the tightest jeans he owned. His hair was down, long at his shoulders, a piece braided in the front. Red lips slick with spit, skin a little shiny, it was clear that Bucky had already pre-gamed earlier with Natasha.

As they stood behind Natasha, who was whispering to the bouncer, saying some sort of magic words to gain them entry, Bucky slung his arm low around Steve’s waist, swaying on his feet a little.

Steve slid his arm around Bucky to steady him, and his body tingled at the feeling of Bucky’s slimmer frame against him. He had always loved being able to support Bucky like this, hold him up when he was drunk. Steve was always the skinnier one growing up until they finished high school and then somehow he grew taller and filled out.

Bucky always said he loved Steve either way, and he was the only one to love him when he was tiny.

“How much have you had to drink?” Steve murmured to him, voice a soft growl close to Bucky’s ear.

Bucky shuddered, his shoulders vibrating under Steve’s arm. “Maybe one or two martinis at the Widow’s Web.”

“One or two?”

“Or five.” Bucky shrugged. “You know me.”

“Yeah I do. All too well…” Steve trailed off as the bouncer ushered them inside.

It was packed, lights flashing green and blue. Streamers, bubbles, and glitter floated around in the air, giving the sense of being underwater. Go-go dancers stood around the crowd on pedestals, dressed in clamshell bras and tight scaly skirts. Heavy electronic music played, and Natasha led the boys through the throng of dancers up to the bar. She managed to get them drinks relatively quickly—even though the bar was crowded with people, the bartender seemed to recognize her and got her order together pretty quickly.

She got them all shots of tequila. Steve cringed at the taste; it reminded him of the last time he had drank tequila and the bad decisions that had come with it.

After two more tequila shots, Natasha was pulled away by somebody she knew, and then Steve felt Bucky tugging at his waist.

“Come dance, Stevie!”

Steve had no chance to respond before Bucky was pulling him onto the dancefloor, expertly weaving through the crowd and then grinding his ass against Steve.

Well, Steve wasn’t going to protest.

He hadn’t gotten off since before the funeral, and he hadn’t fucked Bucky in much longer, and he was getting that craving again. Bucky was always the perfect sub for him. Something Steve admired about Bucky was his ability to switch between roles so well.

Another thing Steve admired about Bucky was his tight little ass, which Bucky was grinding against Steve’s half-hard cock like he was being paid for it.

Steve’s hands settled on Bucky’s hips, gripping tightly and moving them as he pleased. Bucky’s back was pressed tight to Steve’s chest, and Steve’s lips skimmed his ear, his neck, his jaw, where he nipped harshly at the bone, eliciting a deep groan from Bucky that rumbled through Steve’s chest.

After a few songs, the tequila started to kick in, and Steve felt bolder. His hands wandered up and down Bucky’s sides, his chest, skimming across soft bare skin juxtaposed by coarse black chest hair. He took a handful of Bucky’s pec, squeezing, slipping underneath his soft shirt and pinching at his nipple.

“Missed you, Buck,” Steve groaned in response to Bucky’s breathy whimper.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped as the man behind him brought his other hand to cup Bucky’s growing erection through painfully tight denim. His hands worked Bucky’s chest and cock in tandem until Bucky was shuddering and shaking, turning around to face Steve. “C’mere—” Bucky muttered before crushing his lips to Steve’s.

The kiss was deep and filthy, tongues dragging against tongue and teeth, lips sucking apart with lewd sounds drowned out by the music. Their bodies gyrated against each other to the beat, Steve’s hands gripping Bucky’s ass in a bruising hold, keeping their cocks pressed against each other through two layers of denim. Bucky fisted Steve’s hair, ran his hands down Steve’s neck and back and then tucked up underneath his shirt, lying flat against heated skin, damp with sweat.

Steve sucked a bruise into Bucky’s neck, all teeth and harsh sucks, while Bucky ran his nails down Steve’s shoulders.

“Want you,” Steve breathed into Bucky’s ear.

“Then take me.”

Without any warning, Steve led them to the men’s room, shoving Bucky into a stall and dropping to his knees. His hands worked Bucky’s jeans off quickly, pulling them down his thick thighs.

“No underwear, Buck?” Steve smirked up at him. “Feeling hopeful tonight?”

Bucky snorted. “The way you were eyeing me at the diner earlier told me all I needed to know about how things would go tonight, Rogers. You’re not as slick as you—oh, God—” His insults were cut off as Steve suddenly took Bucky’s entire cock into his mouth, down to the root, nose buried in Bucky’s shaved pubic hair.

Another thing Steve admired about Bucky was that Bucky kept everything so soft and smooth down here. It made giving head a downright joy.

“Oh, Stevie, please, yes—” Bucky gargled, slanting his fingers through Steve’s hair and holding him there.

Steve pulled back and dipped his head down, licking down his long shaft, tonguing the join between his cock and balls, and then running his tongue all over his balls until they were dripping spit. Steve sucked one into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue as Bucky chanted pleas and praise, mind lost at the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his most sensitive area.

Maneuvering their bodies so Bucky was leaning against the stall wall, Steve encouraged Bucky to spread his legs as much as possible with the restraint of his jeans around his thighs, even yanking his pants further down to get Bucky’s legs as wide as they could go in this dirty club bathroom. Then, Steve dove in, starting again at Bucky’s balls, sucking and tonguing them, and then licking back around to Bucky’s taint and burying his face as far as he could between Bucky’s legs to lick at the rosebud between his cheeks.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky gasped raggedly, holding Steve’s hair with both hands and shoving.

It was an incredibly awkward position for Steve, face shoved into Bucky’s balls, mouth desperately trying to reach his asshole, chin absolutely soaked in saliva. One hand pumped Bucky’s cock and the other gripped his ass cheek, kneading and spreading them.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” Bucky canted his hips forward, trying to get more of Steve’s mouth on him. “More, Stevie, please—more—”

Steve pulled away, grinning at Bucky’s disgruntled whine. After a sharp smack to Bucky’s ass, he shoved at his hips. “Turn around and bend over, baby.” His voice was so rough and gravelly it made Bucky shiver.

Bucky obliged quickly, and Steve wasted no time in spreading Bucky’s ass and placing the width of his tongue over Bucky’s little pink asshole, letting the split that had collected in his mouth drip down his tongue and over Bucky’s rim and down his perineum, coating his balls in slick saliva.

Once Bucky’s hole was wet enough, Steve put his mouth fully over the puckered flesh, sucking at the rim hard. Bucky cried out, shoving his ass back into Steve’s face and reaching down to slowly stroke his own cock.

Next, Steve straightened his tongue and slowly breached Bucky’s entrance, letting Bucky’s flesh tense and relax around him. Meanwhile, Bucky kept up a string of pleas and cries, begging Steve for anything and everything.

“So good, Stevie, so fucking good—God—fuck!” Bucky growled. “Yesyesyes—please, Stevie—more—want your fingers—”

Steve could never deny Bucky.

Retracting his mouth, he sucked one finger into his mouth and covered it until it was dripping wet, then slowly entered Bucky’s hole, glistening with spit in the dim fluorescent light of the bathroom.

“You like that, baby?” Steve asked as he started fucking Bucky with his finger. “You like me licking out this sloppy little hole?”

“Steve—yes—fuck—”

“You like me eating you out on this dirty bathroom floor? You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you, Buck?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“You’re filthy, baby—fucking filthy for me—all for me, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie, only for you—please let me come—”

“Come for me, sweetheart—that’s right—” Steve leaned forward and licked around the finger pumping in and out of Bucky’s ass, reaching his other hand around to play with Bucky’s balls until he could feel them drawing up against his body. Bucky let out a few little moans, breathless and sweet, and then Steve felt the other man’s release dripping down onto his hand.

Bucky leaned against the stall, pressing his face against the cool metal, while Steve took away his finger and gave a few soft licks to Bucky’s rim. Then he stood up and slotted himself behind Bucky, kissing up and down his neck, sweeter and softer than he had any right to be after the depraved words he spoke.

Bucky slowly turned around, a little shaky on his feet and a little awkward with his pants still down. They kissed, sloppy and hot, until Bucky reached for Steve’s erection.

Steve stopped him with his hand that wasn’t covered in come. “I want to take you back home. Wanna come in your ass.”

Bucky groaned low in his throat and nodded, mouthing at Steve’s cheek and jaw. “Want that—yes—please, Steve—”

Steve chuckled and pulled away. He locked eyes with Bucky, keeping eye contact as he brought his hand up and licked the come off his fingers, sucking them into his mouth one at a time. “You always taste so good, Buck.”

He offered some to Bucky, and he took his fingers in between his plump red lips and sucked all of his own cream off, not blinking once as he worked.

Once they were cleaned up, Steve helped Bucky put his pants back on, and then kissed him once more. “Let’s go home.”

Later that night, as they cuddled in Bucky’s bed, Steve’s come still leaking out of Bucky’s ass, Bucky murmured into Steve’s shoulder. “We gotta get her back, Stevie.”

Steve sighed. He had thought the same thing a hundred times in the past week alone. “I know… But how?”

“I don’t know… But we have to figure it out.”

“Wait, wait—” Wanda grunted in the middle of the stairwell, between the fourth and fifth floors. “Wait! I said wait!”

All the girls around the dresser groaned. Two on one end and two on the other, Kate in the middle doing her best to keep the piece of furniture together, the girls paused their hefting and heaving at Wanda’s demand.

They had found the dresser on the curb two blocks down and had come too far to give up now—especially when dressers this size would usually cost upwards of three hundred dollars, more money than any of them had put together.

But moving furniture was never easy, not when the elevator was broken and they lived on the top floor.

“What?” Kate snapped, poking her knee forward to stop one of the dresser drawers from sliding out and falling through the stair rail and down four and a half floors. “Why are we stopping?”

A petulant whine came from Wanda’s throat. “I need a break!”

“Oh my God!” America moaned, “We’re almost there!”

“We’re only halfway there!” Wanda protested, gently setting the dresser down on the landing. “This thing is fucking heavy!”

“Are you seriously doing this?” Y/N asked, stationed right beside Wanda. She adjusted her grip on the dresser so it wouldn’t fall down and squash Kamala and America.

“I have no endurance, okay?”

“At least she admits it,” America muttered, and the girls huffed a laugh, too out of breath for much else.

Kamala groaned “We need to speed this along! I have a meeting with my advisor in forty minutes.”

“For what?” America asked.

“Changing some classes to fit my major.”

“What’s your major?” Y/N asked. She hadn’t yet gotten to know the other girls very well, only having lived with them for about a week. Classes were about to start and she was nervous enough—she hadn’t even thought about a major yet. It seemed like every time she turned a corner, there was another thing she was behind on.

And the list was mounting—she hadn’t done her FAFSA, hadn’t signed up to the bill sharing website they needed for utilities, hadn’t bought the required textbooks for her classes. She had only picked her classes a few days prior—and the pickings were slim so close to the start of the semester. The four classes she chose included a seminar, a class about ancient history, a chemistry course, and an introductory art class as an elective. While trying to find classes, she realized she knew almost nothing about anything, so she decided to try a well-rounded schedule of courses this semester to try and figure out what exactly she wanted to do with her life.

“I’m film,” Kamala said.

“What about you guys?” Y/N asked.

“I’m doing theater,” America said, “But after I graduate I’m going to law school.”

Kate said, “I’m doing engineering. I’m torn between chemical engineering, electrical engineering, and mechanical engineering.”

Wanda added, “I’m doing business. My dad wants me to take over the liquor business one day, so I guess I’m getting ready for that.”

 Y/N hadn’t even thought about graduation or anything after that. She couldn’t fathom the work that went into engineering, or law, or business, or getting a job, or—

“What about you?” Kate asked her.

“I’m undecided,” she shrugged. “I don’t really know what I want to do yet.”

Wanda smiled at her and nudged her with her knee. “You have plenty of time to figure it out.” She smiled back, but there was a sinking feeling in her stomach, a suspicion that she wasn’t good enough or smart enough, inadequate in so many ways.

Did she even deserve to go to NYU? Was this truly the right place for her?

Or was her purpose in life to serve the mob, as her parents had told her all her life?

Kamala grunted, lifting the dresser again. “Can we get going? I don’t want to be late.”

They all started lifting together, grunting and groaning in turn, when a familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairwell.

“You girls need help?”

“Ouch!” Wanda yelped as Y/N stumbled and almost dropped the dresser on her foot. The blood left her face and she started to sweat—and not from the physical exertion.

Bucky’s face appeared on the other end of the dresser, taking the load off of Kamala and America. “Here, you girls get the sides.”

Y/N remained silent as Bucky directed them up the rest of the stairs, carrying most of the weight of the dresser and helping America position it in her room.

“There ya go,” he breathed, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Thank you so much!” America said, a wide grin on her face. “I mean, we could’ve done it without you, but I probably would’ve ended up punching Wanda in the face with all her whining.”

“Hey!” Wanda frowned, smacking America lightly on the arm.

Bucky chuckled. “Anything for one of Y/N’s friends.”

The three girls who knew nothing of Bucky turned to face Y/N, shocked.

Kate asked, “You know him?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Kamala asked.

Her response was an awkward chuckle. “Well I was trying not to drop the dresser… So…” She hadn’t looked at Bucky once since they got into the apartment, pointedly avoiding eye contact with him now as he stared at her.

It was his first time seeing her in a few weeks, and his heart leapt at the sight—she looked good, really good. Hair shiny, skin glowing, nails painted bright red. She wore high waisted shorts that showed off just the slightest hint of her ass, and a skintight off-the-shoulder top.

