Best pals ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
bf!Bucky / you / skinny!friend!steve
Summary: A hazy 1940's summer spent with Bucky and Steve in brooklyn as the new girl.
wordcount: 1,126
Content Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, PIV sex, voyeurism (Steve watches), they freak NASTY in this one, dom!Bucky, sub!reader, possessive!Bucky, implied virgin!Steve, slight corruption kink, public-ish sex (truck scene), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, rough sex, praise & degradation mix, unspoken love triangle tension, summer heat haze, modesty shame kink, lowkey exhibitionism, jealousy, reader blushes a lot, 1940s Americana, toe-curling tension, emotional repression.
Note: Minimal reader description except soft stomach and plump thighs. FEM!READER
The summer sun was too much to stay under. Normally, you would sit on a blanket on the grass, or walk around holding Bucky’s hand, ice cream in the other, while Steve follows. Sometimes, a dip in that lake just after the building, hiding under the trees in that underdeveloped part near the river.
But today, the three of you stayed inside your room, lounging in your bed while Steve sketches near the window. Coca-Cola bottles dripping onto her wooden nightstand as it warms, long forgotten.
“You okay there, Steven?” you asked as he sighed, eyes far away from Brooklyn.
“Yeah, you a’ight there, punk?” Bucky chimed, his fingers drawing on your thigh while the other palms your soft stomach. You swat Bucky for the nickname.
It had been two months since you arrived in Brooklyn, spending the summer away from your finishing school in Manhattan because, again, your parents are too busy to keep you company.
It’s been a month and a half since you started seeing James Buchanan Barnes, falling head over heels for him after seeing him in that awful, good uniform while a bony figure stood beside him.
You didn’t meet Steven Grant Rogers when your childhood friend, Ginny, introduced you to Bucky. He was too meek, too shy to even meet your eyes. After a week of dates and falling steadily for Bucky, he introduces you to Stevie in that small diner they frequented.
He finally looked at you in the eyes, and you almost thanked god he hadn’t in the first time. Because you would’ve chosen him when, purely for how intense he looked at you, you know Bucky’s the real prize. At least that’s what Ginny tells you.
“Yeah, just fine,” he answered with a tight lip. Trying to ignore Bucky’s hand that slides slowly inside your plump thighs.
Your skirt was bunched at your waist, panties pulled to one of your ankles, currently resting on the dashboard, while Bucky thrusts himself inside you. Your eyes roll to the back when he tries to bury himself deeper than you can take
His father’s truck shakes and fogs just right outside the carnival, where the lights stop reaching.
Steve was left inside after Bucky told him that you’re just going to get a drink. But Steve saw. He saw Bucky’s hand on your buttocks, his lips to your ear. So, as usual, he stayed back to give space. Just now, his heart aches to be the one who touches you. For the first time, he wished to be in Bucky’s body as he imagined how you would look, sweat slicked and hair matted.
Bucky inhaled your moans as he continued, his mouth never once leaving your skin. Traveling from your lips, cheeks, throat, and soft collarbone. He laughs against you whenever your cunt makes that lewd shlick noise, warning him you’re close. It’s been 3 orgasms long and he still hasn’t had enough.
You beg, whimper, and sob just for a break from the overstimulation.
He laughs. Of course, he does.
When Bucky pressed his mouth on you again, sucking your tongue, he noticed a figure behind the truck.
Bony. thin... Steve.
He parted from you, stopping his movement just enough to look at you beneath him, eyes clouded, sweat slicked, flushed skin, hair sticking to your face, breathless. You whimper when you feel him twitch inside you.
He looked back at Steve, catching his eyes. He’s not looking at them. He’s looking at her in the side mirror. Bucky smiled, continuing his movements rougher than before.
“Say you’re mine, doll. Say you’re mine,” he whispers on your temples, thrusting deep each word.
When you don’t answer, he changes his angle, your hips now airborne, his tip touching your cervix barely, while his length touches that spongy spot inside you, “Yours!” you scream as he pushes himself deeper.
“Good girl. Best fucking girl.” Bucky growled.
Steve’s jaw clenched, his pants suddenly too tight. He left when he heard you scream, shaking with jealousy.
Bucky never told you what he saw that night. Never told you that he saw.
Instead, he became more showy in front of Steve. You were both fine with letting Steve see a kiss or two before. But after, you didn’t know why or what drives Bucky to let Steve see him palming your breast or your rear, or when he cups you through your garments, his hand thick against your cunt.
You always pushed his hand away, of course, but you can’t help but look at Steve’s eyes and wonder what if. What if Bucky bends you and fucks you in front of him, in front of sweet, virgin, little Stevie?
