kaiparker-avengerssmut

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

This is still by far one of my favourite fics I’ve ever read!

Haze

Pairing: Frat!Bucky/Frat!Steve x Milf!Reader

Summary: When the fraternity your son is pledging crosses a line, you decide to go give two of the members a piece of your mind.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Bucky and Steve are ASSHOLES consider this your warning, reader is married, heavy references of hazing/bullying, one instance of fat shaming(not directed at the reader), drug use/alcohol consumption(not by reader), DUBCON, humiliation, degradation, coercive bargaining, fingering, oral sex/throat fucking (m receiving), rimming (m receiving), name calling, double vaginal penetration, double creampie, bukkake, photographing without consent, 18+.

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: Thank you to @msmarvelwrites, @cockslutpadalecki, @sgt-seabass, @christywantspizza and @dreamlessinparis for all your help, read throughs and hype! And thank you to @navybrat817 for helping with some of the FILTH in here and coming up with the hardest part - the summary that I was stuck on for about a week 🤣 I started this fic in December 2021, so I'm sorry if I forgot anybody who helped me, encouraged me or read it through for me. It wasn't intentional if I did 💗

All my works are 18+. If you click the read more tab, you are agreeing that you are 18 or over, have read the warnings and take responsibility for your own media consumption. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted anywhere else.

You strum your manicured nails against the steering wheel, trying to reach your husband’s phone for the fifth time that afternoon. Nothing. You stare up at the frat house at the top of the driveway, ire rising inside you as you cast your mind back to this morning.

Josh, your son, has never been so upset. You knew he was too sweet – too sensitive – to join a fraternity but he insisted. He wanted to fit in, to make friends. That was a month ago. Having been a sorority member in college yourself, and knowing what frat life entails, you were less than surprised to find out about the disturbing hazing he’d been made to partake in. 

What you weren’t expecting was just how cruel and downright humiliating the two assholes in charge had been. 

Making your way up the driveway, you straighten up your shoulders, not an ounce of anxiety dwelling within. If there’s one thing you can’t stand, it’s a bully. And you were more than happy to confront them if it meant your son could start enjoying college life like he deserves. 

The front door swings open before you have the chance to knock, the stench of marijuana and stale beer wafting up your wrinkled nose. “Steve, you order a hooker or something?”

You recognise the male in front of you from the video you’d seen on social media earlier that day. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. If you didn’t know any better – and he didn’t have such a vile manner about him already – you’d think he was a nice guy. Brown hair, bright blue eyes and that baby faced smile. But you know he’s anything but.

"I'm Josh's mother." You don't wait for him to invite you in, pushing past him and walking into the house. It's messy but nothing compared to what you expected, empty solo cups strewn around on the sideboard and discarded sneakers littering the hallway floor. "I came here to discuss your treatment of him. It's unacceptable and it stops now." 

A blonde man appears in the kitchen doorway, amused stare looking you over and his chest puffed out, silently attempting to assert his arrogance. "You're hotter than your photo." Your brow furrows slightly, confused. "Nineteen years old and still got his mama as his screensaver. It'd be cute if it wasn't so fucking sad." 

You despise the way your thighs clench at the sight of his bicep flexing when he lifts a beer bottle to his mouth, a thick vein protruding against the surface of his skin. He reminds you of your college boyfriend, Ransom. Pushing the memory of that asshole from your mind, you collect yourself, focusing on the one in front of you, one hand resting on your hip and your car keys dangling in the other. 

"What you're doing is cruel. He's very upset." 

"Has Joshy been crying to his mother? He's more of a sap than I thought." You scowl when Bucky passes you, lighting the joint in his hand and taking a long drag. The scent takes you back to your own college days. He exhales. "You know how this shit works, babe? It's not s'posed to be a breeze. Fuckers gotta prove himself before we can accept him. It's nothing personal."

"I'm not your babe," you scowl, folding your arms across your chest. "Nothing personal? You made him send his girlfriend pictures of another girl's breasts. Surely even a prick like you can see that's crossing a line. She was distraught."

"Actually, that was my idea. Fuckin' love that shit," Steve gloats, reaching beneath the waistband of his shorts and readjusting himself. Your eyes linger on his crotch longer than you intended and his lips curl up when you force your gaze away. "She'll get over it. She is over it. Trust me." 

You don't want to know what that means, choosing not to press this particular subject further.

“You washed his mouth out with soap because he forgot to refer to you as 'Master'. You think that’s an acceptable way to treat a human being, James?” you ask, disgusted by the way he smirks against the rim of his beer bottle. Disgusted by the way your tongue darts out to catch the imaginary droplet of beer as one happens to spill from the corner of his own mouth. “Oh, that’s funny, huh? I’ve had it. I won’t let you get away with it. I’m reporting you to the Dean.” 

Steve barks out a laugh and it only irritates you more. “Something amusing?”

“He’s my uncle, but good luck with that.” 

"Oh, great. A nepo baby." 

It all makes sense now. How else would they get away with this excessive humiliation?

"A bit rich coming from you, Mrs Stark."

You have nothing to say to that. You suppose, in a way, he's right. The cogs in your brain begin to turn, and you can't help but think that Josh's parentage might have something to do with their excessively harsh treatment. It wasn't exactly a secret amongst the staff that Tony had gifted a hefty grant to the college Dean in order to secure your son's place here. 

"I'll tell you what, Mama. I'll go easy on your boy. I'm not an unreasonable guy." You can't stop the scoff that comes from your mouth, arms folded across your chest as you eye the blonde popping the cap off a beer bottle and letting it fall to the floor at his feet. "What? I will. I'll go easy on him. But considering it could be classed as preferential treatment, don't you think you oughta do a little something for us in return?"

The sly grin that spreads across his face unsettles you, and you find yourself shuffling from left to right as you contemplate what it is that they could possibly want from you. You can tell the pair were born with silver spoons in their mouths. That much has been evident since the moment you stepped into the frat house. It wasn't as if they needed money, but you couldn't think of anything else they'd be seeking from you. 

"I'm not paying you to quit harassing my son," you tell the brunette, stepping back as he takes a short stride forward. The backs of your knees brush against the couch behind you, and you begin to feel trapped in his presence. Bucky simply laughs, looking over at a smirking Steve. Like they're in on some private joke that you're not yet privy to. "Just cut the bullshit and tell me what you want. My husband didn't work his fingers to the damn bone every day for the last 19 years for our son to drop out of college because of two losers on a power trip."

Your face is stern, your words dripping in faux bravery, and your brow crumpled in frustration; but what you're feeling inside is anything but courageous. Not when Bucky takes another step forward, lifting the joint between his fingers to his lips and toking it.

You turn your nose up at the stench that fills your nostrils, pursing your lips to express your disgust. If your sorority sisters were here, they'd poke fun at you over your prudeness. You weren't exactly a stranger to their ways, but these two didn't need to know that. 

"I don't think it's clicked in that pretty little head just yet, Buck." Your head snaps to the left of you, your eyes glaring a hole through Steve as he walks a little closer, taking a swig of his beer and shooting you a wink.

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are replaced by the dry tang of smoke billowing against your lips. Fanning the fumes from your face, anger bubbling away in your veins and an unwanted heat stoking between your thighs, you point a finger firmly against Bucky's chest. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face and quit wasting my time. What do you want?"

He's quiet for a moment, stretching his arm out by his side to pass the joint to Steve who takes it happily. Your mouth curls in disdain when his fingers find their way to the buttons of your blouse, and you're hit with the very obvious request he's about to make of you. You don't even give him the chance to say it before you're shaking your head.

"No," you tell him firmly; looking back and forth between the two young men. 

"No?" he chuckles, toying with your collar before pulling his hand away completely. You breathe a small sigh of relief, staring him down. “You don't even know what I'm gonna say yet.”

Those eyes could make the most devout of nuns drop their panties. 

Stop it.

You part your lips to speak, but Steve is quick to cut you off before you even begin. "Look, you can walk out of here with your self respect intact and your boy will get it the hardest out of all those desperate morons."

He pauses to down the remainder of his drink, and you try to look anywhere else but at the pair of bright, cerulean eyes staring you down. 