Bucky missed her, but he had to admit, if this is how she was dressing now, maybe college was the right decision for her.

“Why don’t you show me around, sweetheart?”

Y/N glared at him; however, he knew she wouldn’t say anything against him—hoped, at least, that there still might be something left of their obedient little doll. Still, she hesitated, worry on her face behind her anger.

Wanda touched her arm. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

She sent Wanda a grateful look and turned to leave the room. As they left, Wanda whispered to the other girls, “He’s her ex-boyfriend. Total asshole.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at that but paid close attention to the girl in front of him as she showed him the living room and kitchen. He noticed they seemed to have no space for anything, boxes all over the place, counters cluttered with pots and pans. That was run of the mill for a Manhattan apartment, but he was sure it was a pain in the ass.

He followed along as she pointed out each bedroom in the hallway. “And this one’s mine,” she said shortly, stopping in front of the closed door at the end. She made no move to open it.

“You gonna show me inside?”

“No.”

He chuckled, delighted at her fiery attitude. He could deal with the brattiness as long as she was actually speaking to him. “C’mon, sweetheart. I swear I won’t try anything. We’ll leave the door open.”

The way he looked at her with eyes so earnest, big and blue and pleading—it weakened her resolve. She considered it for a moment and then looked away from him, chewing on her lip, suddenly a little shy. “It’s really small. Nothing fancy.”

“Darling, I just wanna see it. I don’t care how it looks.” He brushed past her and took hold of the doorknob, letting himself inside.

Small was an understatement. Her queen-sized bed took up half the space, and the rest of it was filled with boxes. The walls were drab—greying white, holes in the drywall everywhere. Clothes littered her bed and the desk chair from her old room that was shoved into a corner between the wall and the bed.

She weaved her way through the boxes and plopped on the bed, leaning back on her hands and staring up at him. “I don’t have room for a dresser. And I don’t have closet space. So…” Her sentence finished with a shrug.

“Aw, honey…” He frowned, surveying the space, mind working with how he could help. “Maybe I can build you some shelves. Hang ‘em up right here, and here,” he pointed to a few spaces on the walls. “I could put hooks or racks in them so you can hang your clothes.”

Her mouth twitched. “You don’t have to do that. Really, it’s fine.”

“I want to. It’s the least I can do, after…”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she asked, “How did you get my address?”

“Natasha told me.” It was a lie, but she didn’t need to know about the extent of his and Steve’s scheming over the past two weeks.

“Why did you come here?”

He pulled his backpack off, and that was when she noticed it wasn’t his backpack, it was hers. It was the one she had packed for the few days before her dad’s funeral, when she was staying at the boys’ apartment. She had left her things there and completely forgotten about it until now.

“You left this stuff at our place. I wanted to return it.”

“…Oh.”

“And I wanted to check on you. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Her lips seemed to waver between a smile and a frown, pink and glossy, just like when he first kissed her at her birthday party. He kept his distance, not trusting himself if he was too close to her, and definitely not here, in her room, which smelled like her, like sweet flowers and vanilla.

“When do classes start?”

“Next week.”

“What’s your schedule like?” She hesitated, looking at him with an untrusting, wary expression. He sighed, holding up his hands in innocence. “Just so I know when to come and install the shelves.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she relented. “I have classes every day in the mornings and swim practice every afternoon. I’m looking for a job too but I don’t have anything yet. You can come next weekend.”

He smiled at her, that bright, happy grin that lit up her childhood. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

He turned to leave, and before she could stop herself, she scrambled off the bed and grabbed his wrist before he could go. “That was it? That’s all you came for?”

Looking down at her, he nodded, schooling his expression into one of honesty and concern, which was exceptionally difficult when all he felt was hunger for her. “Yeah—what were you thinking?”

Quickly, she let go of his hand. He immediately missed the feeling of her soft skin on his. “I don’t know.”

He smiled again and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. God, how was she so soft? “You seem happy, darling. And I want you to know I’m proud of you for making it here, making it to NYU. You seem to be doing well.”

She paused, then nodded. “I am.”

“Good.”

And with that, he gave her bare shoulder a squeeze and left the room without another word. She stood still, shocked for a moment, focusing entirely on the tingling feeling where his hand touched her shoulder, wondering why her skin was breaking into goosebumps just from a simple, innocent touch. 

Chapter Text

There was a storm cloud above her head when she entered the apartment several days later and slammed the door. When she threw herself down on the couch next to Kamala, her roommates all exchanged a look before turning their attention to her.

“How was swim practice?” Kate asked tentatively. The other girl’s hair was still wet and she was still wearing her swimsuit, only a pair of tiny spandex athletic shorts covering her.

“Ugh.”

Wanda grimaced. “How was the interview?”

Her whine was cut off as she tossed her arm over her face dramatically. “Mmmfh—”

“That bad?”

She let out a pitiful moan before falling silent.

Kamala reached out and pet her hair gently. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”

She had already had three interviews and none of them had gone well. The last one had ended when she couldn’t give a good answer as to why she would be the best candidate for the position. Utilities were due soon and she had no food of her own in the pantry. Wanda had been taking pity on her and sharing her ramen packets. On top of that, her swim coach wanted her to focus more on her breaststroke rather than freestyle, which was her preferred technique, and she already had three readings due for her classes that she was nowhere close to completing.

“I know this isn’t really helpful,” Wanda said tentatively, “But Bucky’s in your room.”

Her back straightened immediately and she shot off the couch. “What?” she nearly shouted. “Why?”

“He’s putting up shelves.”

“He wasn’t supposed to do that until next weekend!”

Rushing down the hall, she threw open her bedroom door and of course, there was Bucky, drill in hand, multiple shelves already hung up around the room. He paused when he saw her, eyes errantly raking down her figure before snapping right back up to her face.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, face heating up with anger and embarrassment at the way he was looking at her.

“Uh,” he nodded to the half-drilled shelf above his head. “Shelves?”

How the hell could Bucky act as if nothing was amiss?

“You weren’t supposed to come until next weekend!”

“Well I had time today, and I wanted to take some measurements of the kitchen, too.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna put up some shelves in there, too. You guys don’t even have an island—I was thinking of building one, and I needed to measure the area. This place has almost no storage space, but—”

“Shut up!” she cried. “You can’t just come over like this without telling me!”

Bucky frowned and put down the drill, approaching her with his hands raised. “Whoa, doll, calm down. I just wanted to help out.”

“We don’t need help!”

“I know, but listen.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and she thought about shying away, but his palms were so warm, and he was looking right into her eyes with that earnest blue gaze, and then he started talking in that deep, husky voice, tone so soft that it melted her. “I feel real bad about everything that’s happened. And I just want to do something that’ll make your life easier. You see?”

He motioned around to the shelves he had already put up, and that’s when she got a good look at them. There were some hung up low above her bed that she could use as a bedside table. A long line of shelves and cabinets hung along the wall to the side, some with hooks, some with rods, so she could hang up her clothes. On the opposite wall there was a larger shelf down low positioned as a makeshift desk, her desk chair already tucked underneath, and above it, more cabinets and shelves.

“And I knew you were gonna need a place to study,” Bucky was saying, “So you can use this one as a desk. There should be plenty of space up here for your books,” he ran his hand along the cabinets above. “And I was considering building you something else, maybe something with drawers that you can use as a dresser, maybe something that slides under your bed—but I didn’t know how much space would be left.”

She looked around again, then walked to the little desk and ran her hand across it. The wood was smooth and glossy, a warm color that didn’t detract too much light from the room. They all matched, so she knew he really did make them all himself. She recalled that his grandfather was a carpenter. Bucky must have learned a few things before he passed away.  

“I also brought you something,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.

“What?”

“A little housewarming gift.” From out of nowhere, he pulled out a small potted plant, a succulent in a soft green color with stubby little protrusions. “They’re called Baby Toes.”

She frowned at the small plant that did indeed look like the toes of an infant. It was all too much at once—the shelves, the plant, the kindness in his eyes.

“Please say something, doll.”

Realizing that he was still holding the plant out to her with a worried expression on his face, his vulnerability hitting her straight in the heart, she looked back up at him, eyes shining a little bit. She chewed on her lip, then gave him a small smile; she was a little ashamed at her anger at him before. Her voice was soft as she took the small plant, “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You like it?” he asked hopefully. “And the shelves?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m glad.”

He hid his triumphant grin from her as he finished putting up the last of the shelves, and he didn’t say anything about how she placed the plant on the shelf underneath her window and opened the blinds for the sun to reach through.

Once he was done, they went into the main room where he took measurements for shelves for the kitchen and living room. He was all business, barely speaking to any of the girls as they chattered amongst themselves.

Once he was done, he said, “I’ll be back in a few days to put them up.” Y/N walked him out and stood in the hallway to say goodbye to him.

“Thanks again, Bucky,” she said, still slightly chagrinned at her previous treatment of him. “The shelves are really nice, and helpful, and the plant is really cute.”

“Of course, doll.” The sincere smile on his face was the honest one he would always give when he felt his heart swell with love for her, the same smile he gave her on the night of her birthday when he told her she was beautiful. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her face heated up again, this time from the way her heart fluttered in her chest. Bucky pulled her in for a hug, lingering for a moment before bidding her goodbye again.

The next time she saw Bucky was a few days later, Friday afternoon.

She was back from class and she didn’t have swim practice, which was a relief because her muscles were aching terribly from the last week of training and drills meant to whip her back into shape. Her immediate plan was to take a hot bath and work on the 30-page required reading about Mesopotamia for her history course; then she would perhaps consider letting Wanda drag her to the house party that she had been talking about all week.

But then Bucky was in the kitchen, the shrill buzz of his drill working the shelves into the wall combined with the fact that he was shirtless disrupting every single rational thought she almost had.

Kamala and Wanda were perched on the couch, eyes raking over the muscles and tattoos covering his back and arms. America and Kate—who had literally not had eyes for anyone but each other since they had all moved in together—were the only ones who noticed the girl in the doorway, whose mind was also shorting out by the sight of Bucky half-naked.

“Hey,” America greeted her. “How was class?”

“Uh.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Um.”

“Good talk.”

Bucky was alerted to her presence then, and he turned around and sent that bright smile at her. “Hey, darling. How was class?”

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Kate made quite an unbecoming snort at this, but Bucky seemed to ignore it. “I think your AC’s broken,” he answered, his tanned wrist coming up to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Was gonna take a look at it once I finish with these shelves.”

“Oh.”

“Can’t you feel how hot it is in here?” America asked pointedly.

Well, she had chalked up the heat to the blush that was surely spread far and wide over her body at the sight of Bucky’s tattoos, ones she had once fantasized running her hands and lips over in the throes of passion—

“I have homework to do!”

With that, she hurried to her room, shutting herself away and sitting at her desk with the intent of doing her readings. However, she stared at the words in her textbook and didn’t take in a single word about the ancient language of the Sumerians or the legacy of the Akkadian Empire or the significance of the Epic of Gilgamesh for the better part of an hour.

Instead, she listened through the walls as Bucky and her roommates chatted, as he finished up putting a bunch of shelves in their apartment, and as he somehow magically got the AC unit working after fiddling with the filter or something for five minutes.

When a light knock came on her door and Bucky let himself into her room, he was thankfully wearing a shirt, and his hair was pulled into a little bun at the nape of his neck. “Hey, doll,” he greeted her. “Wanted to check in on you.”

Now that she didn’t have to see so much of his skin, she could think. “Hi.” Yet somehow that’s all she managed to say.

Bucky walked around, looking at the shirts and dresses she had hung up on the racks, the books and pictures she had placed on the shelves, and the succulent on her windowsill. Then he wandered back over to her and glanced over the desk, half of which held her beauty products, and the other half held her laptop and study materials.

“I have something for you.”

Her eyes grew wider and she frowned. “Bucky, you can’t keep bringing me stuff.” It harkened back to when her father would “apologize” for his cruelty with shiny gifts and meaningless gestures.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said honestly, “But I saw it in a shop and it reminded me of you.” Kneeling in front of her, he fished a little velvet bag out of his jeans, handing it to her and looking at her expectantly.

She sighed and pulled it open, then dumped the contents of the bag onto her open palm. It was a small bracelet made of intertwined white string, a line of tiny rose quartz beads woven in the middle.

“Bucky,” she tried to protest, pushing it towards him. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Sweetheart, just take the bracelet,” he laughed. “Barely cost me anything.”

Well, it wasn’t extravagant like her father would always go for. It was just a simple gesture… practically meaningless. Right?

“Help me put it on?”

He grinned and obliged, big fingers fumbling with tying the tiny strings around her thin wrist. “There,” he said once he finally tightened the knot. “Perfect.” He looked into her eyes as he said the word and his intense stare made her feel hot all over.

Looking back at her reading, she tapped her highlighter on the pages of her book. “So,” she said. “You fixed the AC?”

“Yep,” he answered. “And took measurements for an island in the kitchen. I’m gonna measure underneath your bed now, too. I’ll make you some little drawers you can pull out and put clothes in.”

“Oh—okay—” she said, watching as he stood and pulled a tape measure from his pocket. He was quick, writing the numbers down on a little notepad, sticking his pencil behind his ear. When he finished, he turned and saw her watching.

Holding her gaze, he stalked towards her, towering above her in her desk chair. Goosebumps raised over her arms at his predatory gaze, like he was stalking his prey—or playing with it.

“What’re you reading?” he asked, leaning down over her shoulder to get a good look at her papers. “Mesopotamia, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth dry. This close, she could smell him, tobacco and cologne, a little bit of sweat. It threw her back to the first night he took her, when he was so sweet, and to the night they punished her so horribly, her ass stinging as she rode his cock. He was so warm against her shoulder, and she felt like she was vibrating.