But of course, Bucky’s restraint only lasts for so long., and it snapped at that one afternoon, under that 3 o’clock haze when you invited both of them for a picnic. Ginny sat out because of the heat, well, Bucky begged her to. So you were left with the two men.
You’d already laid the blanket out on the grass, and Steve was lounging, sketchpad balanced on his knee, because you insisted you'd take care of them.
But of course, Bucky followed you to the truck when you went to get the basket.
You felt him push himself against you as you opened the truck, feeling his groin when you bent to reach, divided only by your thin panties and his pants. His arms wrapped around your neck, the other caging your waist, quick, his panting mouth against your ears, once again.
“Need you, baby. Need your right now right here,” he said breathlessly.
You tried to squirm out of him. “Buck, Steve’s right there.”
You gasped, panicked, and aroused. It wasn’t like you. God, it wasn’t ladylike, but he made you feel like you couldn’t stop it. Not when he hooked his fingers under your panties and tugged them down to your knees, not when he pressed his hand between your thighs and found your heat. The shock of it stole your breath.
You tried to twist out of his arms. “Bucky, please—what if Steve—?”
“I want him to see,” Bucky growled. “I want him to know what’s mine.” He didn’t waste time. His fingers found your folds and pressed to your clit, rubbing, circling—fast enough to make your knees start to buckle.
His other arm stayed firm around your neck, holding you upright and flush against him.
“Buck, please, not here,” you managed to mutter, half meant. The other half was in your hips, subtly grinding him. You left out a small sigh when he worked your clit, his hands fast enough to make your knees buckle.
Amidst those, you managed to turn your face. You flinched when you saw Steve watching you, his eyes squinting through the sun.
He was still on the picnic blanket, a few yards away, the sun cutting sharp angles across his face. He had a hand shielding his brow, squinting through the light. He didn’t blink.
Didn’t look away.
Just watched.
His throat bobbed, lips parted. His fingers twitched beside his thigh like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he hadn’t expected to see this. To see you like this.
Bent forward slightly, one foot still grounded on the dry grass, the other trembling as it tried to stay planted on your toes. Bucky was behind you, crowding every inch, panting softly against your ear as he slipped the head of his cock into you.
The stretch burned, slow and thick and too much too soon.
You gasped, shuddering at the intrusion.
“Buck—” Your voice broke. “I’m not—”
But he hushed you with a kiss to your temple. “I know, baby. Just take me.”
And you did.
You gasped, eyes fluttering shut.
But your body welcomed him like it always did.
Even as you shook from it. Even as you whimpered and clutched at the open truck door like a lifeline.
Even as Steve watched.
Bucky’s hand never left your clit. He rubbed slow, steady circles, like he knew you were already close.
And maybe he did.
Because your moan wasn’t graceful. It was broken. Frayed around the edges. Loud enough to make Bucky huff a filthy little laugh against your neck.
His arm bent at your collarbones, hand clasping your throat. Not squeezing, but pressing enough to keep you bowed forward over the bench seat. Helpless.
“Yeah,” Bucky groaned, rolling his hips into you, so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs. “You see her, Stevie? God, she’s beautiful, ain’t she?”
You couldn’t answer.
You couldn’t do anything.
Your feet barely touched the ground anymore, rising with every hard push of Bucky’s hips. The bench bit into your stomach. The truck rocked with the weight of him.
And your thoughts, your shame, melted with every thrust.
You couldn’t even cry. Couldn’t even think of Steve. Sweet, silent Steve, because you were drunk on Bucky. On the stretch, the burn, the sick slick sound of him filling you again and again.
Your moans got higher. Breathier. Your nails curled against the metal, hips jerking, thighs trembling. The ache was building, pulling tighter and tighter like a noose around your lungs.
When Bucky growled and shoved in deep, your toes curled against the edge of the truck, ankles giving out, the whole world folding in on itself.
“Fuck—thaaat’s it,” Bucky groaned, voice husky with reverence. “C’mon, baby. Let him hear it. Let him see what’s his fault.”
Your orgasm snapped through you so fast it was almost cruel. You clamped down around him, crying out his name, maybe, or just a sound you didn’t recognize as human.
Your vision blurred.
You were still clenching when he pulled out fast, hissing through his teeth, his thick cock dragging wet against your thighs before the heat of him painted your skin.
You didn’t even flinch.
You just hung there, trembling, eyes still fluttering shut as Bucky kissed your shoulder lazily.
And when you finally turned again, your legs sticky, your dress rucked up, your chest heaving.
Steve was smiling as if mocking you. Because at the end of the day, you were never just Bucky’s. You were theirs.
Divider by @cursed-carmine
