PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@lessthanpure
Me: Reads one (1) fic about trans girl!Trey Yesavage with Max Scherzer and thinks it's incredible
Me: "Man, I wonder what Mets players I can do that with."
Me: *remembers that tweet of Peterson saying Weaver 'liking to chase' him to be best friends and him laughing about 'dangling it over his head'*
Me: Acceptable.
In other words, I started writing a trans girl! Weaver fic.
I know this is a deeply American thing to say but I am begging everyone to stay the fuck away from military recruiters. Especially high school kids. You are going to be seeing an unholy amount of them in schools or around schools or literally anywhere kids are known to congregate. THIS INCLUDES ALL FORMS OF ROTC. Stay the fuck away from military recruiters. As someone who’s familiar with entirely too many branches through entirely too many friends and family, including my partner, recruiters are authorized to say literally any fucking thing they think will make you sign on that line. They cannot and will not deliver on those promises. They need bodies for the war they’re pretending is only now starting up again. That’s all you are. A body. Stay the FUCK away from the military.
RECRUITERS LIE
Why the fuck did i have a sex dream about Max Scherzer last night? I mean, i was fucking hot, but I'd never seen him as sexually attractive???????
For reference:
Like. The Hell, brain.
thinking about knots. thinking about it being shoved roughly against my soaked entrance. Thinking about whining, "no, no, no, it won't fit," but still squirming against it anyway.
thinking about it sliding inside me with a filthy wet pop. thinking about being fucked and bred so fully that all I can do is whine and take it like a bitch in heat.
Me, writing something purely for my own enjoyment about a winner's room esque hockey thing where every boy who has my self insert - whether they choose her or she chooses them - eats her out and thanks her for the opportunity? It's more likely than you think.
"why did you write that"
my fetish
my friend's fetish
not my fetish but it fits in the story so i threw it in there as a treat. you're welcome.
4. the character's fetish and i'm committed to portraying them with absolute accuracy
❝ 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 ❞
You keep bringing your pink Beetle to Steve Rogers’ auto shop, blushing at his easy smile and loaded comments. One night, you stop by after hours with treats to thank him for fixing your car but in the empty garage, he has a very different idea of how you can repay him.
car mechanic!steve rogers x f!reader
word count : 5,6k
warnings 18+ : no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, dubious consent (car sabotage), pervy behavior (panty theft/sniffing), oral sex (f & m receiving), vaginal sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, possessive Steve, risk of being caught, size kink, overstimulation, creampie, reader is portrayed as sweet & naïve
author’s note : the thought of pervy mechanic!steve has been bouncing around in my head for WAY too long and I fear I had no choice but to write it. also I would sell my soul for a pink beetle, I’m dead serious. hope you enjoy!!
The late-summer sun beats down on the cracked asphalt as you coax your pink Volkswagen Beetle into the last open spot in front of Rogers’ Auto Repair. She coughs, sputters and finally gives a pathetic little shudder before the engine dies completely. You sit there for a second, patting the dashboard like she’s a sick puppy. “I’m sorry, baby,” you murmur. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
You climb out, smoothing down your sundress, already feeling a little embarrassed. Cars have never been your thing; you just know this one is old, temperamental and lately impossible. The rattling noises and refusal to start have you completely out of your depth.
The garage doors are rolled up, classic rock drifting out on the warm air. A pair of boots sticks out from under a truck, and then the man himself slides out on a creeper, rising to his full, ridiculous height. Steve Rogers wipes his hands on a red rag, grease streaking across strong forearms and gives you the kind of easy, all-American smile that makes your stomach do a tiny flip.
“What seems to be the problem sweetheart?”
His voice is low and friendly, like he’s got all the time in the world. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly aware of how the breeze is pressing your dress against your thighs.
“Um… she’s been struggling to start lately and there’s this awful rattling sound. I really don’t know anything about cars, I’m sorry. She’s just… acting up.”
Steve’s blue eyes flick to the pink Beetle, then back to you, something unreadable sparking in them. “Let’s take a look.”
He moves to the rear of the car, popping the engine cover with practiced ease. You trail after him, eager to understand at least a little of what’s wrong.