He pulled back to look at her face, still very close. “You’re so smart.”

“I—” Why did she always feel so warm inside when he complimented her?

Then he was gone, standing up and away from her. “Listen, I have to get going. I’ll be back in a few days once I’m done with the island and the drawers. Alright?”

“Okay.” She was still in a sort of daze from their proximity, from his compliments, his body heat.

“You need anything, just call me.”

“Okay.”

She walked him out and he pulled her into a big hug just outside the front door, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“See you later.”

 When she came back into the house, she collapsed on the couch.

“Why do you look like that?” Kate asked. She and America were in the kitchen filling up the shelves with everything that had been sitting on the counters for the past week while Kamala and Wanda sat at the kitchen table doing homework.

“Like what?”

“Sad,” Wanda answered. “You look sad.”

She huffed. “I’m not sad. I’m just… I don’t know. Wanda, why do I miss him so much?”

“Who, Bucky?”

“Yes, Bucky!”

Kamala answered, “Because he’s a total sweetheart. Seriously—why did you even break up?”

Y/N looked at Wanda and they shared a glance. “It’s complicated.” She hadn’t even told Wanda the entire story—just that they were somehow involved in her father’s murder and that she couldn’t live with them anymore. She had barely told Wanda the extent of her relationship with Steve and Bucky—only that she had kissed both of them, and they both seemed to like her.

“Listen, it’s totally normal to miss an ex after a breakup,” Wanda said.

America added, “But not so normal for your ex to come in and do a bunch of nice things for you afterwards.”

“Well he clearly wants back into your pants,” Kate said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing all this.”

It hurt to think that Bucky’s motivations were simply to get her back. “Can’t he be doing nice things just for the sake of being nice?”

“No,” the girls all said together.

“But we don’t really know the circumstances of your breakup,” Kamala pointed out. She was ever the optimist. “I believe that people can change, and I believe in second chances. Maybe this is that.”

“Ugh, don’t give her ideas,” America groaned. “Girl, you need to move on from him.”

“Hey, you agreed with me earlier when I said how swoon-worthy Bucky is.”

“Kamala, he’s a hot guy who comes over to our house and builds us shelves for our kitchen. How can I not swoon a little?”

“Ugh, guys,” Y/N groaned. “Not helping!”

Wanda stood and sat by her friend, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “I have just the thing to cheer you up. A little rager in Greenwich Village is the perfect remedy to a broken heart!” She wiggled her fingers around in her face, as if it was a magic trick that could cure her gloom.

“I don’t know if that’s really the case, Wan,” America said, skepticism written on her face as she tutted.

“You’re right. Copious amounts of drugs and alcohol are the real cure. Time to break out the Tito’s!”

The month of September carried on in much the same fashion. Between the rigor of her classes and her grueling swim practices, she somehow managed to get a part-time job as a waitress, barely getting fifteen hours a week. Bucky would stop by every week or so to repair something or put up furniture that he built himself, and he would always bring little gifts.

An embossed leather journal for her to take notes in; a vintage art piece he hung up on her wall; a new set of nice markers to draw with.

“I hope you’re still drawing,” he said one day. “You’re a great artist.”

He’d shower her with compliments, encourage her when she struggled with her many obligations, and never stopped offering to fix up things around the house.

Between class, homework, swim, work, and Bucky, she went out with Wanda and the girls regularly. She found out that she loved vodka, hated tequila (after a particularly monstrous hangover), and was intrigued by the party drugs she seemed to see everywhere, but too nervous to take them.

It was all a good distraction from her inner turmoil, her heart aching whenever she thought of Bucky.

He had always been her friend, she had always cherished the connection they had, and it seemed like it was all thrown away in a matter of a few days. It hurt to think about and all she wanted was for things to be like they used to be.

Kamala said she was mourning the loss of a relationship and it was normal to feel this way. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Ultimately, she missed Bucky. She missed Bucky with so much of her heart, it hurt. She got so excited whenever he stopped by, her heart beating a race in her chest, although she wouldn’t show it. Secretly, she looked forward to each visit, and had occasionally asked him over for repairs every so often.

The shower head really had needed replacing, and the lock on her window really had been jammed. If she got to see Bucky while he fixed it, then maybe it didn’t bother her so much.

Sometimes she did wonder if she was playing into his trap—and then she would look at him, joking about something, eyes lit up whenever he looked at her, and she knew he wasn’t the type to try and manipulate her like that. Truthfully, she had always felt safe around Bucky, aside from those few specific instances all those weeks ago. But he had always kept her safe, secure.

She was being paranoid. That was all.  

And then there was Steve, who Bucky mentioned a few times in passing, but never brought up more than that. She thought about Steve sometimes, about the man he used to be, and the man he had turned into.

She missed him, too—only the soft parts, though. The man who held her in bed in the morning and ran his fingers across her skin. The man who bought her pretty trinkets just for her delight. But that man seemed to be lost to rage and violence.

Or maybe they were the same man the whole time and she never realized. How had she missed how dark and angry Steve had become, but more than that, how had she failed to do anything to help him, to prevent him from falling down a hole so dark and deep that he could never crawl out?

She thought of him when she sketched in her notebook, whenever she broke out her watercolor paints and used the techniques he showed her over the summer.

One day, Kate looked over her shoulder as she painted at the kitchen table and asked, “Aw, you’re painting your sugar daddy? Who’s that guy next to him?”

“Ugh, Bucky’s not my sugar daddy.”

Wanda peaked across the table at the drawing. “That’s her other boyfriend.”

“Steve is not my boyfriend!” The vehemence in her voice shocked the other girls.

“Woah, fine, okay. He’s her sugar daddy’s boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, he is not!”

Then a knock sounded on the door, startling them out of their teasing. Kamala stood from the couch to answer it, announcing, “It’s Bucky!” even though they could all see the front door from the kitchen.

Bucky entered the apartment with one of their kitchen chairs which he had taken to repair a few days ago when it broke. “I’ve got the chair,” he said, “Fixed the leg and sanded it down a little, too.”

“Oh, Bucky, our hero,” Wanda teased as he set the chair next to her at the table.

“We really should pay you for being our own personal handyman,” Kate added.

He grinned at them. “I would never charge you ladies—it’s my pleasure.” Then he turned to the third girl at the table, running his hand over her shoulder. “How’s it going, doll?”

“Fine,” she answered, a little shorter than usual on account of her friends’ insinuations just before his arrival.

“What’re you working on?” He leaned over her, pressing the weight of his hand into her shoulder, and a soft grin slowly grew over his face as the photo. “That looks real nice, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shoving the paper away from herself, embarrassed. “I really should be working on homework.”

He pulled away from her, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Whatever you say. Hey, what’re you doing on Friday night?”

“Homework,” she answered automatically. “Uh—probably.”

He chuckled at her and asked, “Could you spare a couple hours away from homework and come to dinner with me?”

She was silent for a moment, then stuttered. “Uh—”

“She’d love to!” Wanda interjected. “Pick her up at 6! We’ll make sure she’s ready.” Wanda received a sharp glare from her friend, but she ignored it.

“Great, thanks, Wanda,” Bucky said, beaming at her before turning his smile back on the girl who stole his heart. “Dress nice, I’m taking you someplace fancy. Oh, before I forget—” He fished around in his pants pocket before pulling out a small rectangular box. “I want you to wear this. Okay?” She took it hesitantly and nodded. “Good, I’ll see you Friday, sweetheart.” He bent down to give her a kiss on the top of her head before heading out the door.

Once he was gone, Y/N turned to Wanda. “What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why would you do that!”

Wanda scoffed. “Listen, you’ve been dancing around him all month.”

“For a reason!”

“Not a good one! He’s proven that he’s a nice person! He gives you gifts! He fixes our shitty apartment! He calls you sweetheart ! And you’re crazy about him, we can all see it!”

“You know what he did, Wanda!”

“What did he even do?” America asked. “You never told us.”

Y/N sighed and looked pointedly at Wanda, who shrugged and answered, “You guys really don’t want to know. Anyways, you don’t have to fall in love with him! But I’ve been trying to hook you up for the last month and you refuse to go on any dates! You’ve been way too uptight, so you need to have some fun—and get laid.”

At the insinuation that she would have sex with Bucky, she choked on her own spit. “I’m not going to have sex with him!”

“But he’s your sugar daddy, he gives you gifts for sex!” Kate said.

“That’s prostitution, Kate,” America scoffed. “But what’s in the box?”

She had almost forgotten about the box laying on the table next to her paintbrush. She opened it carefully and tries to suppress a smile. It was a thin gold chain with a dainty ruby pendant at the end, simple and sweet.

“What were you saying about Bucky not being your sugar daddy?” America asked dryly.

Kate helped her clasp the necklace together. The pendant fell just below the dip of her collarbone. Wanda grinned, “You need to date this boy or I will.”

Kamala protested, “Hey, you already have a girlfriend. Leave some hotties for the rest of us!”

Y/N sighed and took the necklace off, shoving it back in the box. “Well, it’s too bad, because I’m too busy to date him anyways.”

“Speaking of which, don’t you have a shift in like, a half an hour?” Kamala asked, pointing to the clock on the stove.

“Yes, I do. Thanks for reminding me.”

America snorted. “Yeah, you need all the hours you can get. Utilities are due on the first of the month.”

“Ugh, I know, but they only scheduled me for one shift this week. I’ll figure it out.”

She went to get ready and Wanda followed her into her room. “You know, if you need more money, I can get you a shift at the Widow’s Web.”

Y/N frowned, grabbing her nametag from her desk. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, upstairs is just waitressing, and now that Natasha’s Manhattan location is open, it’s a shorter train ride.”

“Maybe,” Y/N shrugged. “I’ll think about it. I gotta go, though. I’ll see you later.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur. A 6-page essay on the contributing factors to the Collapse of the Bronze Age; a chemistry exam that she got a C- on; an art project due for her drawing class. A visit to the athletic department’s physical therapist to look at her shoulder, which had been hurting since she started switching up her stroke style. One 4-hour shift at the diner. Not enough money in her bank account for bills, so she had to take out of her savings. Again.

“Well if you take a few shifts at the Widow’s Web, you’ll earn back that money in no time,” Wanda said with a bright smile as she shuffled through the dresses Y/N owned. It was Friday evening and Bucky would be around to pick her up in a half hour. Her hair and makeup were done, all courtesy of Wanda. The ruby necklace was already sitting in place on her neck.

“I know,” she sighed. “With the way I’m burning through my savings, I won’t have enough money to make it to senior year.”

“Ooh!” Wanda squealed, pulling a swathe of dark fabric from a hanger. “This is perfect!”

“It’s a little revealing…”

“Uh, yeah. Duh. Put it on!”

With a sigh, Y/N pulled the dress on over her undergarments. The shin-length dress was a deep navy blue with delicate white flowers spotting the fabric, thin straps and a deep V-neck revealing much of her chest. She looked in the mirror with a frown. “I don’t know… It shows my bra!”

“Take your bra off, then. C’mon, this is probably the least revealing thing you’ve worn all semester, especially considering some of the things I manage to get you in for parties!”

It was true; Wanda was partial to miniskirts and crop tops, and whenever Y/N allowed her to dress her up like a little doll, that was often the result. “Fine,” she grunted, pulling off her bra and then adjusting the straps of the dress. Her sigh of exasperation was cut short by a knock on the door.

“He’s here!” Wanda squealed, running out to get it.

“He’s early!”

“Put on your shoes!” Wanda yelled back at her.

She huffed but obliged, buckling up the strappy heels that paired with the dress. As she heard Wanda answer the door, she completed her outfit with a simple gold bracelet, stud earrings, and a spritz of a floral perfume.

Then she walked into the living room, and her greeting to Bucky died out in a gasp as she saw who stood in the living room instead of her date, her stomach twisting up and turning sour. “Steve, what?”

He smiled, pink lips surrounded by a full golden beard that hadn’t been there before. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest, shy at the way his eyes dragged across her form.

“Bucky was called away for something by Tony,” he answered. “Buck didn’t want to have to cancel on you, so he sent me instead.”

She was frozen for a moment, voice stopped in her throat by something sticky and unpleasant, but then she blurted out what every molecule in her body was screaming. “No.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, voice stronger now. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Steve. Get out.”

“Honey—”

“No! I’m serious, Steve, get out, right now. I’m not going on a date with you.”

Hurt flashed across his face, lips forming a pout in an impressive display of manipulative emotion. She could feel all of her roommates’ eyes on her. He said her name, softly, almost a whisper, and it almost worked, almost made her heart jump back on board with him.

But her resolve held strong, even as her skin itched at the memory of his touch.

“Our neighbor is a cop, Steve,” she said, pointing in the general direction of the apartment next to them. “Get out. Now. I’m not playing your game anymore.”

Pressing his lips together, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he replied, not clipped or short like he had been in the past, but gentle and accepting. “Have a good night, darling.”

And then he left, just like that.

It was silent in the apartment, only the sound of Steve’s footsteps growing quieter at he went down the hall.

Then, finally, America broke the silence. “Damn,” she said. “He must’ve really fucked up to get that treatment from you.”

“I’m going to bed.”

And with that, she retreated back to her room, locking the door behind her, hiding underneath a blanket, and ignoring every time her roommates tried to check on her.

She tried to tell herself that her heart hurt because Bucky had bailed on their date. But she couldn’t help but regret not going with Steve, wondering where he would’ve taken her, what they would’ve talked about, and if it would’ve been anything like how things used to be, so long ago.