"Or," he continues, setting the empty bottle on the large, oak coffee table in front of him, "you can get down on your knees and show us exactly how desperate you are for us to leave him alone." 

Your heart beats frantically in your chest, sidestepping the brunette and putting some space between the two of you. You feel like your airway is closing up, your cheeks hot from the obscene proposal. 

"You can leave. You know where the door is," Bucky says, motioning to the hallway behind you, "or you can stay. You never know. You might enjoy yourself more than you think. How long's it been since that pussy got a good pounding?" 

“Last night, actually.” You’re lying, of course. It’s been months. 

“I’ve seen your husband, baby. The only thing he’s pounding is the Wendy’s drive-thru.” Bucky catches your wrist just before your palm can meet his cheek, his grip firm and a sick grin forming on his face. “Maybe next time he can use the grease to lube up his cock. Fuck knows you must be drier than the Nevada desert with that on top of you every night.” 

He’s disgusting, his darkened chuckle vibrating through your whole body like molasses, anger simmering and prickling at your skin. 

“So, what’s it gonna be? Run to the Dean and see how fast Rogers can get your kid kicked out altogether or get down on your knees and do something useful with that mouth?” 

This was Josh’s dream college. This was the one he’d dreamt of attending since 8th grade. The same one you and your husband attended all those years ago. You had to ask yourself, was your pride worth his heartbreak? If you did this for him, his life would undoubtedly improve, right? 

“If you tell him—” 

“Our lips are sealed. Right, Rogers?” He smirks. “But yours won't be.”

You wince at the feel of Steve’s rough hand squeezing your ass, your body trapped between the two of them and the scent of them swimming all around you. His smiling lips brush your ear and you don’t even bother to suppress the shudder. “Get on your knees. We don’t have all day.” 

"Not so mouthy now, are you?" Bucky grins, taking a sip of his beer and watching as you glare up at him; lips stretching around his girth, pussy shamefully clenching at the feel of Steve's palm dragging up the inside of your thigh. "Well actually, I guess you are, huh?"

You pull Bucky's cock free of your mouth, spit dripping from your lower lip and down your chin. The hand that curls around the back of your throat startles you, Steve's body leaning over you and his lips inches from your ear.

"Don't want your boy to know what a slut you are, do you?" Steve taunts, the outline of his erection pressing up against the curve of your ass through his basketball shorts. "Do your part and it'll be our little secret."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't changing your tune real fast, your cunt hungry for attention and your lips gravitating back towards the fat cock in front of you. You can't help but hum at the salty taste on your tongue when you lap at the head, lips working their way down his shaft inch by inch. 

"Bet she's fuckin' drenched just from having her mouth stuffed," Bucky teases, looking right past you and nodding with silent instruction to Steve. "Go ahead, bet you bucks I'm right."

A moan vibrates through him when you feel two thick fingers glide through your drenched folds, a sardonic laugh ringing in your ears as they probe at your entrance teasingly. Your eyes catch sight of the $50 bill being tossed forward over your shoulder, landing on Bucky's thigh before he snatches it up with his fingers. 

"I'm never wrong about this kinda shit. I can tell when they want it." He has the sheer audacity to wave the money in front of your face, a smug look on his undoubtedly handsome features. "Hey, do a great job and you might leave with a tip."

You hate the way your thighs clench together, and the distinct sound of your slick squelching between your pussy lips makes you cringe. You hate that you walked in here ready to tear them a new asshole, and now here you are, willing to give anything for them to tear up yours.

You don't know where the urge to please them is coming from, but with each soft grunt that falls from his mouth, every little whisper of praise from Steve's lips - it makes you want more. So much more. 

"Yeah, you love it don't you? Being down on your knees like a worthless little whore?" Steve goads, thumb swiping back and forth over your clit. You find yourself nodding, bobbing your head further down onto Bucky's cock, because it's true. Years of boring, vanilla sex was finally catching up with you. "Still think you can do better. Not makin' anywhere near as much mess we like. C'mere." 

Steve yanks your head backwards away from Bucky's lap, your neck craning to its limit as he holds your mouth open with his fingers; a thick glob of saliva dripping from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. It's disgusting, the way your lips wrap themselves around his fingers when he pushes them between your lips, pressing down against your tongue and making you gag at the foreign intrusion. 

"That's better," Steve hums, withdrawing his fingers and leaning down to leave the sloppiest of kisses against your parted lips. "Say Buck, remember Tiffany from last week? The cheerleader? You think our new toy can throat it as deep as she did?"

"I don't know, Steve. That was one hell of a blow job. I'm not sure she's got it in her," Bucky laughs, and the determination that rises inside you has you leaning back in, taking him further than you have yet, the tip of him prodding against your uvula. "Would you look at that? Someone's feeling competitive." 

You could care less about the noises you're making as you take him deeper, forcing yourself down until your nose is nestled in the coarse hair at the base of him. One hand reaches for the soft sac between his thighs, the other stretching behind you for, well, you don't really know. 

All you know is that you want Steve's fingers back on your cunt. 

You drag your swollen, smeared lips down the underside of Bucky's shaft, your tongue seeking out his balls, sucking them into your mouth one after the other. You can tell by the blissed out look on his face that he's in heaven. Tiffany, who? 

The sensation of Steve's fingers easing slowly inside your cunt has you gasping, your cheek resting against Bucky's bare thigh as you adjust to the stretch. You can't remember the last time Tony initiated any kind of foreplay, and the way his fingertips curl up against that long forgotten soft spot inside you has you sighing with lusty relief.

"Hey," Bucky nudges, the heavy thud of his cock stinging your spit-slick cheek, "you better not be slackin' off now you've got a cunt full. Keep goin'."

"Yes Sir," you smirk, wrapping your fist around his throbbing appendage and squeezing it in your palm. Your confidence is rising with each passing moment, now that you know exactly what having you down here on your knees does to him. To both of them. 

"You hear that, Rogers? Yes, Sir. I like that," he groans, your tongue bravely dipping lower, the tip of it tickling his perineum as his thighs spread wider as if by instinct. "Oh yeah, I like that. I knew she was a nasty bitch. Can't fool me with the fancy clothes and expensive jewelry."

Your back arches, Steve's hand splayed out against it as his fingers work delightfully in and out of your trembling walls. Bucky repositions himself, feet resting on the cusp of the couch and his hips shuffling a little closer to the edge. You know what he's asking for, and you're not about to refuse him. Not when he looks down at you like you hung all the stars in the fucking sky. 

"You gonna do it, baby? You gonna eat his ass? Fuck it, why should he have all the fun?" You whine pathetically, cunt empty as Steve moves from behind you, taking a seat on the sofa next to Bucky and sagging back against the cushions. "Least you can do is jerk me off while you work that nasty little mouth." 

You don't even hesitate to reach beneath the waistband of his sweats, your fingers barely touching as you tug him free. He's not packing as much length as the man in front of you, but his girth is mouth watering. 

Your tongue wiggles its way down, flattening against the tight, pink ring of muscle between Bucky's cheeks, and the groan that leaves his throat is nothing short of sinful. You don't hold back, burying your face against him as Steve takes hold of your palm, spitting in it and leading it back towards his cock. 

"Fuck, look at her.” Bucky groans, unashamedly letting his head fall back against the cushions as you feast on his asshole. You take a moment to breathe, sitting back on your knees and taking hold of Bucky’s length in your free hand; jerking the two men simultaneously and letting your tongue lap at your bottom lip. “Who’s cock you gonna bounce on first, hm? Seein’ as though you’ve been such a good little fucktoy, I’ll let you choose.” 

It’s an impossible choice. How the fuck are you supposed to decide when both look so tempting, so capable of stretching you beyond belief? “I—I can’t. I can’t choose."

Four strong arms hoist you up onto the couch, your body landing on Bucky’s lap and your thighs forcefully straddled either side of his. Steve pinches your cheeks, hooking his fingers at the corners of your mouth as your tongue rolls out; drool spilling down onto your chest and a kitten-like mewl coming from your throat. 

“She can’t decide, Buck.” Steve grins then, menacing and full of obscene intent. “Guess that means she’ll just have to take both.” 