“Here, come around this side,” he says, gesturing you closer. “I’ll show you what I’m seeing.”
You step in beside him, leaning forward innocently to peer into the tight engine compartment. The sundress is light and floaty; as you bend at the waist to get a better look, the soft hem rides up just a few inches at the back of your thighs. You don’t notice, too focused on trying to follow his explanation but Steve does.
His gaze drops for a split second, catching the fleeting glimpse of your soft, cotton panties, delicate lace trim peeking out like an accidental secret. The sight hits him like a punch: sweet, innocent, completely unaware. He swallows hard, jaw tightening, before forcing his eyes back to the engine.
“Well, look at her,” he says, voice a touch rougher than before. “She’s a beauty, alright. But she’s gonna need some real good attention. Tight little spaces in here… gotta get in there deep and work her over properly.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, though you’re not sure why.
He glances sideways at you, lips twitching into a faint smirk. “She’s purring a little now that I’m touching her but I bet she needs a firm hand to keep her running smooth.”
“Oh- thank you,” you manage, straightening up quickly and tugging the hem of your dress back into place without realizing why you suddenly feel so fluttery. “She’s my baby.”
Steve’s smile deepens, eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah, I can tell. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll take real good care of her.”
The way he says it, gaze drifting briefly down your legs before returning to the engine, makes your heart skip. But he’s already back to work, poking and prodding.
“She’s thirsty,” he adds after a minute, voice low and rough. “Needs some fresh oil. I’ll fill her up good, get her nice and slick again.”
You nod quickly, swallowing. “That sounds… perfect.”
He finds a loose battery cable pretty fast, tightens it with a few twists of his wrench but then hums thoughtfully, running a hand along some hoses. “Couple other things I oughta check while she’s here. Belts look a little worn. Better to catch it now than leave her stranded.”
Your stomach sinks. “Oh no... is it serious?”
“Nah, just routine.” He wipes his hands again, smudging more grease across his fingers, and shuts the engine cover gently. “I’ll need to keep her overnight, run a proper diagnostic. You okay getting a ride home?”
You hesitate, then nod. “I can call a friend. Thank you, really. I feel so bad bothering you with this.”
Steve chuckles, stepping closer to hand you a business card with pickup time scribbled on it. His fingers brush yours, warm and rough.
“No bother at all,” he says softly, voice almost a murmur. “I like working on pretty things that need a little extra care.”
You smile gratefully, completely missing the way his eyes linger as you walk away, hips swaying gently in that sundress.
He watches until you’re out of sight, then glances back at the pink Beetle with a slow, wicked grin, replaying that soft flash of lace in his mind.
The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the concrete floor of Steve’s shop. Your Beetle sits patiently in the bay, engine cover still propped open, tools scattered around like Steve’s in no rush to finish.
Bucky Barnes, Steve’s oldest friend and occasional helper, strolls in from the office with a couple of wrapped sandwiches and beers, kicking the door shut behind him. He tosses one to Steve, who catches it without looking up from under the hood.
“Time for a break, punk,” Bucky says, leaning against the workbench and unwrapping his own. “You’ve been poking at that little pink thing for an hour. Thought you fixed it already.”
Steve straightens, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist, leaving a fresh smear of grease. He smirks, taking a bite of the sandwich before answering.
“I did fix the battery cable,” he says, voice low and amused. “But these old Bugs… they’re delicate. One loose spark plug wire and she’ll be coughing again in no time.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “You didn’t.”
Steve’s grin turns wicked as he glances toward the street you disappeared down earlier. He reaches back into the engine, fingers nudging one of the plug wires just enough to work it loose, nothing dangerous, just enough to guarantee another breakdown in a day or two.
“Oh, I did,” he murmurs. “That sweet little thing in the sundress? She’ll be back real soon. And next time, I won’t be in such a hurry to send her on her way.”
Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “You’re a real bastard Rogers.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, eyes glinting as he shuts the engine cover with a soft thud. “But she’s too damn cute to let walk away that easy.”
They eat in companionable silence for a minute, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint tick of cooling metal.