Half of her felt justified in her reaction to him, angry that he had the gall to show up and expect her to go out with him, just like that, no apology, nothing. The other half of her felt so bad, and guilty, and it kept replaying the look of hurt on his face at her rejection, his defeat as he left the apartment. And more than that, he had actually respected her wishes, and he left. That had to count for something, right? Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

These conflicting emotions warred inside her for the better part of the next week. It didn’t help that Bucky didn’t come by or text her that entire week, and that made her so confused, like she had done something wrong and now he was mad at her for it.

Was he mad? Was he mad that she rejected Steve? Should she have texted him during the week instead? (Not that she hadn’t drafted about 57 messages to him and then deleted them before sending a single word).

Why was all of this so fucking complicated ?

So her turmoil continued throughout another four discussion assignments for each of her classes, one shift at work, and five grueling swim practices in a row, until that Friday, when she came home and cried so hard in the shower that her roommates looked at her with pity in their eyes when they came out.

“Listen,” Wanda said her name and took her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact despite her puffy red eyes. “You need to come out with us and have fun. And get super drunk and fuck someone else. Forget about Bucky and Steve. They’re old news.”

America piped up then, an enthusiastic, “Hey I got an eight-ball of yey! That’ll make you feel better!”

And at that point, she was so fucking tired of feeling sad, and feeling guilty, and feeling angry, and feeling conflicted over the stupid boys in her life.

“You know what, you’re right. Let’s go out tonight!”

It took one shot of Tito’s to get her into the silk minidress Wanda picked out, another to get her out of the apartment and to the club they picked downtown (courtesy of a fake ID provided to her by Kate), and an entire margarita to get her into the bathroom of the bar with a line of coke in front of her, awaiting her nose.

“Okay, cut that in half, America, she can’t snort that whole thing!” Wanda said, regulating the line America laid out for her. They had already both had their turns.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Y/N asked, uncertainty in her tone.

America rolled her eyes. “Dude, it’s cocaine. Do you wanna be safe, or do you wanna forget about Buck-nasty and Steve Buscemi?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Wanda snorted, “But she’s right, just do the line. We’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“We do this all the time,” Kate reassured her.

“Uh, I don’t,” Kamala pointed out, ever the more conservative partier of the group.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever, fuck it.” It burned her nostrils going in and when she brought her head up, she thought her nose was bleeding, but there was no blood, and it was numb all the way into her sinuses and down her throat. “Holy shit!”

Every cell and atom in her body was charged and alert, like she had chugged six cups of coffee all at once or injected it into her veins. Her hands were shaking, but she barely registered that as euphoria and elation swept through her. Skin tingling, shivering, a smile swept over her face.

“How do you feel?” Wanda asked as Kate snorted the rest of the powder on the counter.

Y/N giggled and threw her arms up. “Oh my God!” She gasped, “Let’s go dance!”

Throughout the night, they hopped around to a few different clubs across the city, and they danced and drank and she took whatever drugs Wanda gave her, including more cocaine and a little purple pill that she slipped in her mouth and made her feel so good . Suddenly, she couldn’t even think about anything but the beat of the music shaking her bones and making tsunamis in her blood and the way her skin felt so soft and smooth, and how nice it felt when the people around her danced against her body.

The lights twirled in her eyes and on her skin and they almost tickled against her skin, so funny that she laughed and laughed until her stomach cramped and someone pushed another drink into her hand. Tequila burned her lips and she didn’t mind it as much as she normally did especially with the fresh burst of the lime that Wanda shoved between her lips when she almost gagged.

She lost track of time, and places, and people. All she knew was the bass in her skull and the bodies against her, dancing to the rhythm like a séance or a ritual or something almost spiritual .

Denim pants against her legs, and someone’s mesh crop top on her palms, and long silky hair gliding against her bare arms, and soft lips on her neck, and sticky lip gloss stains left on her skin. Hands, hands everywhere, pushing up her dress, touching her through the silk, and God , the feeling of her own silk dress on her skin felt so good, she just had to rub her own belly and sides and hips for the feeling—

And heat, so much heat, rising up her chest and suffocating her brain. She couldn’t get a breath of fresh air, she was breathing through a plastic bag, and she turned to the person she thought was Wanda and gasped, “I’m gonna go outside for a second!”

After she made her way through the bodies and out the doors, the fresh air felt so clean on her face, and she broke out in goosebumps as the sweat covering her body evaporated into the brisk October air.

Wait—wait, wait, wait a second. She knew the bridge in front of the club. And what did that familiar street sign say? Or was she hallucinating from the copious amounts of drugs she took?

Were they in Brooklyn ? She didn’t even remember taking the subway!

The streetlights and cars swam in her vision, twisting and twirling like the fucking Tilt-A-Whirl at Coney Island, which definitely wasn’t as fun as Bucky insisted it was, and this felt exactly like that.

She turned and leaned her hands on her knees and panted like she had just swam a 100-meter race with her shitty breaststroke.

“You okay, girl?” The voice was deep, maybe the bouncer, she wasn’t sure, all she could see was the concrete and her toenails painted blue, poking out through her heels.

But she managed a reply, her words slurred around the numbness of her tongue, “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m great, yeah.”

“Uh—”

And then, very casually, she face-planted into the brick wall beside her.

Chapter Text

Steve hadn’t expected to be zip tied to a chair in an abandoned greenhouse in Jersey City on Friday night, but then again, when did anything ever go according to his plans?

His body throbbed from every single punch and kick Rumlow had aimed his way; his stomach, his jaw, his head, his ribs. Luckily nothing felt broken, so once Steve got out of these fucking ties , he’d be free to fight back.

Rumlow was a dead man walking.

It all started with Bucky, who had been away for the past week and a half, roaming Jersey City, getting intel on Hydra. Steve hadn’t heard from Bucky since he left for the trip, so when a text message came in saying to meet him somewhere in Jersey, Steve had been stupid enough to go along with it.

After being kidnapped and assaulted by Rumlow and his piece of shit Hydra lackeys, Steve had been tied to a chair and left with a bag over his head. By the time he heard the doors opening, footsteps and muffled voices, he had lost track of time, but the rage running through his body hadn’t waned.

The bag was ripped off his head and thrown to the ground.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve spat before any of the men could speak.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rumlow grunted, knocking him across the face again.

Steve looked back up at Rumlow as his cheek ached, jaw clenched, teeth gritted so hard he thought they might break.

“The fuck do you want from me?”

“You’re not the one asking the questions here, pal.”

“Don’t call me pal, you piece of shit fuckface son of a whore—”

Steve’s rant was silenced once again by Rumlow’s fist cutting another line into his lip.  “I told you to shut the fuck up, Rogers.” The guys behind Rumlow laughed as Steve licked blood from his lower lip. Rumlow stared Steve down, black eyes glinting in the dim lights of the moon through the glass ceiling. “Now, will you be so kind as to answer a few of my questions?”

“No.”

“Great, let’s get started. First off, tell me about what your friend Bucky was doing over here in Jersey? Straying a little far from home, don’t you think?”

“I’ll tell you what he was doing if you tell me where he is.”

Rumlow frowned, faux concern sugaring his tone as he spoke. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but I don’t know where your friend is. We found his phone, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Then I’m sorry to say, but I don’t know what he was doing here.”

Rumlow’s face grew stern. “You really not gonna talk, Rogers?”

Steve gave him a wry grin. “Afraid not, Rumlow.”

The other man chuckled, pacing back and forth in front of Steve. “You see, you don’t really have a choice. You either answer, or I have Rollins put a bullet through your skull and dump your body in Newark Bay.”

Steve scoffed. “I’m sure that’s where I’ll end up anyways.”

“You’re not wrong. But if you help me out here, it’ll be a lot cleaner.”

He clicked his tongue. “Not a chance.”

Rumlow laughed. “You know, I didn’t want to do this—wanted it to be more of a surprise—but I think I’ve got a little something that can sweeten you up to talking.” He turned around and held his hand out to Rollins, who handed him a manila envelope. Rumlow pulled out a few photos and slapped them down onto Steve’s lap.

The first one, a picture of him, Bucky, and their girl, walking into the boys’ apartment in Red Hook. Bucky had her duffle bag in one hand as Steve slung his arm around her shoulder. The second, a picture of her alone in Manhattan, a backpack slung over her shoulder, oblivious to her surroundings as she walked to class. The third, a picture of her at a party, dressed in a tiny skirt and crop top, Wanda next to her as they danced.

Rumlow said her name, but Steve barely heard him. “She’s quite the little college girl,” Rumlow said. “Swim team, part time job. Partying it up on the weekends.”

“Shut up.”

“Barnes has been chasing after her for how long now? A month or so, right?”

 “Shut the fuck up,” Steve seethed. “And leave her the fuck alone!”

Rumlow and his cronies laughed. “You really got it bad for her, don’t you?” He bent down, leering in Steve’s face. “Barnes does, too. So how does that work? You two share her? Take turns? Or is it tearing you both apart? Is the little bitch ruining your precious friendship?”

Steve spit in his face, too angry to control himself. “Shut the fuck up, Rumlow! I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Rumlow’s amusement turned to anger, and he struck Steve across the face again before turning around. “You’re gonna regret that, Rogers. I’m gonna take your little whore and ruin her for you. Can’t wait to watch Rollins blow your worthless brains out—”

Before Rumlow could finish talking, the door to the greenhouse burst open and several shots rang inside. One of the men dropped, leaving Rumlow and Rollins standing, and Rumlow cursed as one shot landed in his upper arm. Both men quickly drew their guns, although the assailant was hidden from view, but then five more shots were fired at the ceiling and glass rained down on them all, knocking Rumlow and Rollins to the ground.

Bucky rushed over, kicked away their guns, and untied Steve before they could get up. Just as he was free, Rumlow and Rollins stirred.

The struggle that ensued was a blur. Bucky’s guns got knocked away, and just as Steve was getting the upper hand on Rumlow, Bucky sank a knife deep into Rollins’s gut. The grunt that left his mouth was wet and sickening, and Rumlow was distracted by his right-hand-man falling to the ground.

“Rollins—shit!” Rumlow cursed, dropping to his friend’s side, abandoning the fight with Steve.

It was silent for a moment, Bucky and Steve joining sides. Bucky clasped his arm around Steve’s shoulder when he stumbled, holding Steve up against him. Blood pooled on the ground from the knife wound in Rollins’s stomach, even as Rumlow pressed his hand against it, a hint of panic crossing his expression. Before anyone could say anything, the distant sound of sirens was heard, and the three living men looked at each other in alarm.

Bucky was in action first, grabbing his guns from the floor and shoving one in his pants, handing the other one to Steve, who held it in his hands, in shock even as fear flooded his veins, taking in the scene around him.

Shit— the pictures !

Bucky started for the exit, broken glass crunching under his shoes, but turned back as he saw Steve stooped down, collecting the pictures from underneath broken glass.

“Steve,” Bucky hissed, “C’mon! We gotta go!”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and forced him along. Steve struggled to keep up with Bucky as they left the greenhouse and ran. His mind was blank, trusting in Bucky to lead them to safety, feeling helpless and small like the skinny kid he had been as a teenager. 

They ran down the street, hopped a few fences, and ran down a side street for as long as they could before emerging on a road a neighborhood over.

Steve panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Fuck,” he cursed, coming to his senses. “Fuck—Bucky—shit! This isn’t good.”

“The fuck are you talking about, Steve?” Bucky asked, also catching his breath. He grabbed Steve’s arm and encouraged him to keep walking down the street. “Act casual.”

“Buck, look.” Steve held out the pictures Rumlow had. “He had these.”

Bucky looked them over, eyebrows pinching. “What the fuck?”

“He knows about her. He said he was gonna take her— Bucky —”

“Steve, relax!” Bucky grabbed him by the shoulders. He had never seen Steve this panicked before about anything, and it was more than a little concerning.

“We need a plan.”

“Fuck—okay—” Bucky sighed, trying to think. “Okay, okay, okay—you take my bike back to the city, and you find her. I need to stay here and take care of one more thing but I’ll be back later tonight. Okay? Go—I parked my motorcycle down the street  at the cemetery—go quick.”

The press of Bucky’s keys into Steve’s palm jolted him from his fear and he nodded, holding onto Bucky’s hand for a brief moment, meeting his eyes, everything he wanted to say pouring into their gaze. “Stay safe, Buck.”

“You too.”

The cemetery was deserted at this time of night, well past midnight. It gave Steve the chance to sink to his knees, breathe deeply through the panic mounting within him.

What if Hydra already had their hands on her? He had been so stupid , why had he done this? Bucky had been protecting her for the past month, and in the last week in Bucky’s absence, Steve had forgone that job, too wrapped up in mob business to think about her.

It would be her blood on his hands if anything ever happened to her. Steve would never forgive himself. He couldn’t deal with that—he couldn’t fail her yet again.

He took a deep breath and stood, zipping up his jacket and mounting the motorcycle. Although he may have let her down before, he could get himself together now and be there for her when it mattered.

That was what he was always best at—protecting her. So he would step up now and be the man she needed.

Sam Wilson was genuinely having a good night. The woman he met on Tinder was drop dead gorgeous, laughed at his jokes, and had an in-depth knowledge about Kanye West’s discography—and a good argument as to why she didn’t like his latest album, even if Sam disagreed with her. He took her out to dinner and they had gone to one club already, and they were headed to another, when he saw her.

Girl in a slutty green dress, who looked exactly like his dead boss’s daughter, falling face-first into the brick wall of the night club they were headed to.

His date laughed. “Damn, that bitch is pretty fucked up.”

Sam didn’t laugh. He shook his head slowly, utter disbelief on his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking with me.”

“What?”