A wave of panic runs through you, Steve maneuvering himself off the couch, his jeans around his ankles and the fleshy weight of his cock smacking against your ass. Your mind tries to wander to your husband, a glimmer of guilt sparking in your chest, but it vanishes just as fast as it appears; Bucky’s tongue sinking into your mouth and the tip of his dick spanking your swollen clit. “Oh, fuck!” 

“You think she can take two cocks in this cunt, Rogers?” His words bring you out of your lustful reverie, anxiety and trepidation shaking you to the core. You tremble, sandwiched between the two of them, their body heat causing your temperature to rise, skin dewy with perspiration. 

“No, wait. I don't think I c—"

"Oh, you can. I know you can," Steve purrs against your ear, a single bead of sweat dripping down your spine. "Don't worry. We've done this before, haven't we? They always start off a little tense, but fuck, once they open up to it they can't get enough." 

Steve grips your waist, holding you still as Bucky’s cock sinks up into your drenched hole. “Fuck, there we fuckin’ go. Knew it’d be worth dealing with that bitch mouth.” 

If your insides weren't melting like warm butter you'd snipe back in retaliation to his insult, but the head of Steve's length poking against your perineum has you stock still, every muscle in your body tensing as you brace yourself for the excessive intrusion. "Please–please go slow." 

"Hey." Bucky's knuckles nudge at your chin as your forehead rests against his shoulder, tilting your gaze up to meet his deep azure state, his features set softer now. "It's no fun for us if it's not fun for you. We ain't gonna hurt you. If it hurts, you tell us to stop. We'll stop. Alright?" 

The stinging stretch causes such pressure on your gut that your eyes glaze over, a subtle wave of nausea washing over your body and a pressure so overwhelming, it's almost beyond comprehension. You've never been this full but they've clearly done this plenty of times before. You can tell by the ease of their movements when they gently begin to thrust [can't think of the word] in and out of your cunt. 

You lose track of all sense of time, fucked to within an inch of your own sanity, tugged around like a ragdoll and your limbs manipulated without your own consideration. And you've never felt pleasure like it. 

Your body limpens against Bucky's chest, Steve's gliding against your back, a slither of drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and onto his sweat-slick skin. It's torture and nirvana all at once, their eager grunts ringing in your ears as you allow them to use your body for their own obscene pleasure. 

The cool relief of the wood against your back as they lay you down on the coffee table in the center of the room has you whimpering, your body draped across the sturdy oak and your head hanging off the side. A light tap to your cheek has you struggling to focus on Steve's face as it comes into view, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Hey, where you goin'? You still in there mama?" 

You open your mouth to attempt an answer, immediately muffled by his girth as he feeds it between your lips, your cheeks hollowing instantly and suckling clumsily while he ruts against your face. 

Bucky's fingers plucking at your nipples has a heady whine emitting from your stuffed throat, his cock sliding into your oozing cunt causing your thighs to shake. They've already spilled inside you once. Surely they can't go much longer. Your body is exhausted. "Got you nice n open now, huh? Bet we could keep you here all fuckin' day and you'd still wanna come back for more." 

"Would you like that? You wanna come back?" Steve chuckles, knowing full well you can't answer, spluttering around him each time he drives himself into your mouth. "Yeah, I'll bet you would. Nasty fuckin' whore. You just wanna be a dirty little pleasure pit for college dick, don't you?" 

"Mmph." It's all you can manage, your lips stretched to capacity and your insides wrecked. 

Bucky's surprisingly deft fingers work your clit, softly pinching and strumming, walls beating around his dick like a lusty heartbeat. "She's gonna cum again, aren't you, baby? What's that? Three times now?" 

"I count four. Not that I give a shit." 

If you could talk, you'd say Steve absolutely does give a shit. Nobody puts this much effort into ruining a woman when they don't give a shit. But you're happy to focus on milking his dick with your mouth instead. It keeps you from zoning out completely. 

You’re on the edge of stupid when Steve yanks himself free of your sore throat, thick strings of spit connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. Before you can focus your vision, he's spilling his cum all over your face; sticky, hot droplets landing on your cheeks, lips and chin. 

“There we go. Doesn’t she look pretty, Buck? God, I gotta get a shot of this shit.” Bucky’s thrusts stagger when Steve reaches for his phone, snapping a photograph of your cum-soaked features and grunting in satisfaction at the picture on his screen. 

It’s too late to argue with him, in fact, what’s unfolding doesn’t even register fully in your brain. Your body is still twitching from your last orgasm and you’re certain you can’t take another – and Bucky doesn’t intend on making you suffer through one; pulling out and jerking himself to completion all over your stomach. 

Your head is spinning, the loud click of the camera leveling you out as Steve’s fingers scoop up the pearly droplets on your chin and sink into your mouth. You gag at the intrusion, his digits pressing down on your tongue. 

“That’s a work of art right there, Rogers.” You try to sit up, your limbs boneless and trembling. The guilt begins to settle in as you listen to them laugh, Bucky pulling two beers from the mini fridge in the corner, popping the caps off and handing one to Steve. The sound of glass clinking together makes you wince, the throbbing between your legs nothing in comparison to the heavy sense of regret building in the pit of your stomach. “What’s the matter, mama? You look a little tense. Thought we fucked that right outta you.” 

“You– you took pictures of me.” It’s a statement, not a question. Fear prickles at your skin. What if they show Josh? What if they–

“Calm down, sweetheart. It’s just for my own personal collection. I’m gonna be jerking off over that shit for weeks,” Steve gloats, taking a swig of his beer, your own lips dry and your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “I guess a mother really will do anything for her kid, huh?” 

You want to vomit, tears of self resentment in your eyes as you wipe away Steves cum with the back of your hand. Bucky crouches down next to you, a gym towel in his hand as he swipes at the mess on your stomach. “Better get dressed. Frat meeting in 20.”

Your body aches as you stretch out on your couch, the wine helping to ease your pounding head and the soreness lingering in your throat. The sound of the phone ringing on the side table makes you groan. 

“Hello?” you answer, swirling the chardonnay around in your wine glass. 

“Mom?” Josh chirps, panic embroiling you. “Hey, listen. I know I said I was thinking of dropping out but I think I’m gonna stick it out.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, they’ve actually been kinda… nice tonight.” 

“Well that’s wonderful, honey.” 

“Yeah. Listen, I gotta go.” You can hear the echoes of rowdy voices in the background, a party no doubt. “I just wanted to say thank you. You’re a great mom.” 

The phone cuts off and you look to Tony on the opposite end of the couch, a Wendy’s bag on his lap and his arm reaching out to you to offer you some of his fries; fingers coated in shiny grease. “Want one?” 

“No. No, thank you.” 

I no longer have a tag list, but if you want to keep up to date with what I post follow my sideblog, @sweetersficlibrary, and turn on alerts to be notified whenever I post something new 💕

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

sleepy girls deserve lots of creampies in their sleep

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

moan directly into her mouth

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

choke your girl while she rides your dick

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

moves.

MINORS DNI 18+

JAKE PERALTA can't believe his stroke of good luck. Of pure, unadulterated good luck. He had entered the crime scene with you mere moments ago and after a heated exchange of bouncing off of each other with observations— your voices gradually raising at the same level as you near the climax of the conversation— you'd given him the look. Focused eyes watching him through your brows, the curl of your parted lips, panting through them. How you assessed him, scanned his figure like he was edible, sharing a silent moment with him as you calculate exactly what you wanna do to him. Next thing he knew you were excusing you and him saying you'd be going out for coffee, when you'd pulled him into the nearest cleaning closet of the apartment complex that wasn't crawling with cops. Now he's balls deep inside you, clothes having hastily been moved aside to accommodate it.

"Jakey," you whine, dragging out the word. He loves it when you call him that. Gets him all hot and bothered, afraid he'd give you whatever you asked for when you invoke that pretty petname off those pretty lips. "you fuck me so good..."