Bucky finishes his sandwich, crumples the wrapper, and tosses it into the trash. “Just don’t get us sued when she figures out you’re sabotaging her car to get another look at her legs.”
Steve chuckles, low and dirty. “She won’t figure it out. Too sweet for that. And when she does come back…” He trails off, gaze fixed on the pink Beetle like it’s already you bent over the fender.
Bucky just rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “I’m out. Try not to jerk off in the shop again pal.”
Steve’s laugh follows him out, deep and unrepentant.
He lingers a moment longer, running a hand along the curve of the Beetle’s rear fender.
“See you soon pretty,” he says softly, to the car, to the promise of you walking back through his door.
Exactly two days later, your Beetle gives a dramatic cough and rattle just as you're pulling out of the grocery store parking lot. Your heart sinks, you swear she was running like a dream when you picked her up from Steve's shop.
“Not again,” you whisper, turning the key futilely until she finally sputters to life long enough to limp back to Steve’s shop. Embarrassment burns hot in your cheeks as you park her in the familiar bay, the engine wheezing its last.
You step out in a soft skirt and white blouse, clutching your keys like a lifeline and there he is, Steve leaning against the workbench with that same easy smile, like he was expecting you. A fresh streak of grease mars his jaw and his faded jeans sit low on his hips, white tank top clinging to his broad chest from the midday heat.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, face flaming as you hurry into the garage. “She’s doing it again… I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
Steve pushes off the bench with an easy grin, eyes lighting up the moment he spots you. He saunters over, wiping his hands on a rag that does nothing to hide the grease already streaked across his knuckles. “Back so soon, sweetheart? Told you she needs regular maintenance. Can’t just neglect a pretty thing like her, she’ll start misbehaving every damn time.”
You duck your head, fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your skirt. “I try to take good care of her, I swear.”
“I know you do,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s soothing you instead of the car. He leans in a little closer, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips as his gaze drifts over you, slow, unapologetic. “Jesus darlin’… you cleaned up real nice today.”
The words roll out gravel-rough and you feel them land right in your stomach. One of his hands slides into his pocket while the other reaches out, knuckles barely brushing the edge of your skirt. “Makes a guy forget he’s supposed to be a gentleman.”
Your cheeks burn hotter; you can’t quite meet his eyes. He exhales, gaze dropping to where your blouse clings just a little too perfectly, and then he straightens, tilting his head toward the Beetle. “Let’s get her up on the lift. This won’t take long.”
He maneuvers the car onto the hydraulic lift with effortless strength, the pink frame rising smoothly until the undercarriage is fully exposed. You linger nearby, arms crossed loosely, trying not to stare as he grabs a creeper and slides underneath. The tank top pulls tight across his back and shoulders, outlining every ridge of muscle; his jeans strain over his thighs and you swallow hard, forcing your eyes to the concrete floor.
“God, she’s so tight back here,” he grunts from below, voice echoing slightly. The wrench clinks against metal. “Gotta loosen her up slow… nice and easy or she’ll fight me the whole way.”
Your breath catches sharply. Thighs press together without permission. It’s just the car. Mechanics talk like this. Totally normal. You fidget with your bracelet, shifting your weight, the garage suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
After a couple of minutes, he pauses, sliding out just far enough to look up at you from the floor, one thick arm propped behind his head, grease-streaked and relaxed. “So, baby, what are you up to later? Got plans or you free for me?”
You blink, startled he’s asking something so personal. “Oh- um, nothing exciting. I was thinking of staying in, maybe trying to bake something. Brownies or cookies. I’ve been wanting to practice.”
His eyes darken instantly. That polite smile turns slow and filthy, like a switch flipped. He lets out a low, appreciative hum, gaze dragging over you again as if he’s picturing it in vivid detail.
“Baking, huh? All alone in that little kitchen… getting nice and messy. Hands covered in something thick and sticky.” He licks his bottom lip, voice dropping to a rumble. “Bet you’d look real sweet licking it off your fingers, wouldn’t you?”
Your mouth falls open. Heat floods every inch of your skin, pooling low in your belly. You’re frozen, brain short-circuited between mortified and desperately confused because he can’t possibly mean… but the look on his face says he absolutely does.