“Y/N!” Breaking away from his date, Sam stormed towards the girl on the ground as she picked herself up off the sidewalk, just as the bouncer was about to intervene. Her knees were badly skinned and her nose was bleeding, and Sam regretted every choice that had led up to this moment as he hauled her up by the bicep. “Jesus fucking Christ, what are you on?”

“Sammy?” she asked, giggling, then wincing as her nose ached, bringing a hand up to stem the flow of blood. “Fuck—ow—”

“Sam!” his date called, strutting over to them, looking distastefully at the wasted girl clinging to Sam’s shirt. “What the fuck?”

Sam sighed. “Listen, I’m really sorry to do this. This is my boss’s daughter and she’s a total dumbass, so I need to get her somewhere safe before she gets abducted or hit by a car.”

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“I wish I was. Can I call you?”

His date sneered at him. “No, please don’t.”

Sam sighed as she walked into the club, the bouncer letting her in out of sympathy. He turned back to Y/N. “Come on, you’ve costed me my date, let’s go.”

Her legs were clumsy as he led her to the curb and hailed down a cab, and she hit her forehead against the roof of the car as she ducked to get inside. Slumped down against the window, she barely heard Sam speak as he gave the cabbie an address in Red Hook, too focused on the lights passing by in blurry streaks and the sting of the cuts on her knees.

“Sam,” she whined as they slowed at a light.

“What?” His tone was curt, and she could feel his anger radiating off him. He had just finished texting Steve, who was relieved to know where she was considering he had been looking for her everywhere. 

“My knees hurt.”

“Tough shit.”

She pouted but stayed silent for the rest of the drive until Sam yanked her out of the car and dragged her to the front of the apartment building that would have been familiar to her if everything wasn’t so distorted in her vision.

Once he was buzzed in, he somehow managed to get her clumsy ass up the stairs, and she only twisted her ankle twice, and now she was limping, but soon that wouldn’t be Sam’s problem anymore. He knocked on the apartment door and held the girl up as she leaned on him, body shaking.

The door opened and Steve appeared. He felt relieved at the sight of her there. As soon as he had gotten back to the city, he went straight to her apartment, but nobody was home. From there, he didn’t know where to look to find her. He was just about to call Tony when Sam had texted him.

 “Hey, man, thank God you—” His expression of relief quickly fell into one of concern and shock when he saw the state of the girl in Sam’s arms. “Jesus fucking Christ, what happened?”

“Steve?” she asked, voice thin as her vision continued to blur. “No—Sam! What the fuck! Why did you bring me here?”

Ignoring her, Sam handed the girl off to Steve. She was unable to hold herself up with her ankles twisting around in her heels, so she had to cling to Steve despite her reluctance. However, it melted away as she felt the soft cotton of his t-shirt on her skin, and soon she was rubbing it between her fingers, content for now. 

“Who did this to her?” Steve demanded.

“No one. I saw her at that new club in Bushwick. She fell into a brick wall.”

Steve breathed a trembling sigh, trying not to think of what could have happened to her if Sam hadn’t found her first. “Holy fuck.”

“I’m fine!” she protested. “Really, I’m feeling much better! I can go home!”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart.” Steve took a hold of her and brought her in from the hallway. As she entered, a loud woof resounded through the entrance and none other than Hermes, the Sweet Good Boy who Steve and Bucky had been watching over while Y/N was off at NYU, came trotting up to the pair in the entryway.

“Hermes!” she cried, shoving away from Steve and falling to the ground in order to embrace the large Saint Bernard. “I missed you, pup!” She rubbed her face against the dog’s as he began to lick her, which made her giggle profusely. “You’re so soft! Bucky has been brushing you, hasn’t he?”

Sam and Steve looked on at her. “What’s she on?” Steve asked, watching as the girl gave the dog a big wet kiss on his snout.

“No idea. Not my problem.” Sam turned to leave, but Steve called out.

“You’re not gonna stay?”

“Where’s Barnes? Won’t he help?”

“He’s in Jersey on a job. I just got back myself.”

“Ah,” Sam said. “Explains all the…” He motioned to Steve’s bruised face.

Steve sighed. “Listen, we have a situation. With Hydra. And…” He nodded to the girl on the ground, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to what Steve was saying, too wrapped up in playing with her dog. “Bucky will be back later tonight. We’ll fill everyone in on it tomorrow.”

Sam frowned. “She safe here with you?”

Steve gave him a wry grin, his chest tight with emotion. “With us is the only place she’ll ever be safe, Sam. You know that.”

Sam sighed, antsy to get out of there. “Welp. She seems lucid enough for you to handle until Barnes is back. I’ve got a date to hopefully win back. I’ll see ya, man!” The heavy wood door slammed closed and echoed in the exposed brick walls of the apartment.

Steve crouched down then, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her around to face him. His face darkened. “What did you take?” Despite her happy demeanor at seeing the dog, she was shaking and sweating, her pupils blown wide out. When she focused on him, she reached out to touch his chest, pressing her fingertips into the firm muscle, rubbing at the fabric of his shirt again. He could hazard a guess as to what she was on, but he wanted confirmation from her.

She only shrugged. “I dunno.” She looked at the bruises and cuts on his face, frowning. “What happened to you, Stevie?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you into the bathroom,” he said, cradling her in his arms and standing up. She threw her arms around his neck and was surprisingly acquiescent to him, nuzzling her face in his neck. “You’re gonna get blood on me,” he said, although he didn’t care if she did. When Hermes started to trot alongside them, Steve clicked his tongue. “Hermes, go lay down.” The dog obeyed him.

“You can’t talk to my dog like that.”

“He’s hardly your dog anymore. We’ve had him for the past month.”

“Well, I would’ve taken him to my place if Bucky had let me.”

Steve grunted, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he carried her. “You’re hardly ever home. You think you can take care of a dog when you’re barely taking care of yourself?”

She scoffed. “Yes…” Steve only snorted in disbelief but didn’t say anything else as he got her settled on the toilet lid. “I can’t believe Sam brought me here…”

“Why is that, sweetheart?”

“Because you hate me!”

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes, ignoring as the tight feeling spread up to his throat. He wondered briefly if this was guilt or sadness but he didn’t linger on it. “I don’t hate you,” he muttered.

“But you’re so mean to me all the time.”

He let out a broken noise from his throat, one he hadn’t intended to release. Crouching down in front of her, he clutched her hands in his, every single emotion he had repressed in the past couple weeks hitting him full force.

Fear was such a foreign emotion to him, but he was scared for her, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He had been so scared that something had already happened to her, that he had failed to protect her, that something would happen to her as soon as he took his eyes off of her. And now here she was, coked up, skinned knees, asking if he hated her. 

How had their friendship become so twisted, so warped? She used to be the light in his life, and she used to adore him, even if he was stern with her. Then he caught feelings for her and he just became so possessive , and she never obeyed him like he needed her to. He wanted to own her, to have her all for himself, for her to love him, need him.

How had he become this monster, letting his anger rule all of his actions, even ones where she was involved?

Since she had abandoned them after her father’s funeral, he had felt off-kilter. It felt like he had burned through all the rage in that time, and after that, after he had nothing left to hide behind. All he had left was the truth of his feelings for her—that he needed her desperately and he didn’t know how to function without her.

Now that she was back beside him, no matter for how long, he could breathe.

Sure he was stern sometimes, but hate was the opposite of what he felt for her. And maybe he was just now realizing that.

 “Stevie… Are you okay?” she asked, taking note of the way his cheeks were ruddy, the way his eyes glistened in the fluorescent light of the bathroom.

He hardly had it in him to be mad that she was drugged out, wearing the sluttiest dress he’d ever seen on her. At least she was here, in front of him, not trying to pull her hands out of his grasp. But he so, so wanted to be mad at her for all of this—at least to be consistent, to show her there were rules she needed to follow, and that this was very much against the rules.

Steve sniffed and nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and turning away from her. When he turned back, he looked back to normal, his stern gaze directed at her, eyes hard once again, jaw clenched. But then he spoke, and his voice retained a soft quality that she rarely heard. “Let me take a look at ya. I’ll take care of you, sugar.”

A hand on the side of her face, he looked her over. Her nose didn’t look broken at least, and the bleeding had stopped and was starting to dry on her skin. Aside from that, she was a mess. Her hair was wild and tangled and she was covered in glitter and someone’s red lip gloss that didn’t match her own. He placed his thumb on her lower eyelid and pulled down, taking a closer look at her pupils.

She gently pulled her face back and frowned. “You’re gonna smear my mascara, Steve.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s already smeared, sweetheart.”

“Hmph.”

Taking her hands, he looked at the scrapes on her palms, and then ran his hands down her legs and examined her skinned knees. Her ankles didn’t look too swollen, and when he touched them and rolled her feet around, she claimed they didn’t hurt.

She allowed him to look at her nose and clean up the blood that had spilled down her lips and chin and neck, wincing a little when he pressed on the bridge. “Ouch! Steve!”

He huffed, trying to be annoyed with her despite the way his insides felt like mush. “I don’t think it’s broken. Just a little swelling. You’re lucky.”

“Oh, yeah, so lucky! It’s gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Well, that’s what you get when you do drugs,” he snapped.

“Ugh!” she cried, batting his hands away as he tried to assess her scraped hands and knees. “Here comes the lecture! You know what, don’t bother trying to help me! I’m fine, Steve! I don’t need your help!” As she fought him away, his annoyance mounted again.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he growled, grabbing her chin roughly so she looked at him. “You’re gonna let me fix you up and you’re gonna shut your fucking mouth while I do it, or you’re not gonna like what I do to you. I’m not in the fucking mood to deal with your shit tonight. You got it?”

She pouted at him, eyes wide, but she nodded, and she didn’t put up any more of a fight as he kneeled before her and collected rubbing alcohol and Band-Aids for her scratches.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned her before touching the alcohol pad to the cuts on her palm.

She flinched, trying to pull away, but his grasp was too strong. “Ouch! It stings!” she whimpered, breathing deeply. Her legs jumped every time a jolt of pain went through the sensitive raw nerves of her flesh, and he steadied her with a strong hand on her ankle as he worked.

The tension in the room simmered, and they both remained silent except her occasional whimpers. Even when she reached her hands out and buried them in his hair, he remained silent, stewing in his emotions, the ache in his chest remaining.

“Your hair feels so good, Stevie,” she said, combing her fingers and scratching along his scalp. He wouldn’t admit that her rubbing felt good. “Steve, everything feels so good right now!”

“Even me cleaning your cuts?” he grumbled.

“Mmm, yeah,” she nodded. “ Everything , Steve.”

He huffed. “Yep, you’re definitely on Molly.”

She lifted her head and pouted at him. “Aren’t you gonna lecture me?”

“I figured I’d wait until you were sober for that.”

“So you’re not gonna punish me?”

“I’m gonna wait until Bucky gets back before I decide what to do with you.”

She frowned. “Where is he? He’s been ignoring me all week…”

The hurt in her tone sent another pang through Steve’s chest. All of his barriers were down tonight, he didn’t know why, but he felt so many different emotions for this girl and they were all suddenly at the surface of his being like a pot about to boil over and he couldn’t handle it. He was just glad she was here, no matter if she was only touching him because she was high out of her mind. He missed her, and he had been keeping his hopes up over the past month that Bucky could win her over for the both of them. Her rejection the last week had stung, but luckily the mob had been keeping him busy enough.

Thinking about where Bucky was brought those emotions back up.

“He couldn’t answer you because he was doing something for the mob. He’s been in Jersey all week.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Jersey? Ew. Why?”

As he finished cleaning her cuts, throwing the alcohol pads in the garbage, he let out a long sigh. Their eyes met and he replied, “That’s none of your concern, baby.”

Her pout returned as Steve gingerly rubbed Neosporin on the cuts and placed bandages over her knees, making sure there were no wrinkles in the adhesive. “Why don’t you ever tell me about mob business, Steve?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked up at her over her knees. “It’s nothing for you to worry yourself over, honey. Really, I don’t want to fill your pretty little head with any bad ideas.”

“But Natasha tells Wanda all about it.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that, sweetheart. That’s all.”

“When will I be ready?”

Steve finished bandaging her knees and stood up. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, letting his lips linger before helping her up to her feet. She wobbled in her heels, but she had insisted he leave them on and he didn’t want to fight with her on it. “You will be eventually, baby.” He knew that one day, she’d be the perfect little mob wife.

She gazed up at him with a frown, her hands running over the muscles of his chest, squeezing and caressing him with the touch of a lover. He wanted to kiss her again.

When she pouted at him, he ran his thumb down and across her lips. He still had flakes of blood on his hands, and she looked at him with a dangerous glint in her eyes, her mouth opening the smallest bit so her tongue could flicker out, swiping along Steve’s thumbprint. His thumb pressed forward, into her mouth, making her suck the blood from his thumbprint.

God, he was going to kiss her. He was going to make her his, show her every single emotion that wanted to pour out of his chest.

Before he could, the front door opened and slammed shut, and Bucky called out for Steve.

“Steve!” he called out, voice filled with the same panic that Steve had been feeling all night. “Did you find—oh—” Bucky paused in the doorway of the bathroom, taking in the scene before him, the closeness of their bodies, Steve’s thumb in her mouth.

But as soon as she saw Bucky, the girl in Steve’s arms squealed, breaking from Steve’s grip and stumbling towards the other man. “Bucky!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “I missed you!” He caught her and held her to him, tighter than he usually might, but the relief of seeing her rushed through him like a drug. He and Steve made eye contact, sharing their thoughts just through a glance.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky crooned in her ear. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face in his neck.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, pressing herself tighter against him. “Bucky, you smell good, and you feel good, and I missed you sooooo much, Bucky!” Her words were muffled into the skin of his neck, her saliva-slick lips sliding to his throat.