His teeth bite hard into the skin past his lips, brows creased in concentration so as not to bust to early. It's a quickie, a fucking hot one, but he's still got manners. The sound of your voice has his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he's fucking you from the back, big hands on your hips to keep pulling you back onto his cock while you brace on the wall. A brief moan hums through his nose as he directs you closer to him, talking shit in your ear, "Do I fuck you good? Yeah? Yeah, baby? 'I fuck you good?" breathless, and dizzy with pleasure, he can't believe someone like you is this into him.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

not so much as a request (do whatever u want with this ask is what i mean, bcs i love whatever you write anyway <3!!) but how do you think steve and bucky would share reader ? apologies if you've written something like this before and i missed itt !!

hi sweetie! i took a while to get back to this and i'm so sorry, and i hope you enjoy it still!

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, threesome (the men do not do anything to each other), unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, p in v, anal, oral (m rec), deepthroating (please read the warnings)

god between the two of them, you don’t stand a chance.

Because when Bucky and Steve share you, it’s raw. Unrelenting. Filthy.

They don’t just take turns. They take ownership. Trade you off like you’re something they’ve earned.

It’s all about you. Your body. Your moans. Your soaked, trembling cunt split open between them like something to be worshipped and fucked until it’s used-up and aching.

They’re so goddamn hungry for you. So fucking possessive. And the way they look at you when you’re down on your knees, tits slick with spit and sweat, thighs trembling and already sore? It’s like you’re the only thing on earth they want. The only thing they need.

Steve starts slow—just to tease. He pushes in deep, thick cock stretching your pussy wide as you gasp beneath him, and he smiles. That all-american smile, too pretty for what he’s doing to you.

Then his hand finds your throat and he starts whispering filth with a voice made for pulpits and sin.

Nobody ever thinks that these words could come from sweet, polite, innocent Steve. “So fuckin’ tight for me, baby. Made to take it. You gonna let me fill this sweet little cunt up?”

And Bucky? Bucky’s already behind you, already got his hand in your hair, curling tight until your neck arches perfectly. Until your lips part with a whimper and he shoves his cock into your mouth like he’s starving for it.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he growls, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he’s barely holding on. “That’s it. Deeper. You can take it. I know you can.”

You gag once, maybe twice—and they both moan. Like it’s music to their fucking ears. Like you choking on Bucky’s cock while Steve fucks you from underneath is their idea of heaven.

Your body jolts with every thrust, Steve’s pace brutal now, slamming into you so hard your tits bounce and your throat’s full of Bucky again before you can even catch a breath.

You’re crying before the first orgasm hits—tears sliding down your cheeks, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth, and neither of them let up.

They use you.

Like a fantasy they’ve been keeping secret for too long. And now that they’ve got you—naked, soaked, stretched out and dripping between them—they’re not holding anything back.

You’re bent, folded, flipped over and filled, one cock always inside you.

When Steve finishes, he stays inside—keeps you plugged up while Bucky moves in behind you, spreading your ass open with a growl and shoving in with no hesitation, letting your own slick and Steve’s cum coat his cock as he fucks into you like he owns it.

And they don’t stop.

Their stamina is inhuman. Bucky’s still hard while Steve recovers. Steve’s hard again before Bucky even finishes.

You don’t get breaks. Don’t get to breathe. You’re crying again before you realise you never stopped.

Bucky’s fucking you from behind now, rough and fast, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other slides between your thighs to slap your clit, growling filth into your ear while Steve cups your jaw and slides his cock back between your lips.

“Use your mouth, baby,” Steve groans. “You know how much I love that throat.”

You can’t even form words anymore. Just messy, gurgled little whines as they wreck you.

Steve makes you gag on him while Bucky fucks you through another orgasm, this one brutal—your cunt clenching around him so tight it punches the air from his lungs.

“You feel that?” Bucky snarls. “So fuckin’ wet for us. Drippin’ down your thighs and you’re still fucking hungry for more.”

He slaps your ass, hard enough to make you jolt, and your pussy pulses around him.

They fuck you like it’s a competition—like they’re trying to see who can break you first.

Steve makes you cum until you’re sobbing into Bucky’s lap. Bucky fucks you until your voice is gone and your legs don’t work and your throat is raw.

One of them’s always touching you—gripping your hips, holding your jaw, keeping your mouth and your pussy full like it’s their job.

“You’re our fuckin’ dream,” Steve moans, fucking up into you harder, your body wrecked and bouncing with every snap of his hips. “Look at you—fuck—look at how wet you are.”

“Made for us,” Bucky spits, fucking your throat slow and deep, groaning as your mouth stretches wide around him, spit and cum coating your lips. “This pussy, this mouth—ours. You were made to be used, angel. And we’re not fuckin’ done.”

You lose track of how many times they make you cum.

It’s too much. You’re too full. Your body can’t take it, and still—still—they push you further.

Bucky finishes deep, grunting as he floods your cunt with cum, and before he even pulls out, Steve’s behind you again, fingers spreading you open so he can slide into the mess and fuck you through it all over again.

They don't stop, even when you’re limp and shaking, drooling on the sheets, begging in broken sobs for mercy—you don’t get mercy.

You get Steve’s hand around your throat and Bucky’s cock in your mouth and a voice growling, “Just one more, baby. Be good for us. Let us have you.”

And you do.

Because when Bucky and Steve have you between them, passing you back and forth, making you take it in every way they want—there’s no room for shame. Only sweat and tears and slick and the stretch of two cocks and the weight of two men who don’t just want you.

They own you.

And you love every filthy fucking second of it.

a/n: i have no idea where this filth came from

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

jake riley fic recs

I wish there were more Jake Riley fics out there. I'd be inclined to write a one-shot or something but I also know what it's like to barely get a reaction in the notes, so I'm 50/50.

trainee by @kaiparker-avengerssmut

You are Jake's trainee. Trying to shake off an ordeal during a training session, he joins you in the shower. smut

assistant teacher by @geminioriginalsimagines

Y/N is Jake's girlfriend and an assistant teacher. Both are shocked to see each other in the hospital. i really really like this 🥰

police escort by @geminioriginalsimagines

Jake's jealousy reveals itself when one of the cops in the station flirts with you. smut

on the market by @geminioriginalsimagines

Y/N decides to give Jake space after revealing her feelings for him. tropes: best friends to lovers. absolutely love this. smut

talk! by @555voidkai

Sometimes you have to make someone listen to you when you're trying to apologize. more of a drabble, kinda cute though. fluff

worry by @555voidkai

Not wanting Jake to worry, you lied. Still, his protective side makes an appearance when he finds out you're also at the hospital. angst-ish?

ex by @555voidkai

Who knew being confined with your ex would be such torture? someone found my kryptonite 🥺 why is this the exact kind of story i'd want to write just in a different varation? angst

containment-pilot-101 by @winchesterbrotherstan

What starts as a normal day takes a dark turn when the possibility of bio-terrorism comes into play. one of the first fics i read in this fandom so this has a special place in my heart. would've loved to read more in this series.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Driver's seat - Steve Rogers

summary: you and steve get a little carried away in one of tony's cars wc: 1.2k+ we'll just ignore the fact that i was supposed to post this yesterday but forgot

Steve Rogers was an old soul. One who’d only been introduced to the concept of making out in front seat of a car about twenty minutes ago, but he was already converted. The roll of your hips so perfectly grinding against his while you pushed him by the chest into the driver’s seat gave Steve a total loss of control, one he could only try to maintain by taking control of the kiss. You didn’t give that to him either, teasing the supersoldier by pulling away from the kiss ever so slightly, in a way that had him lifting off the seat to chase your lips.

Steve was desperate for you, intoxicated by your taste of your lips. Every second you spent turning on the radio and finding the station you wanted felt like punishment for Steve, who could feel his cock throbbing against your cunt. He knew for a fact you could feel him suffering, but that didn’t stop the way you jumped up when a song you liked came on, putting all the pressure on Steve’s dick when you landed back on his lap. The blond whimpered, a pink tint flushing his cheeks as he hopelessly gripped your hips, trying to pull you flush on his dick.

When you finally stopped teasing him, resuming the languid movements of your rolling hips and leaning in to properly kiss Steve, he couldn’t help the moan that ripped out of his chest. You smiled against the kiss, a hand coming up to cup Steve’s jaw, encouraging him to relax and make way for your tongue in his mouth. Steve bucked his hips up into yours, muttering an apology, which was immediately swallowed into the kiss. One of Steve’s hands transported from your hip to the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer to him, and forcing the kiss deeper.

The rhythmic blues of the music acted as a template for the way to move your body against your boyfriend’s, running both your hands down his chest as the lyrics serenaded you. You separated your lips from Steve’s, mouth falling open in a pant as you tried catching your breath. Steve was quick to bring your lips back to his, tongue immediately meeting yours in an open-mouthed kiss. Between you trying to catch your breath and the supersoldier drawing your lips back together, the kiss was heating up.

Moaning quietly, you couldn’t help the way your hands scrambled to find the button of Steve’s jeans, needily attempting to undo it. Steve aided you in doing so, unzipping his trousers and giving you full access to his boxer-clad cock. You broke the kiss, looking down at the thick bulge in Steve’s boxers. You couldn’t help your bodily reaction, whimpering quietly and thrusting your hips to hump Steve’s swollen cock. Steve cried out at your movement, a hand on the back of your head driving you back into the kiss as you manoeuvred yourself out of your denim shorts, letting them hang by your ankles. “Steve.” You whined, wrapping your arms over his shoulders tightly as you ground yourself on his cock, hips relentless in their movements.

“I know baby, I know.” The man reassured, though his voice cracked half-way through his sentence, a moan breaking through. Steve’s strong grip on your hips returned, pushing you down onto him as hard as possible while he dug his feet onto the floor of the car, using it as leverage to help thrust his hips up into you. With the high-pitched moan you let out, Steve almost thought you were already cumming. But instead, you slammed your lips back onto his in a poor attempt to silence your moans.

Steve caught the opportunity to finally take control of the situation as you started humping your hips more desperately, losing some control over your movements. Steve bucked his hips up sharply, ignoring your cry of pleasure as he used the momentum to flip your positions. Without breaking the kiss, Steve reached down the side of the seat, finding the lever to push the car seat down as flat as possible. You gasped when the back of the seat fell back behind you, and Steve gently nudged your shoulders so you lay flat on it. Steve groaned softly, biting down on your bottom lip to hear your whining once more. Steve balanced himself over you with one arm, the other one grabbing your leg to tug you closer to him so he could grind his pelvis into yours.

“Spread your legs for me, darling.” He muttered into the kiss, breathing heavily as your tongue licked against his. You obeyed his plea, thighs falling further apart to make space for Steve’s large torso. The first push of his hips into yours from his new position had you immediately breaking the kiss with a gasp, back arching against the seat of the car in pleasure. “There?” Steve asked, repeating the same movement as you wordlessly hummed in agreement. “Fuck!” You cried, arms immediately latching onto Steve’s torso, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Steve continued his movements, each push of his pelvis stronger than the last, his lips finally connecting to your neck when he started grunting in pleasure once more. He didn’t want to hear his own moans, only yours. That feat was accomplished when he started sucking on the skin of your neck, causing an uncontrollable buck of your hips as you cursed, eyes shutting in satisfaction. Deciding that you needed one last push to your orgasm, Steve’s fingers dipped down the front of your underwear, causing a shudder to go through you. His fingers delved between your folds, trailing upwards to make contact with your clit. The sharp gasp that left you let him know that he found it, rubbing pressured circles down on the sensitive nub.

When you arched your back, a shiver going down your legs, Steve already knew you were cumming before you moaned “Steve! I’m gonna - fuck!” Steve pressed loving kisses on your face, continuing his movements on your clit until one of your hands was grabbing his wrist for him to stop. You panted heavily, cupping Steve’s face with one hands to pull him into a soft kiss, the other trailing down to the band of his boxers. Steve broke away from the kiss, saying “Darling, it’s oka-” But his words were interrupted by his own moan when your fingers wrapped around the leaky tip of his dick.

Both of Steve’s hands landed next to your head in order to stabilise himself, roughly clutching the fabric of the headrest as you squeezed the base of his cock. Steve was already plenty stimulated, so when you brought your second hand down to play with his sensitive tip, his hips unwillingly thrust into your hand, a spurt of cum shooting out onto your shirt as he cried out in pleasure. Steve saw white, eyes shutting as he wallowed in your words of encouragement. You continued stroking him until he rode out his orgasm, slumping against you in the car seat. Steve breathed heavily, trying to form a coherent sentence, but he gave up when he felt your fingers strewn in his hand, eyes shutting in satisfaction.

You reached past Steve’s body to crank open a window, letting the cool night air flow into the stuffy car. “Hey Steve?” You muttered, pressing a kiss on his forehead as you waited for him hum of acknowledgement. “How do we delete security footage from Tony’s car?”

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Fic Recommendations Masterlist 15

Chris Evans

@babyjakes - Come Let Me Hold You

@me-and-your-husband - Christmas Baking With Chris

@ozarkthedog - A Christmas To Remember

@ozarkthedog - You Buy Chris An Earring

@vannybarber - Birthday Head

@oldermenlvrgrl - Better Not Cry

@oldermenlvrgrl - Slow Hands

@ramp-it-up - I Still Have You

@andydrysdalerogers - Where Is Home?

@harrylovex - Christmas Makeout

@agirlcandream84 - A Little Longer

@buckybarnesandmarvel - Coming Home For Christmas

@cevansbaby-dove - Home For The Holidays

@babyjakes - Don’t Make Me Watch

@babyjakes - Better Than The Books

@babyjakes - Always Safe With Me

@poorcap - Untitled

@bluemusickid - Untitled

@fandomnom - Honeymoon

@rogersthat-cap - His Sweatshirt

@marvelgiggles - Lesson Learned

@hangonimwriting - The One With The Letter

@cattordi - Literal Sexiest Man Alive

@iguessweallcrazyithinktho - Untitled

@smilexcaptainx - Big Reveal

@bucksfucks - Sunday Football

@lu-morningstar - Call Your Boyfriend By Another Name

@i-have-a-wonky-eye-too - Dinner Is Served…

@f10werfae - That Ass Though

Steve Rogers

@holylulusworld - Grumpy Santa

@iamnotoriginalphil - Hot For Teacher

@the-iceni-bitch - Happy 103rd, Captain Rogers

@kaiparker-avengerssmut - Photograph Part 2

Andy Barber

@anika-ann - Underneath The Christmas Tree

@anika-ann - A Night At The Museum

@anotherwritersblog - Apple Pies & Open Thighs

@theycallmebeccawrites - Christmas Getaway

@onsunnyside - Cruel

@sebsbrokentoe - Rendezvous

@worksby-d - Your Age Is Showing

Ransom Drysdale

@holylulusworld - Christmas Sweater

Lloyd Hansen

@onsunnyside - Untitled

Ari Levinson

@babyjakes - Flamingo Pink

Frank Castle

@thyme-in-a-bubble - Lilac

Jack Grealish

@heyhihellosworld - Make You Feel Good

@libraryofloveletters - Hallways Hold Our Secrets

@sweatygrealish - Just A Dream

Tony Stark

@holylulusworld - Her Secret Santa

Miscellaneous

@stargazingfangirl18 - Spoiled

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You meet your favorite artist and get more than what you bargained for. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual and protected sex, oral [male and female receiving], vaginal fingering, belly bulge, light degradation) dirty talk/language and recording. Mentions of drugs and alcohol and a tiny bit of angst.

Disclaimer: I don’t smoke regularly, so anything that has to do with drugs mentioned are techniques I’ve outweighed based on what I’ve been taught by different people. I don’t know which method works best nor am I encouraging the activity. It just came with this fic’s territory. It’s not that deep. You do you, boo. 

Title Inspiration: “Happy” by The Maine 

A/N: I might or might not have based some of this on true events. All I can say is, life is short, shoot your shot! Enjoy! 

A/N #2: There’s a Part 2 now!

“You owe me.” Your friend next to you said for probably the third time this hour. You learned earlier in the day to tune her out. She had been saying that since you persuaded her to accompany you on the weekend long road trip to the neighboring state just so you could see your favorite band…again.