“Oh yeah?” he grunted and carried her to the bedroom, Steve following behind. “I missed you too, doll.” He set her on the bed on her knees, and he held her at arm’s length, looking her up and down, taking in the skimpy green dress, her heels, her bandaged knees. “But what the hell are you wearing?”

She frowned and looked down, tugging on the skirt of the dress. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, a tap on her chin tilting her head up to look at him. “What happened to you, baby?”

She didn’t answer, instead choosing to wrap her arms around him and bury her hands in his hair, pulling the strands from the little bun Bucky had tied at the nape of his neck. Steve stepped forward then, choosing to answer for her. “Our girl went to a club, took a bunch of drugs, and then fell down in the streets. Sam found her and brought her here.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened upon hearing this. “Is that so, honey?” She nodded against him and he wrenched her body away from his, holding her jaw in a strong hand. She sobered a little at the fierce look on his face, knowing if Bucky was mad at her, it was serious. “Do you know how stupid that was? Hmm? Do you know how much danger you put yourself in?”

She shook her head and tears welled in her eyes at his stern tone. “No… Bucky… I’m sorry,” she whimpered, his anger hitting her much harder in her drug-fueled state. “I just wanted to… to…”

“To what?” he snapped.

A few tears fell down her face and she whispered, “I just wanted to forget about you…”

Bucky frowned. “Forget about me?”

“You stood me up for our date… And then I sent Steve away… And then you ignored me all week…” she was crying properly now, sniffling with each word. “And I missed you so much and I was really sad that we didn’t go on a date… And it’s stupid but I just missed you guys a lot… I’ve been so… so…”

“So what, honey?”

“So overwhelmed !” she wailed. “With school and practice and work and you guys—and everything ! And I don’t know what I’m doing! And I just don’t know how to do it!”

“Do what?” Steve encouraged, standing beside Bucky and running his hand across her arm. The outburst from her was unexpected but made sense considering her drug-addled state of mind.

“Be on my own!” she whimpered. “I feel so lonely all the time. And then Bucky comes over and I forget about it all. I miss you both so much, you were my best friends, and then I just stopped seeing you. And sometimes I forget why I’m supposed to be mad at you, but then I remember, and I feel like everything’s completely ruined forever, and I just—I want—"

Before she could finish, she broke down against Bucky’s shoulder, sobbing into his shirt and holding onto his collar as he pulled her in tighter against him, all of his previous ire forgotten now. He fell into the same old role, comforting his fragile girl, coddling her and wiping away her tears.

“Oh, honey,” he sighed, rubbing her back, her shoulders, burying a hand in her hair and gently scratching along her scalp. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, “I’m sorry for standing you up. I was off on a job, and I sent Steve because I couldn’t make it. You understand?” She nodded against his shoulder, sniffing wetly. “You forgive me, baby? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” She nodded again, but he pulled her away, making her look him in the eyes. “You forgive me?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice thick from tears. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, leaving mascara smears on her cheeks. “I forgive you, Bucky.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, I’m gonna get you a glass of water and you’re gonna drink the whole thing for me. You are drunk out of your mind.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes again, sitting back on her ankles and staring up at him expectantly.

“She’s also coked out of her mind,” Steve muttered to Bucky as they headed into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I thought so. What else? Molly?”

“Probably. She doesn’t know what she took.”

Bucky sighed as he poured a glass of water from the pitcher. “Jesus. How’d she go downhill so quickly?”

“This has been in the works for a while, Buck,” Steve said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Bucky stared at Steve, surveying him. “You seem weirdly okay with all this. Did you ream her out before I got here?”

“Nope,” Steve said. “I just got the shit scared out of me earlier so I don’t really have it in me to be a hard ass right now.”

Bucky hummed. “What a momentous occasion. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

Steve rolled his eyes and clapped him on the back. “Let’s get back in there before she starts crying again, alright?”

Steve and Bucky sat on either side of her on the mattress while Bucky coached her into drinking her water little by little until she had taken the entire thing. Steve cleaned up the glitter and mascara from her face with a damp washcloth, wiping the smears of sticky lip gloss from her neck and shoulders, not wanting to think about how they got there or else he might not be able to control himself.

“You’ll have a gnarly hangover tomorrow, sweetheart,” Steve said, taking the cup from her when she was done. She looked a little more put together after a few minutes, and she was considerably happier, the drugs once again clouding her head with elation and satisfaction at the sensations around her.

“No,” she shook her head, “I don’t get hangovers anymore.”

“Well the drugs aren’t gonna help.”

She shrugged and leaned against Bucky, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. Her other hand latched onto the back of Steve’s shirt, feeling the fabric between her fingers again. “What do we do now?”

Bucky answered, “I think it’s bedtime for you.”

Steve wasn’t surprised at the pout that came across her lips, but it was cute, the way she looked like an angry little puppy ready to bite. “I don’t wanna go to bed!”

“Too bad,” Bucky sighed. Steve knew he was tired from the events of the day, too.

Their girl wasn’t easily deterred, though. She scrambled off the bed and hung onto both of their shoulders, wiggling her body against them to the beat of an invisible song. “But I want to dance! Please dance with me!”

Bucky groaned, but the sight of her trying to dance with them, eyes alight with mischief, was too endearing for him to resist. “Fine,” he grumbled, pulling out his phone and turning on some music, something slow and sensual. “Only one song though, and then it’s time for bed.”

She seemed to accept this, snuggling up against Bucky’s chest and allowing Steve to cage her in from behind, swaying with them to the beat. With her eyes closed, she rested her head against Bucky’s chest, occasionally rubbing her cheek against his t-shirt. Steve could tell she was still high from the little sighs she let out, the way she leaned into any touch they gave her.

“You guys feel so good,” she muttered, her words muffled into Bucky’s chest. “You smell so good. Everything is so good…”

Above her head, the men’s eyes connected, sharing a short conversation in their gaze. Bucky cocked an eyebrow and Steve smirked, his hands sliding lower to cup her hips. She hummed and pushed her hips back against him.

“I danced with so many people tonight,” she mumbled, “But it feels the best with you guys. I wanna stay up all night with you and just—dance—”

Steve interrupted her. “If you’re staying up for anything, sweetheart, it’s for a punishment for your behavior tonight.”

“I’ve got quite a few ideas for how to punish her, Stevie,” Bucky said, voice low.

“I’d love to hear them, Buck. She really deserves it, don’t you think?”

The girl between them pouted and looked between them, the smirks on their faces, their sudden predatory expressions. “Why do you have to punish me?”

They both looked down at her, the way she stared at up with wide eyes, pupils blown wide, lips bitten red and swollen. She looked like a little doll, there for them to ruin.

Finally, Bucky answered her, a wicked grin splitting his lips wide. “Well baby, if you’re gonna dress like a little slut, then we’re gonna treat you like one.”

Chapter Text

The girl between them gasped at Bucky’s crass words but had no time to respond before his mouth was on hers, stealing her breath with a kiss she felt deep in her soul, in her heart, in her core. Burying her fingers in his hair, she tried to ground herself, but it was so, so hard to do when everything was happening, when everything felt so good . 

Soft, soft, soft, soft —everything so soft , she would’ve melted into it and disappeared but for their hands on her, their unyielding bodies keeping her together.

Wet lips against hers, firm touches on her hips and ass and belly, the smooth silk of her dress gliding against her skin with every movement, Bucky’s hair slipping through her fingers—and, oh, the vibration of his moan through her mouth as she tugged on it a little harder than before.

And then he kissed her deeper, tongue sliding against hers and into her already open mouth—because there she was, open, and ready, easy for them, wanting whatever they had to give her because it felt good . Nothing had ever felt so good before, and her mind swam with it, dizzy, dizzy, dizzy—

She pulled back to gasp for a breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan and wondering if it was really spinning or if she was that high that she was hallucinating. Lips attached to her neck and at this point, she had no idea whose were whose, everything such a blur of sensation that she felt like she was underwater, moving in slow motion while everything else went faster around her.

Then there were hands on her breasts, pinching and rolling the flesh through her dress. Steve’s low growl vibrated against her ear. 

Head lolling back against his shoulder, she whimpered and writhed in their arms, trying to stay grounded with reality even though it was so hard as she hyper fixated on every single touch, every single feeling. Fingers twisting her nipples, teeth against her throat, erections pressing against her stomach and back. 

She was overwhelmed in the best way, but it scared her somewhere inside that she was so far gone.

“Look at our little doll, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled somewhere above her.

“Oh, she’s flying,” Steve remarked with a sharp pinch to her nipples that had her crying out. The boys on either side of her laughed, amused by her noises and reactions, the way her need bled through her skin, bursting out of her as they lavished her with attention.

“I wanna hear her sing.” Bucky and Steve shared a filthy grin over her shoulder before Steve captured her chin between two fingers, twisting her head so she looked him in the eyes.

“How ‘bout it, sweetheart? You want Bucky to make you feel good? Want him to make you come?” He slid his thumb over her lower lip, pressing until she let it into her mouth and she moaned around it, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He was enraptured by her gaze, those sweet, innocent eyes that he’s known for so long, bloodshot, pupils dilated, utterly debauched before him.

Ready for more.

He slid his finger out of her mouth and instead gripped her jaw, drawing her mouth to his with a bruising hold that made her whimper as he licked into her mouth, running his tongue along her teeth before nipping at her lower lip. His lips soothed the pain, more gentle as he kissed her once, then twice, and she melted against him, squirming and clutching at whatever parts of them she could.

“She wants it bad,” Bucky commented, dragging his fingers up her outer thighs, thumbs hooking the hemline of her dress up and dragging it along her hips.

Steve smirked against her mouth, pulling away and dropping a kiss on her nose. He held eye contact with her as he spoke. “Go on then, Buck. Don’t keep our girl waiting.”

She only looked at Bucky when she sensed him lowering himself onto his knees, and Steve held her face in place when she tried to look back at him.

“Steve, what—”

His voice was a low growl in her ear, fingertips still digging into her jaw bone. “Honey, you’re gonna keep your eyes right on him as he puts his mouth on your pretty cunt, and you’re not gonna look away. You understand me?” Bucky nuzzled his face into the apex of her thighs over top her dress, nosing against her through the shiny fabric and she whined. Steve gripped her harder, nipping at her earlobe, teeth clicking against her metal hoop earring. 

“Bucky,” she moaned, a plea so soft on her lips it sounded like sugar spun into big clouds of cotton candy, dissipating into the humid air around them. Steve smirked against her neck as Bucky teased her over her dress, ever so slowly lifting it up her skin until the hem tickled her hips. 

“Look at you,” Bucky said, gravel cutting through his words, so guttural compared to her honey-sweet tone. He held her dress up with one hand and traced around the hem of her panties with the other. “Who’d you wear these for, huh doll?” 

“Pretty blue lace,” Steve remarked, condescension lacing his tone as he admired the pastel color of her thong against her skin. “Perfect for you, princess,” he murmured against her hair. 

She didn’t respond, only squirmed as Bucky followed the trail of his fingertips with his tongue, tickling her most sensitive areas, torturing her until he mercifully slid her panties down her legs. “We should keep these,” Bucky said with a smirk, the underwear hanging off one of his fingers. The boys shared a rogue look, full of mischief, sinister and calculating, a threat she couldn’t see in the haze of her high.

“No, don’t,” the girl between them whined, wiggling hopelessly against them. “I like those, and I bought them on sale from Victoria’s Secret—"

“We’ll buy you more, honey,” Steve promised, giving her a squeeze around her middle. “As many panties you want in every color, would you like that?” She squirmed again. 

“I know she’d like it,” Bucky said, leaning into her, his lips ghosting over her clit. “Pretty baby loves getting spoiled, always has. Probably’d drop to her knees for any gift you wanna give her, ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“No,” she protested, voice breaking, “No I wouldn’t—”

Bucky’s tongue circling her clit had her choking on her words, and when she tried to continue, Steve cut her off.

“You can’t lie to us, honey.” Steve pressed his lips against her pulse before continuing, his voice so cloying, so slick and tricky that it gave her chills for all the wrong reasons. “We’ll buy you better stuff than that, how’s that sound? You want pretty little things to wear just for us? We’ll buy you more expensive stuff than Victoria’s Secret, only the best for you.”

“High end brands, the prettiest little things. La Perla, Agent Provacateur,” Bucky added, “Anything you want.”

It confused her, the way her body tensed and trembled with want at his words, the ideas swirling around her intoxicated brain only amplifying the pleasure that Bucky gave her with his tongue. He chose that time to wrap his lips around her clit, giving a few sharp sucks that had her crying out and whining, wiggling around so much that Steve had to tighten his grip, jerk her head back down to look at Bucky.  

“Eyes on him,” Steve reminded her. She trained her eyes on him as he ducked down, lips caressing her so tender and loving until he reached her entrance. 

“Open up for me, doll,” Bucky crooned, lifting her leg over his shoulder. This made her lean back further into Steve, who kept one arm strong around her middle and supported the rest of her body with his own. Bucky gripped her thigh so her leg wouldn’t slip off, and then he got back to work. 

“I think you would like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve asked her, his tone so demeaning yet so smooth in her ear. “You’d like to walk around in things we got you? Knowing nobody else would ever see you in them but us—”

“I know I’d like that,” Bucky grunted from below, his lips momentarily detaching from her cunt so he could speak. She let out the softest noise in protest, hips shifting towards him, and he chuckled before going back to work. He used the tip of his tongue to trace along the seam of her cunt, so light on her delicate folds that it made her tremble. He kept the light touch as he circled her clit, again and again until her hips jumped and her hands flew into his hair as she tried to grind against his face. 