Growing up your parents thought this was just another phase, but as your teenaged years passed on by and you’re now well into adulthood, you’re still a bigger stan for The Avengers as ever.

The Avengers consisted of three members: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Everyone had their take on each of the guys, Steve was the nice one, Sam was the goofy one and Bucky was the bad one. It was silly. They weren’t *NSYNC or The Backstreet Boys, but the fangirls will be fangirls.

Their music wasn’t exactly mainstream, but they did very well within in their genre’s scene. They graced the covers of a couple of magazines, garnered thousands, close to millions, of views and streams online, were featured on TV every now and then, toured around the globe, sold a bunch of records, even independently, but despite all that notoriety, they stayed true to their sound and that’s what kept you around as a fan.

That and the band’s front man Bucky Barnes. 

Keep reading

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

deadly nightshade • 3

18+

A mission in the Bahamas sees the return of the Winter Soldier for a very intimate show.

Content Warning: Bucky x Agent!F!Reader, cheating (Bucky has a girlfriend), Bucky and Reader are terrible people as always, mature themes, smut, voyeurism, rough sex, choking, creampie.

Very minimal plot to this part, mostly just porn.

Series Masterlist

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

You look over to where Jenn is standing in a swimsuit looking down at where you're laying on the sand with the dirtiest look she can muster. Giving her a smile and wave, you push your sunglasses up onto your head. "Hi, Jenn," You reply sweetly.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She asks you accusatorily, utter disgust on her face. "What the actual fuck are you doing here?"

Sitting up, you lean back on your elbows, trying not to cackle in her face. "I heard you were having trouble, so I decided to fly in and help," You tease casually.

It isn't too far from the truth. Jenn, Sharon and Bucky were sent to the Bahamas to make a start on gathering intel on Christopher Delaney; a billionaire arms dealer suspected of selling illegal weapons. Unfortunately, the three of them have so far failed to obtain an invite to Delaney's annual gala being held at the end of the week, so Maria sent you in the hopes you'd get it done. Admittedly, it was a huge ego boost to be told you needed to help Sharon Carter and Bucky Barnes themselves, and the fact that you get to piss Jenn off too is always a plus.

"I was this close to getting an invite," She claims, holding her fingers up in a pinching gesture. "There is absolutely no need for you to be here."

"Not according to Hill," You say with a shrug before your attention is stolen by the two others approaching behind her. Bucky doesn't even make an attempt to hide his stare as he looks you up and down, gaze lingering on your tits with his lips curling up into a smirk.

"Something tells me you aren't here to soak in the sun," Sharon says with a quirked brow.

Getting up your feet, you wipe the sand off the back of your legs while smiling at her. "You've always had a killer instinct, Carter," You reply coyly. "Enjoying your vacation?"

"As much as it probably doesn't look like it, we have been working tirelessly for a damn invite," She tells you with a huff. "The only way in is to be a plus-one, but most of the attendees are spoken for."

"Delaney's single, isn't he?" You point out with a frown.

Sharon and Jenn share a look before the former snorts. "You think you have a chance with Delaney?" Sharon asks you incredulously. "No offense, Y/N, but I'm not sure you've thought this through. You're pretty and all, but there's no way Delaney will be interested in you. The guy's a billionaire."

"Yeah?" You retort, your ego throbbing while you hold back your smirk. "Well, he was at the Fogana Beach Club last night, and coincidentally, so was I. He seemed interested then - found me interesting enough to invite me to the gala, anyway."

"You're lying," Jenn mutters, shaking her head.

You simply shrug, giving her a wink as you say, "Whether or not you believe it is irrelevant, Agent Curson. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to buy a new dress."

Sharon narrows her eyes, looking you up and down before turning Jenn. "Come on. There are a couple of guys who work with Delaney's son in the bar; let's see if we can get them to take us as their plus-ones," She says before they begin to make their way to the bar further down the beach.

Bucky's got his hands on his hips as he raises a brow at you. "So, you managed to get the coveted invite," He begins. "I'm not surprised. Delaney can probably tell what a slut you are; knows better than to fumble the opportunity to use you."

"Actually, it was nothing to do with me," You counter, taking a step closer to him. "I might have made some claims to him about... you."

Bucky frowns, confused. "Me?"

You let out a sigh, slightly nervous about how he's about to react to your news but deciding there's no choice but to be upfront about it. "I told Delaney I... own you. That the infamous Winter Soldier is under my control, and he does whatever I ask, whenever I ask."

An unreadable expression blossoms in his face as his eyes flicker with a darkness. You're concerned that he's angry - or worse, hurt that you've used his deepest trauma as a tactic. But Bucky never fails to surprise you. His lips curl up. "Seriously?" He asks you. "You told him I'm your sex slave?"

Holding back a laugh, you shrug. "It was all I could come up with in the moment. He was incredibly interested and extended an invite... on the basis that you'd come with me," You tell him.

Bucky closes the gap between you, placing his hands on your hips as his semi-hard boner covered only by his swimming trunks presses against your stomach. To any onlookers, you seem like a happy couple on vacation, sharing a sweet moment by the sea. Bucky cups your cheeks in his hands and leans down, making your stomach flip.

"Did you tell him how good I fuck you?" He asks lowly. "Promise him he'd get to watch?"

You swallow thickly, trying to keep your composure. "Is that a problem?" You wonder.

His lips brush against yours. "No problem at all, ma'am. After all, I'm under your control, aren't I? I do whatever you say, whenever you say," He says bluntly. "The Winter Soldier is at your service."

The both of you know it's fucked up. You know how much work it took for him to learn how to live with the trauma of what he went through, and he knows the regret and guilt are permanent scars he'll never get rid of. But this relationship has been fucked up from the beginning, so what difference does one step lower make? Bucky can't help but admit to himself how hard it makes him, turning his darkest trauma into fuel for kinky sex, and you're the only one who could coax that side out of him. It feels good - he feels a new sense of control over himself and his past.

"Well," You begin with a sly smile as you trail a finger down his bare chest. "Aren't you a good boy?"

His heart skips a beat and he gulps, blinking a few times. Fuck, he thinks to himself. You're gonna be the death of me.

It's odd for Bucky to have his hands on you in public, but you can't deny that it feels natural. It's even more odd that Sharon and Jenn can see his arm around your waist, but you told them Delaney was under the impression you and Bucky are a couple so there's nothing they can say. Of course, Jenn shoots you a knowing glare every so often, but what the fuck does she matter?

"This dress is gorgeous on you, by the way," Bucky mumbles as he looks you up and down, taking in the way the silver slip gown drapes on your body. "Somehow makes your ass look even more fuckable."

You raise a brow, taking a sip of champagne before replying. "If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my ass, you got another thing coming," You tell him firmly.

He chuckles, pulling you closer and grazing his lips against your neck. "Whatever you say, rookie," He grumbles. "How long until I'm inside you?"

Spotting Delaney who looks to be making his over, you smile and wave. "Not too long, now," You utter lowly.

"I'm glad you could make it," Delaney says with a grin as he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it before he turns his gaze to Bucky. "Ah. This must be him. A fine specimen, indeed."

"He owes it all to the serum," You say teasingly, patting Bucky's hard chest. "That stuff does wonders to every part of the human body. Every part."

Delaney quirks a brow while Bucky's hand squeezes your waist. He remains silent, playing the part of dutiful servant well. "I have to say, I'm awfully intrigued," Delaney says, looking Bucky up and down before turning to you. "Might you wish to spend your evening somewhere a little more comfortable? Parties can get awful loud."

Catching his drift, you nod, and Delaney gives you a satisfied smile before leading you and Bucky away from the crowd and up two floors. Bucky's grip around your waist tightens as you're taken into a dark bedroom. Though you could tell Delaney was a freak, you didn't think he'd be this open about his voyeuristic desires.

"Please, make yourself at home," Delaney says as he remains by the door, a knowing glint in his eye. "You have my number, should you need anything." With that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

"We should look for evidence of his business dealings," Bucky says as soon as the door shuts, looking around the room. "I doubt there's anything in here, but we-"

"Bucky, listen to me," You cut him off in a rushed tone and move closer to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. "See that full-wall mirror? It's one-way. Any second now, if he isn't there already, Delaney will be behind it, ready for a show. I thought he was freaky enough to stay in the room, maybe even get involved, but I guess he likes the thrill of pretending we don't know he's watching."