He pressed his tongue harder against her then, laughing open mouthed against her pussy at her desperation. Her little whines and pouty cries of pleasure spurred him on until he was suckling at her and tracing her cunt with one hand. He waited until she was right on the edge of her orgasm to slip a finger inside, and that sent her over with a shout. She almost lost her balance against Steve but he was quick to steady her. 

“That’s it baby, give it to him,” Steve growled, watching Bucky tongue at her clit until she was no longer shaking.

Bucky drew his head back then, giving Steve the perfect view of two of his fingers pumping in and out of her cunt. Steve clenched his jaw as Bucky scissored them, working her open slowly in the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

“Want you to do that for me again, baby doll,” Bucky said, meeting her eyes, glazed over with exertion. She pouted down at him, lower lips swollen from biting at it. “What’s that little frown all about, hmm?”

“‘M tired,” she answered shortly, voice thick with residual pleasure and exhaustion.

“Too tired, huh?” Bucky asked, laughing a little. “Hear that, Steve—one orgasm and our poor little doll is tuckered out.”

“You better perk up, baby,” Steve told her, his menacing words slipping through her head. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.” She whined, and he ran his fingers down her stomach, her pelvis, and past her lips, running the tips of his fingers through the mess Bucky made on her cunt. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, darling,” he told her, delivering a slap to her clit. She jumped, but Bucky’s hands and Steve’s body anchored her in place. “Look at Bucky down there, servicing you, working so hard to make you feel good. Don’t you like the sight of him down there?”

“Steve,” she whined, high pitched and breathy as he made her look Bucky in the eyes. Bucky looked up at her adoringly, his fingers still working in and out of her entrance while Steve circled her clit with a featherlight touch. 

“I know I like the way he looks. He loves getting down on his knees and worshiping you, don’t you, Buck?”

“I love it,” Bucky agreed, his voice eager. “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart.”

“And he really does mean anything .” Steve’s words held mirth as he degraded Bucky, as he pressed harder on her clit, fingers working themselves into a rhythm. “Take it from me, there’s only a few people in this world he’d get on his knees for.”

“Just you two,” Bucky whispered, pressing a hot kiss against her hipbone, staring up at them both with adoring eyes that she couldn’t help but lock onto, getting lost in the indigo depths of them, like drowning in a perfect reflection of the endless ocean, never to resurface, never to breathe again.

It scared her. But she was happy to drown, as long as it was him.

Her sweet Bucky, on his knees for her. Only for her.

A rush of emotion swept through her, the intensity of his gaze piercing her and breaking her down. He licked his lips, glossy with her arousal, and then leaned back in, eyes still on hers, as he licked around her entrance, around his own fingers, then running his tongue up around her clit, around Steve’s fingers, their appendages dancing together to bring her over the edge once more. Her cunt clenched and dripped around his fingers, and she opened her mouth in a silent cry and finally broke eye contact with Bucky as her eyes rolled back, fluttered closed, and she lost herself in the pleasure, not hearing their words of encouragement, not seeing the reverent way they gazed at her, only feeling the waves of sensation rolling through her core. 

By the time she came back to her senses and opened her eyes, she had clearly already been absent for some time. Bucky was on his feet now and the men were holding her to the side, each with an arm around her body, while they embraced each other in a deep kiss, tongues visibly tangling, sharing the taste of her between them. Steve kept one hand in Bucky’s hair, anchoring him to his mouth, while Bucky clung onto his shirt, drawing him closer until their fronts pressed together, at which point he ground his hips into Steve’s. This provoked a low moan from Steve that they could feel vibrate through their chests.

She had forgotten how erotic it was to see them kiss, and in her drug-addled state of mind, it only made her more restless, more turned on, wetness dripping down her thighs as she pressed up against them tighter. The feeling of their bodies against hers was as intoxicating as their affectionate display, their jeans scraping her bare legs, their arms tight around her waist. Bucky’s hand rested on her hip, gently squeezing, while Steve’s laid on her ribcage, just below her breast, surely able to feel her heart hammering inside her chest.

The boys pulled away from each other with a lewd wet noise before turning their attention to the impatient girl in their arms, squirming against them and biting her lip when they finally looked upon her.

“Look at that, Buck,” Steve said, a smirk on his face. “I think our girl likes watching us together.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, Stevie,” Bucky chuckled, leaning closer to her. “You liked watching Steve lick the taste of you out of my mouth, baby?” Shy, she hesitated for a moment, averting her eyes, but nodded after some consideration. “Of course you did, you’re our naughty little doll, aren’t you? Do you want a taste?”

She maintained eye contact this time as she nodded, and Bucky wasted no time planting his lips upon hers. He bit at her lower lip, sharp and stinging. When she gasped in pain, he licked into her mouth, giving her the taste of her own cunt that he promised her. 

While they kissed, Steve worked on getting their clothes off, taking off his own shirt before grabbing Bucky’s, separating the kiss. Bucky watched as Steve slid the straps of her dress down her arms, the thin slip so loose that it fell to the ground in a silken heap around her ankles. 

“Beautiful,” Steve whispered, looking over her body, bare but for her heels. 

“Shut up,” she muttered, looking down, bashful, avoiding his intense gaze, but Steve lifted her head by her chin, forcing her eyes to his. 

“Hey. I mean it, baby. You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve got Steve actin’ like a big sap tonight, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured into her ear before placing a kiss on the side of her head. “Next you’ll have him revealing all his darkest secrets.”

“I don’t think she wants to know my darkest secrets,” Steve said with something that was almost a scoff, but less derisive than he usually might be, before ushering her backwards. “C’mon, get on the bed.”

“Wait,” she stumbled into him, tripping on her heels once more, still unsteady and uncoordinated without their hands holding her. “What about my shoes?”

“I think we’ll leave those on,” Steve answered, lifting her up so she kneeled on the bed. “Bucky loves the look of heels while he’s fucking you, ain’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky returned Steve’s smirk, removing his jeans and boxers in one shove and climbing on the bed behind her and running his hands up her legs. “That would be correct, Stevie.” He hugged her around the middle, pressing his cock against her ass. She stiffened at first before pressing her ass back against it. “It’s very sexy, doll.”

“Oh…” she murmured, struck at the idea that they found her sexy. That wasn’t something she had thought of herself before, not something she thought anybody else considered her. “You think I’m… sexy?”

“Very much so,” Bucky replied, one hand squeezing over her tits while the other trailed down her stomach, her thighs, before settling between her legs and playing with the mess on her cunt. 

“Buck, lay on your back,” Steve commanded, eyes twinkling with delight. As he sat up against the headboard, Steve faced their girl, circling her in his arms and looking her in the eyes. “Baby, I want you to ride him like you did before.” He kissed her sweetly, softly. “Can you do that for me?”

She frowned, blurry memories from that drunken encounter coming back. Remembering when they forced her to sit on his cock, her ass bruised from her spanking and brushing painfully against Bucky with every movement. She remembered feeling so weak from the pain, from the pleasure, that she couldn’t even move her hips on him, and she remembered Steve taking charge of her.

And now she was again, drunk and naked and at their mercy.

“I don’t know…” she said, even as Steve lifted her and positioned her to straddle Bucky’s thighs. Bucky steadied her by the waist when she wobbled and fell against his chest. Steve pulled her upright by the shoulders, and she felt a little disoriented at being manhandled so much. “Steve, I’m not sure…” She looked down, palms pressed to Bucky’s stomach, until Steve redirected her gaze once again.

“I know you can do it,” he whispered against her lips, a light little kiss. “I’ll help you if you need it.”

“Go on, sweetheart,” Bucky said, voice hoarse, lining his cock up. “Go ahead and fuck me.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she sunk down on him, not used to the way he filled her after going so long since the last time they had sex. Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure she would ever be used to it. No matter how good it felt, it always seemed to short-circuit her brain.

“God,” she whimpered as she lowered herself until her ass met his thighs. “Oh, God, Bucky—” 

“I know, honey,” he grunted, gripping her hips tight, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” She nodded, leaning forward and resting her forehead against his. “Move, sweetheart. Ride my cock, you can do it.”

Tentatively, she moved her hips in a way similar to how Steve moved her the last time, holding Bucky’s shoulders tighter when it sent shocks up her spine. She did it again, increasing the movement with Bucky’s help, his hands clamped on her hips, and again, until he eased her into a natural rhythm of her bouncing on his cock.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Steve cooed from behind her, running a finger up the line of her spine. “You’re a pro, aren’t ya?” 

She whimpered, unable to focus on anything except the incredible fullness within her, and when Bucky pulled her down to lay on his chest, his cock now pressing harder on certain spots within her, like a beat of pleasure, a thrumming heartbeat directly in her core. Her head was filled with Bucky’s dirty words in her ear, the familiar sharp smell of his sweat and cologne, the spinning in her mind, the high that rushed through her still, every nerve ending lit aflame with their touch.

As Bucky fucked up into her, blurring the lines between every sensation washing through her, she was too preoccupied to pay attention to Steve behind her, reaching over into the bedside table and pulling out a bottle of something, nor did she notice him smearing something on his fingers before placing one large palm on the small of her back, keeping her flat on Bucky, and using the other to reach between her legs and— 

“Ohhh,” she let out a shuddering sound as Steve pressed his fingers against her asshole, circling gently at first, slowly increasing the pressure. They were covered in something cold and slippery and nice on her heated skin. “Steve, oh, God, what are you—” 

“Shhh, baby doll,” he soothed her, rubbing her back gently. “Let me open you up so you can take my cock. You’re gonna love it, it’ll feel good, I promise.”

It was then that he slid the tip of his finger in, just up until the first knuckle, but she tensed up, trapping him there. “Steve,” she whined, trying to sit up until Steve’s hand on her back stopped her.

“Relax, baby, it’s gonna hurt if you don’t relax. Buck, distract her, will you?”

Bucky took her face in his hands, forcing her to face him instead of burying her head in his neck. “Hey, baby girl,” he purred, his soft tone washing over her. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, dark with lust, drowning her all over again. “Just calm down for me, can you do that?” He kissed her sweetly then, his lips soft against her own, tongue sweeping out to brush against her until she opened her mouth for him. 

With her attention now on the kiss, Steve was able to sink his entire forefinger inside of her until she tensed again. He kept it inside, letting her get used to the feeling. “That’s so good, baby,” he praised her, “So good for me, that’s it. Just feel me inside of you, honey, tell me how it feels.”

Bucky pulled away from her then, taking a look at her, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, mouth opening with a little grunt as Steve withdrew his finger and went back in. “Tell him how it feels, baby,” Bucky encouraged her with a firm tap on her cheek.

Her eyes opened, locking onto Bucky’s, dark with lust, glistening in the low lights. “It, it feels—” She moaned when Steve thrusted his finger again. “Feels… weird... full,” she whispered, “It’s really big—a lot—oh, Steve—” Her words tapered off into a whimper as Steve set a rhythm with his finger, prodding her insides with each movement.

“If you think my finger’s big, sweetheart, just wait until I’ve got my cock in you.”

Bucky kissed her again before she could say anything, running his hands up and down her sides, back, and hips, trying to distract her from the feeling. “Just focus on how I feel inside you, baby,” he said as he and Steve rocked her back and forth between them. He rested one hand on her hip, his thumb stretching between their bodies to her clit to draw soft circles on it. “Feel that, honey, just think about how it feels.”

That was all she could think about, the rest of the world around her fuzzy. Even her hands and feet felt numb, vibrating at such a low frequency she could barely feel it. The vibrations grew stronger along her arms and legs, centering in on where Steve and Bucky had their hands, working her with slow movements as if they were playing a deep, tranquil melody on a cello. 

Bucky moved his hips under her, thrusting up inside of her while her torso swayed between them. She keened when his cock hit something so delicious and deep inside of her, thighs quivering where they sunk into the bed around Bucky’s hips.

“She likes that, Buck,” Steve chuckled, eyes stuck on the way her ass took his whole finger, the slide of Bucky’s cock in and out of her. He could feel Bucky moving inside of her with his finger and his mind spun at how it would feel when he got his cock in her. 

He was tense with anticipation, but he took his time, teasing her ass with his finger, pressing against her rim with another lubed up digit while Bucky worked her to her orgasm.

She came with a whine, and Steve could feel her ass clenching around his finger. He longed to feel it with his cock.

Bucky talked her through her orgasm, coaxing her with filthy words and loving praise. “That’s it, sweetie,” he cooed, one hand still on her clit while the other ran through her hair. “Give it to us, that’s right, come for us, baby.”

It tore through her body as she shook almost violently in their arms, eyes rolling back in her head as she gave herself over to the waves of pleasure. Finally, she laid flaccid against Bucky’s chest, face buried in his neck as she tried to catch her breath.

As soon as she relaxed, Steve thoroughly lubed up a second finger and worked it in slowly amidst her tiny whimpers and grunts against Bucky’s skin.

“Look at that, sweetheart,” Steve said in awe as he scissored his fingers in her hole. “Taking two of my fingers already sweetheart, such a good girl.”

She moaned weakly, allowing Bucky to lift her head and kiss her. He was still thrusting slowly up into her, moreso rocking her between Steve’s fingers and his cock than fucking her.

“Good girl,” Bucky purred, licking into her mouth. 

“Let’s see if you can take more, hmm?”

“No, Steve,” she cried, breaking off the kiss with Bucky. “Wait—” 

“Relax, honey,” Bucky said, cutting her off with a sharp thrust up inside of her that had her eyes fluttering closed. “That’s it, just feel us inside of you.”

She lost all sense of time as they brought her to the edge again, only for Steve to stick his ring finger in her ass alongside the others just before she started to come, and suddenly the feel of his fingers inside of her, inside of that hole that she had never so much as touched before, felt like the most amazing thing in the world, right next to Bucky’s cock in her cunt.

As her orgasm subsided and Steve continued to stretch her, she laid limp against Bucky, letting them do what they pleased with her body, too exhausted at this point to participate or protest. Steve’s fingers inside her ass started to feel weird again without the intoxicating cloud of her orgasm influencing her thoughts, but she had to admit there was something utterly erotic about being so full, feeling so stuffed with both of them.

“Once I have my cock in you, you’ll feel even more full, honey,” Steve said, a promise in his tone, and she wondered how much of her drug-fueled thoughts and emotions she had voiced out loud.

After what seemed like ages of Bucky idly fucking her, his pace slow so as to not work either of them up too much, and Steve working his fingers in an out of her to the point that it didn’t even hurt anymore, only felt so overwhelming and numb, she began to fidget, restless now that she was so aroused, but so little attention was being paid to make her come.

Although she had already come three times and indeed felt exhausted, she simultaneously felt that she could keep going forever, her body jazzed up, limbs shaky, the drugs in her system working her up and down like she was on a roller coaster.

“Steve,” she whined once she couldn’t take it anymore. “Bucky—”

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Bucky asked, kissing her forehead. “Too much for you?”

“No,” she mumbled into his neck. 

“You want my cock in your ass, don’t you, baby?” Steve asked, amusement in his tone. He swatted her ass lightly. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, lifting her head up. She and Bucky looked at each other while she spoke to both of them. “Will it feel good?”

“It will feel very good,” Bucky replied, voice soft, almost like he was speaking to a child.

“You want it?” Steve asked. She hesitated, but nodded. Steve spanked her again. “Let me hear you say it.”

“I want it,” she said, still so shy, but it was enough for Steve.

“Then you’ll get it, sweetheart. We’ll give you whatever you want.”

He pulled his fingers out and slicked up his cock with enough lube to make it drip onto her ass. He drizzled lube over her hole, too, already so shiny and slippery, and worked a little bit into her with a few shallow pumps of his fingers. She whined and wiggled her ass back at him, making him chuckle and spank her again, leaving a shiny handprint on her flesh. 

“Patience, baby,” Bucky reprimanded her as Steve went back to make sure she was slick inside and out. “You don’t want him to go too fast, too quick. It’ll be a lot for you to handle, you need to be as relaxed and stretched out as possible.” One finger pushed a glob of lube inside her, then two, then three. She was relaxed and unresistant at this point, but still so tight.

“How do you know I’m not already?”

“Steve and I have been doing this for ages,” Bucky answered. “If it takes him this long to prep me so he can fuck my ass, it’s gonna take longer for you, honey.”

Her head shot up as Steve continued to push his way through her tight muscle. “You guys have done this before?”

Bucky and Steve both laughed at her naivety and it made her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky said, running a gentle hand along her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed when Steve stuck his fingers particularly deep, ensuring she was lubed up enough inside. “Why? Are you surprised?”

“A little, yeah…” she sighed as Steve twisted his fingers. “I knew you guys kissed and stuff… But… I don’t know. I didn’t know the extent of your relationship.”

“Well we’ve never really told you,” Steve said.

Bucky smirked and kissed her softly until she was squirming again. “Maybe one day we’ll show you,” he whispered. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” she panted. “But right now I want something different.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked, amused.

“You said you’d give me what I want,” she moaned, petulance in her tone. 

“Fine,” Steve grunted, pulling his fingers out of her. “If you wanna whine like a brat about it, I wanna hear you beg me to fuck your ass.”

She scoffed with indignance, but Steve only spanked her and repeated his request. She relented after a few beats of silence. “Please fuck me, Steve,” she sighed. 

He placed his cock head at her hole, but remained still. “You’ll have to do better than that. Tell me where you want my cock, baby.”

“Please fuck my ass,” she whined, giving up, the drugs letting her mouth run, feeling so needy at this point as her body yearned for something to happen. “Please, I need it, I want you to fuck my ass, I want to feel it, Stevie, please—”

“Put the poor girl out of her misery, Steve,” Bucky cut her off. “She’s desperate.”

“Okay, Buck,” Steve chuckled, slowly pressing in. “But you always were too soft on her. Let her get away with too much shit.”

“Maybe so, Steve, but look at her now,” Bucky nodded to the girl on top of him, writhing in pleasure as Steve slowly stretched her. Although he had prepared her with his fingers, his cock was something else entirely, longer and thicker and filling her in a way she had never thought could be possible. “Moaning for it like a little slut.”

Steve laughed and then grunted as he sheathed his cock completely inside of her. He gave her a short time to get used to it, but his muscles strained with the effort of holding himself back. He yearned to pound into her, fuck her into submission, but he knew he had to be more gentle with her. He distracted himself with a hand stroking her back, massaging her tense muscles. “There you go, sweetheart, full of us. Just where you belong, isn’t that right?”

She didn’t respond, but Bucky felt her mouthing against his neck, sucking on the skin there for comfort. “Pretty girl’s so full of cock, doesn’t have a single thought left in her brain anymore, hmm?” 

Her teeth nipped against his neck, sharp, and it made Bucky laugh. “Biting me now, baby? Looks like our girl’s still got a little bit of fight left in her, Stevie.”

“We’ll fuck that right out of her,” he said, before sliding out and thrusting back in. It didn’t take long for Steve and Bucky to figure out a rhythm, sliding her back and forth on their cocks like a limp rag doll. And she let them—let them fuck her, use her, pound away at her like she was made for their pleasure. The men couldn’t believe how tight she was around them, her cunt like a vice gripping them, how wet and needy and pliant she got with two cocks inside of her. 

Because she was. She belonged to them, and now she was back in her rightful place.

She panted against Bucky’s neck, sounds leaving her mouth unchecked, moans and whimpers and whines. Tears came to her eyes from the sheer pleasure of it all, from every sensation running through her. She was so full , almost unbearably so. She thought they could possibly rip right through her if they went any harder, was shocked they hadn’t already, but something dark and twisted deep inside of her yearned for it. 

It was hard to breathe, but she wasn’t sure if that was the drugs or the sex or the crushing feeling of giving herself over to these men who she had known for so long and had so many complex emotions for.

With a grunt, Steve took a hold of her by her throat and pulled her up so her back was flush against his chest. She held onto his wrist, solid and unmoving, with both her hands—not to move his arm, but just to have something to hold. She gasped and choked as he cut off her air, trembling at the change in position and how the two cocks inside of her hit differently now. This also allowed Bucky a little room to breathe, and as he fucked up into her, he admired her naked form.

Lips bitten red, skin glistening with sweat, hair a rats nest all around her face, eyes glazed over and leaking tears, body jarring as they fucked her with rough, punishing thrusts. “You look like a perfect little doll,” Bucky said, hand tracing along her skin with a touch lighter than his words, voice gruff in the back of his throat. “Beautiful.” He pinched and twisted her nipples, listening to her muffled whines, choked off by Steve’s grip on her neck. “So sexy, sweetheart.”

“You look like a little whore is what you look like,” Steve growled in her ear. “Getting fucked stupid by us, hmm? Tell us you love it, baby.”

She could barely get the words out, but she managed somehow, choking as she babbled how much she loved their cocks, that she was so full, to let her come, to fuck her harder. Steve could hardly believe this was the same girl who had reluctantly given him her virginity all those months ago, but then again, her drug-blown pupils spoke for themselves.

He wanted her like this all the time. Broken down and vulnerable for him, craving his cock. Openly telling him how she loved him.

He buried his face in the back of her shoulder and fucked her harder. At the same time, Bucky circled her clit with one hand, applying enough pressure to make her scream , despite Steve choking her. 

The hand on her throat slid up to cup her jaw and he slid his fingers inside of her mouth to shut her up. She gagged on them before wrapping her tongue around them, sucking on them and moaning wantonly against them so he could feel the vibrations from her throat all up his arm. He felt the wetness from her tears on his palm as they dripped down her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but lift his head to take a look at her.

“So sweet when you cry, baby,” he groaned, lips right against her ear. “Love it when you cry for me.” He kissed up her cheeks, wiping her tears away with his lips.

Bucky sat up then, still playing with her clit, and he attached his mouth to her tit, sucking on it and then biting at her nipples until she squealed. One of her hands went down to hold the back of his head to her breast, tugging on his hair and the pain went right to his cock.

“Fuck,” he gasped against her nipple, lapping at the puffy swollen areola and then giving the same treatment to the other one. “Steve,” he groaned, looking up at the other man fucking her. “‘M not gonna last much longer.”

“Make her come, baby,” Steve encouraged him. “Make our little doll come, and then I want you to come inside her.”

“Yes,” Bucky hissed, doubling down his efforts on her clit, adjusting his hips thrusting against her until he had just the right angle to make her eyes roll back in her head. With Steve whispering filth in her ear and Bucky strumming her clit and plucking at her nipples, it didn’t take long for her to be at that precipice of pleasure. Steve spanked her once, gripped her ass tight in his hand, slid his fingers out of her mouth and circled her nipples, soothing the pinch of Bucky’s fingers with her own slick saliva.

That was all it took to push her off the edge again, and she tightened around their cocks so hard they could barely move inside of her for fear of hurting her.

She thought she might like it if they hurt her, already liked the sting of Bucky’s teeth and fingers on her nipples, already liked the slight burn that came with Steve fucking her ass, loved the dull throb and ache in her core as she came so hard, her vision whited out. Her teeth clenched together hard, and then she opened her mouth, letting out the loudest moan she had ever made. Her body convulsed between them and they held her steady through it, fucking her still and drawing out the pleasure.

“That’s it, that’s right,” she eventually heard Steve saying, like he had been speaking for some time but she had been too out of it to hear. “Good girl, such a good girl for us, coming so good like that.”

“So sweet, baby,” Bucky crooned in her ear, sucking on her earlobe. He was more tense, thrusts uneven, hands shaking where they gripped her, ever closer to his peak. “Gonna make me come, sweetheart, so good to me—”

“Come on, Buck,” Steve growled, leaning forward and pressing her into Bucky so he could kiss the other man. Bucky always loved coming as Steve kissed him, Steve knew. “Come for me, give it to me, Buck.”

Bucky panted into Steve’s mouth, sent over the edge by the girl between them kissing at his clavicle, biting softly and mewling like a little kitten as they crushed her between them. He ground his hips into hers, coming deep inside her, feeling how hot and wet she was around him, the press of Steve’s cock against him through that thin layer of skin, making everything so much more tight and hot and wet and sinful. One of the utmost dirtiest feelings he’d ever felt, Steve’s cock snug up against his own as they used the girl between them for their pleasure.

He laid back with her against his chest, both of them limp and weak from their orgasms.

Once Bucky and their girl were both blissed out, past their peaks, Steve renewed the vigor in his thrusts, fucking into her with more passion until finally he spilled inside of her with an agonized groan, pressed so far up against her that he could feel Bucky’s balls against his own sac. 

He pulled out, watching his come drip out of her fluttering asshole and seep down, collecting around her cunt where Bucky’s cock was still buried, softening inside of her. Bucky sluggishly pulled out as well, and Steve admired the way she looked, come dripping from both holes, blushed and swollen and abused.

With her out of commission against Bucky’s chest, Steve couldn’t help but reach down to grab his phone from his jeans on the floor before quickly snapping a few photos.

One of her holes, one of his half-hard cock pressed up against her asshole, a few of his fingers running through the come dripping out of her and pushing it back in, and one of her slumped against Bucky, weak and exhausted, completely fucked out. She didn’t even protest when he pushed Bucky’s come back into her cunt, only twitching against Bucky’s chest, a sigh the only noise she made.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, moving her onto her back beside him. She went, her body limp, eyes closed. She was quickly falling asleep. Steve took a few more photos of her bruised, battered body before tossing his phone back on the ground. He went to get them some water and a washcloth, and by the time he got back, she was sound asleep. Bucky tried to rouse her. “Sweetheart, wake up. We need to clean you up.” She grunted and turned on her side, burying her face in Bucky’s shoulder.

“I don’t think she would fare well in the shower right now,” Steve said as he wiped the lube and come from his dick. He looked back at her legs again, splayed open, her cunt glistening. Bucky took her heels off, tossing them to the side. “Besides, I think I want to leave her soaked in our come. Give her something to remember once she wakes up in the morning.”

Bucky chuckled and then took the rag from Steve. “I don’t think she’d appreciate that too much.” Bucky cleaned himself off before maneuvering her onto her back. “Spread her legs, Stevie.” Steve obliged, and for a moment, they admired the look of her like that, the mess they made of her. Then, Bucky gently wiped away the come and lube on her inner thighs and between her folds; all the while, she squirmed weakly and whined in her sleep. 

“Stop your crying, baby,” Steve said gently once they were done. He placed a kiss on her knee and she quieted down.

“Poor thing,” Bucky said with a chuckle. They arranged her in the middle of the bed, settling on either side of her and pulling the blanket over them. Now she was dead to the world, the drugs and alcohol carrying her mind away. “You’ll have to send me those pictures you took,” Bucky said.

Steve winked at him. “I will.” He turned off the lamp and turned towards Bucky. They crowded her in between their bodies, cuddling up to her as she lay passed out between them. “You happy to have our girl back?”

“We’ll see how it goes in the morning,” Bucky said, but he smiled. “But yeah. I am.”