Taken aback, Bucky raises a brow. "You were being serious about that?"

"I never joke about sex," You say gravely. "Now, listen to me: he sees you as a machine. You need to fuck me like one."

Bucky feels his pants tighten.

"I mean rough, Bucky, like you're an animal," You continue. "A mechanical animal. Do you understand me?"

He nods.

"Nothing sensual - no kissing, no talking me through it; you're a human fuck-machine," You tell him sternly, admittedly enjoying telling him what to do.

Bucky isn't sure what he's done to deserve this, but he knows he can't do anything to fuck it up. "I'm a human fuck-machine," He repeats obediently.

"Good boy," You reply. "You sure you're okay with this?"

He lets out a sound that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "I am more than okay with this," He assures you.

Conscious that this room is likely hooked with multiple microphones, and maybe even cameras, you decide it's time to get into character. It isn't every day that you'd consent to being watched while getting railed, but taking down Delaney would be a huge boost in your profile, and might even be enough to win you another promotion. Commander is a much sexier title than Special Agent.

The look in your eyes as you move closer to Bucky tells him that it's go time. He looks down at you, keeping his hands at his sides and waiting for your command. Closing the gap between your bodies, you trail your hands up his chest and rest them on his shoulders, squeezing them gently. "I've missed you, Soldier," You say lowly, slowly crawling your fingers up his neck to where they cup his face. "Nobody fucks me as good as you."

You've never seen him like this before. His face is blank, his eyes void of emotion. It almost feels like he really has become the Winter Soldier again, the notion both exciting and scaring you. His cold eyes stare down at you, waiting for your next move.

"Want you to take me, right here," You say, brushing your lips against his. "I command you, Soldier. Fuck me 'til I cum."

He gives you an almost unnoticeable nod before placing his hands under each of your thighs and lifting you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. It takes him three steps to get close enough to the bed to throw you onto it, discombobulating you for a second as your head hits the mattress. You see the concern flash in his eyes before it deepens, and you know what he's thinking - what if he hurts you? You asked if he was okay with this, but he didn't check to see if you were - he stands at the foot of the bed, conflicted.

You sit up and allow your dress to slip off of your shoulders before it pools into a lump of material on the ground. Unsure as to how you can assure him, you get up on your knees and look up at him. "Kiss me, Soldier," You say, already breaking one of your rules.

Bucky keeps his face blank and moves closer before grabbing you by the throat and pulling you up to his level. He crashes his lips onto yours, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth and swirling it against yours. For a second, you forget where you are and lean in to enjoy the kiss, but you have a mission to get through. You tap his chest, hoping there are no cameras that can pick up your hand movements, waiting for his eyes to flicker open before you start signing to him. It's a skill Steve thought would be useful on missions for the team to have, and you're glad he did.

Don't worry, I'm a big girl, You sign subtly, hoping he can understand your quick movements. Do it like you hate me.

He gives you a slight nod before pushing you back onto the bed. Climbing onto you, he all but rips off your bra and underwear, making you yelp in surprise. You can tell it's killing him not to talk dirty to you while he manhandles you into doggy position, but he's doing well to keep up the facade.

"Show off that perfect body," You utter as you stare up at him.

Bucky removes his jacket and shirt before he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. You marvel at his beauty; his perfectly sculpted abs and the way his metal arm instills both fear and lust in you. He takes hold of his heavy cock, hesitating before bringing it to your heat. It isn't until he sees just how much your pussy is dripping that he realizes how hard you're getting off on this - and that drives him crazy. Oh, you wanna get fucked by a machine? So be it, baby.

Without warning, he plunges his full length into you, making you cry out. He's been on enough missions with you and fucked you enough by now to know which of your noises mean you're in pain, and which mean you're in pleasure, so without further ado, he takes tight grip of your hips and starts fucking you hard and fast.

"Oh, shit," You whine, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath you. "Just like that, Soldier, fuck."

The bedframe shakes with each of his thrusts. Bucky throws his head back, swallowing his groans as your pussy throbs around him. He's never experienced anything like this before - fucking someone in character - but it adds a whole other dimension of fun. A small part of his mind genuinely feels as though he's the Winter Soldier again; like he's mindless, with no thoughts or opinions, just a server of your demands. But this time, it doesn't come with the pit of guilt or regret - he feels in control of himself. The second he wants to, he can snap back to himself, and that knowledge appeases him.

"I wanna see you, Soldier," You manage to get out weakly. It's hot getting slammed into the bed by him, but you can only imagine it being hotter when you get to see the look on his face as he does it.

Bucky pulls his cock out of you, spins you around and pushes you flat onto the bed. He grabs your ankles and rests them on his shoulders, allowing him to get deeper into you as he pushes his length back into you.

Mean, You sign to him in your daze. More.

As he begins fucking you again, Bucky harshly grabs you by the chin. His other hand moves up to squeeze and pull on your nipple, making you moan louder. He thrusts harder, his balls slapping against your ass as he stretches you out.

"Soldier," You whimper, finding his vibranium hand. "I don't wanna breathe."

Bucky's eyes darken. Fuck. Slowly, he brings the cold hand up to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it. Gradually, his grip gets tighter and tighter, until you can't breathe in any air. He fucks you while your eyes roll back, the pleasure intensifying for a few blissful moments before you decide you really should breathe again.

Quickly, you tap his hand, and he loosens his grip. The fact that you had to tell him to stop only makes it feel all the more real - like he really is the Winter Soldier again, and if you hadn't stopped him, he could easily kill you. He feels your cunt flutter around him, and he knows you might even be enjoying this more than he is, if that's possible.

"Again," You whisper once your breathing has regulated again.

Bucky leans over you, his forehead almost resting against yours as he tightens his grip on your neck once more. The excitement buzzes through your body as you feel your head getting light, once again tapping his hand when you've had enough. His cock continues to tunnel in and out of you, making your stomach flip. Bucky lifts you off the bed and onto his lap, fucking up into you. His hand finds your throat again, his soft grip enough to make your pussy clench around him.

"Don't stop, Soldier," You whimper, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Not until you cum," He replies stoically, his dark eyes burning into you.

"I'm close," You tell him, whining when he throws you onto your side, plunging his cock back into you. At this angle, he can thrust faster and harder, snapping his hips as he forces your orgasm out.

"Cum," He can't help but mutter in your ear, the low timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Cum, now."

With a loud cry, you feel yourself spiral into a whirlwind of pleasure. For a few seconds, your mind is blank, and all you can comprehend is the physical. Bucky shudders as you tighten around him, milking his cock of his cum as he spills it into you. He crowds you with his body, wrapping his arms around you, keeping his cock buried in you as the two of you catch your breaths.

His lips find your ear, nipping at your lobe before he whispers, "That machine-like enough for you?"

A weak laugh leaves your mouth. "Decent," You respond.

He slowly pulls out of you, making you wince. Just as he gets up, the door opens, making your heart skip a beat. You glance over to see Delaney. He walks into the room, and Bucky moves in front of you, still stark naked.

Delaney looks him up and down before saying, "I came to clean her up."

Damn. So he is a freak who wants to get involved.

"No," Bucky utters bluntly, making you frown. If you're gonna get close enough to Delaney to find out all his dark secrets, you have to make him happy, no matter what. When you became a SHIELD agent, you knew you'd be giving your entire life to your job - including your body. The fact that Delaney is a handsome man definitely helps you swallow that bitter pill.

"Soldier," You mumble warningly, standing up behind him.

Bucky stands his ground, keeping his eyes on Delaney. "No," He repeats gravely.

Is he seriously gonna let his toxic masculinity possessiveness fuck this whole mission up?

"The pet is very protective of its owner," Delaney comments, an unreadable look on his face. "Very well. I do hope the two of you will rejoin the party. I wouldn't want you to miss the incredible dessert we have coming out soon."

"Of course," You reply, well aware that you and Bucky are still completely naked. Delaney doesn't seem to mind. With a smile, he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. You wait a few seconds before walking over to Bucky. "What's your problem? You could've fucked the whole operation up!"

Bucky shrugs his shoulders casually. "I've just fucked you harder than I ever have before," He says bluntly. "I'm not about to let him try and do the same."

You narrow your eyes. "What does it have to do-"

"I don't give a fuck if you have to fuck someone for information," He cuts you off curtly, walking closer to you. "I have the same job as you. I know exactly what we have to do sometimes. If we hadn't just done what we did, I'd happily let him take you, rookie, I know you can handle it. But I'm not letting you put yourself through that after I've just railed you."

You scoff at his faux concern, knowing its likely just his toxic masculinity preventing him from letting another man fuck you so soon after him. But sure, he cares about your wellbeing.

"I feel fine," You say, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's fucked you so good you can barely stand up straight.

Bucky smirks, moving closer to you and squeezing your shoulders. "C'mon. Let's go get dessert; I need sugar," He says before grabbing his clothes off the ground.

"You destroyed my underwear," You whine, looking at the tatters your bra and panties are in. "I have to go commando and braless for the rest of the night."

He pouts while zipping up his pants. "Aw, that sucks," He says flatly. "It's gonna be far too easy to finger you under the table. I prefer a challenge."

With an eye roll, you throw your ripped panties at him and he expertly catches them before winking at you and stuffing them in his pocket. "Thanks for that. Jerk-off material for the plane ride back," He says teasingly while you slip on your dress.

"Who says you'll need it?" You ask with a raised brow. As he buttons his shirt back up, he gives you a confused look. You step into your heels before walking past him and saying, "Y'know, I'm yet to join the Mile High Club."

A scoff leaves his mouth. "What; with Jenn and Sharon in the plane with us?" He asks, his eyes wide as his mind races.

You shrug, backing up towards the door. "Unless you're too scared, Soldier," You tease, tilting your head.

He meets you at the door, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing it. "Challenge accepted, rookie."

bucky masterlist

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[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Stressed Out » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Steve Rogers x SHIELD Agent!Female Reader

Summary: Steve takes his stress out on the new SHIELD agent.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, Captain kink, praise kink, size kink, choking, degrading, name calling (slut), use of pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Captain Rogers?” You say.

Steve punched the punching bag one last time, sending it across the gym with sand leaking out of it. He breathes heavily as he turns around, sweat covering him from head to toe. You couldn’t help but stare.

“You need something, Agent or are you just gonna stand there and keep staring at me?” Steve asks harshly.

“S-Sorry.” You stuttered. “Fury wants you to sign this.” You say, handing him a file from his previous mission.

Steve takes it from your hand and signed it and gave it back to you. You walked away without saying a word, but he called you back.

“Wait a minute…” Steve stops you in your tracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I’m just stressed out.” He apologizes.

“It’s ok, Captain. I understand. We all have those days.” You say, giving him a smile. “If you want…” You start. “I can help you out.” You offered.

“Oh yea?” Steve licks his lips. “What do you have in mind, Agent?” He asks.

“Anything you want, Captain.” You say.

What Steve did next surprised you. His lips were on yours, kissing you hungrily. You dropped the file on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. Steve’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against his body. He carefully eased the two of you to the mat on the floor. You voluntarily spread your legs so he could get in between them. You moaned against his lips when you felt his bulge against your clothed pussy. You tugged on Steve’s t-shirt, trying to tell him that you want him to take it off. Steve quickly got the message and pulled away from your lips to take off his shirt. You took a moment to admire his muscular body and then took your shirt off. Steve’s eyes shamelessly stared at your breasts. He licked his lips before kissing you again. His hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing them over your bra. You moaned against his lips. Steve moved his lips down to your neck, his teeth nipped at your skin hard enough to mark you up. You arched your back, your chest touching his. One of Steve’s found its way to your bra clasp and expertly unclasped it and tossed it to the side. He placed kisses along the swells of your breasts while his fingers rubbed over your nipples, gently pinching them between his fingers. Once he marked up your breasts, his hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, hooking his fingers in them. He looked up at you, waiting for permission which you happily gave him. Steve yanked your leggings down your legs, along with your panties. Steve licked his lips at the sight of your wet pussy. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers just enough for his hard cock to spring out. He wasted no time sliding his cock inside of you in one thrust. You whimpered at his size and tried your best to accommodate his size. His cock almost stretched you to your limit.

“What’s wrong?” Steve coos, looking down at you. “You’ve never taken a big cock before?” He says.

“No.” You whimpered.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says.

Steve placed his hands on your hips and pulled almost all the way out, leaving his tip inside of you and then thrusted back inside you with a hard thrust, a loud moan left your lips. One of his hands left your hip to cover your mouth.

“Shh!” He shushed you. “Do you want everyone to know that you’re getting fucked like a slut by the Captain?” He asks.

You just moaned into his hand.

“Maybe that’s what you want, huh?” Steve chuckles. “You want everyone to hear you get deflowered by the Captain?” He says.

You were so turned on at this point that you forgot how to function. His thrusts were brutal, but you loved it. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex filled the gym.

“God damn, you really are a slut. You’ve been wanting me to fuck you since the day we met. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Steve took his hand off your mouth, waiting for you to answer, but you didn’t. He wrapped his hand around your throat, but didn’t squeeze.

“Answer your Captain when he’s talking to you.” He says sternly in almost a growl.

“Yes!” You squeaked out. “I’ve wanted this since- oh fuck! The day we met!” You admitted, followed by a moan.

Steve chuckles. Your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging in his skin. His other hand left your hip and went to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles. Your cunt clenched around his cock at the feeling. A loud moaned left your lips when his cock found your sweet spot. Your orgasm built up quickly. His fingers rubbed your clit to the point where it was sensitive and his cock was pounding into your sweet spot.

“Oh fuck, Captain!” You moaned. “Please let me cum!” You begged.

“Cum for me, honey.” He pants.

Your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came hard with a loud moan leaving your lips. Steve came inside of you soon after. His thrusts came to a stop and he collapsed on top of you. His arms held himself up so he didn’t crush you.

“Fuck, I needed that.” Steve pants, leaning his head against your shoulder.

After a moment, Steve pulled out of you. He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and cleaned the two of you up. You two got redressed. Your legs were a little shaky from the mind blowing orgasm Steve just gave you and you fell forward. Steve was quick to catch you.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to go that hard on you.” Steve says with a chuckle.

“It’s ok, Captain. I enjoyed it.” You tell him and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Let me know when you want to destress again.” You say with a wink.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He says with a smirk.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Watch her melt on the spot at your words and actions 😚

Tell her your proud of her after you fit your whole cock in her throat

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

When he says sweet things to you>>

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Nipple play>>

i’m glad everyone agrees that finnick odair is 100% a titties guy bc same !!! i get it !!! but just IMAGINE his reaction when he sees that u got ur nipples pierced… good lord.

finnick odair would love a nipple piercing, like absolutely got his mouth on those things as soon as they're healed.

when you don't wear a bra and he can see the outline through your shirt, man is literally aching to play with them

finnick odair the man you are

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Just thinking about how finnick definitely has a praise kink. For giving and receiving. Like he just loves to tell you how beautiful you are and how good you feel around him and how good you look under him and he gets so cocky about it but I also feel like when the reader compliments him he will get all cocky about it to try to hid his blush. But he definitely appreciates any compliments in bed or not

absolutely nailed this one, you're so right

he adores telling you how good you are for him, how proud he is of his pretty girl, how well you take him, and he loves how embarrassed it starts to make you. when your face starts to heat up, or you softly smile but bite your lip. he adores how frazzled his praise makes you.

and the moment you start telling him how amazing he feels, how gorgeous he is, how he does everything just right, his heart is beating like crazy. he loves the doting, but tries to either turn it back on you, "cause my perfect girl fits me so well" or be super cocky to deal with it, "what? am I fucking my sweet girl so much that how good it is, is all she can think about?"

definitely in an out of bed compliment way though he's definitely getting super blushy and trying to hide it by burying his face in your neck as he hugs you