Steve’s grin widens, wicked and knowing, like he’s savoring your reaction. He doesn’t give you time to recover, just slides back under the car with a soft chuckle that echoes in your ears.
A minute later he rolls out again, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He flexes his hands, wiping them slowly on the rag. “There we go. Spark plug wire was a little loose, nothing major. She’s purring again.” He steps closer, close enough that his knuckles brush your arm as he reaches past you. “All slick and happy now.”
The touch lingers, his thumb grazing your skin, leaving a faint black smudge on the sleeve of your blouse. Your pulse is hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
“T-thank you,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “How much do I owe you this time?”
He waves it off, tossing the rag aside and crowding just a fraction closer while he lowers the lift. His shoulder bumps yours, another press of warm, solid muscle. “First one was free. This one? My treat.” His voice dips, eyes locked on yours, blue and intent. “But don’t stay away too long, yeah? I’m startin’ to miss the view.”
You nod, too flustered for words and climb into the Beetle with shaky hands. The engine turns over perfectly, humming sweetly as you pull away.
In the rearview mirror, you catch him watching, arms crossed, that filthy smirk still in place, one grease-stained hand trailing possessively along the fender as if saying goodbye to both you and the car.
“Drive safe, baby,” he calls after you, voice carrying on the warm air. “Wouldn’t want that sweet little thing breakin’ down without me there to handle her right.”
A couple of days later, the garage is quiet for once, no radios blaring, no customers waiting. The afternoon sun slants through the open back door, turning the alley behind Rogers’ Auto Repair into a patch of warm gold. Steve and Bucky sit on overturned crates, paper-wrapped sandwiches balanced on their knees, cold beers sweating in their hands.
Bucky takes a bite of his roast beef, eyeing Steve over the top of the can. Steve’s gaze keeps drifting toward the front bay, like he’s waiting for something, or someone to roll in.
“Jesus, Rogers,” Bucky finally drawls, smirking. “You’re starin’ at that door like you’re waitin’ for that pink Bug girl again. You’re lookin’ at her like she’s a goddamn meal.”
Steve doesn’t even flinch. He just chuckles, low and rough, leaning back against the cinder-block wall. “Goddamn right she is.” His voice drops, eyes going half-lidded with memory.
“That sweet little thing, comin’ in here all innocent in those sundresses… bendin’ over to look at the engine, ass up, not havin’ a clue what she’s doin’ to me. Completely oblivious. Makes me wanna ruin her right on the hood of that car.”
Bucky nearly chokes on his sandwich, laughing. “You’re a perv, you know that?”
Steve shrugs, unbothered, taking a slow swig of beer. “Takes one to know one.”
“Yeah, but I don’t sabotage innocent girls’ cars to keep ’em comin’ back.” Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “Just don’t scare her off, man. Town’s too damn small for that kinda drama.”
Steve’s smile turns sharp, predatory. “Nah. I’m playin’ the long game.” He crushes the empty beer can in one fist, gaze flicking back toward the front again. “But fuck… next time she shows up with those treats she kept talkin’ about bakin’? I’m done waitin’.”
Still amused, Bucky shakes his head, rises, and tosses his trash into the bin. “That one’s on you, pal.”
Steve stays seated a moment longer, staring at the empty doorway, that hungry look settling deeper.
He’s not worried.
He knows you’ll be back.
The rich scent of warm chocolate chip cookies and brownies still clings to your skin when you guide your pink Beetle back into the empty lot. The air has cooled with the setting sun, carrying the faint metallic tang of the garage and the distant hum of crickets. You duck under the half-lowered bay door, the tin balanced carefully in your hands, the brownies inside still soft and gooey, the cookies crisp at the edges.
Inside, the garage is dim and quiet, lit only by slanted golden light and the harsh glow of a single bulb over the workbench. The concrete floor feels cool through your sandals and the lingering smell of motor oil, rubber and hot metal wraps around you like a blanket.
Steve’s locking the office door, broad back to you, the thin cotton of his T-shirt damp with the day’s sweat and clinging to every line of muscle. He turns at the soft scuff of your steps and the polite smile he’s worn for days slips away, replaced by something raw and ravenous.
“Oh!” you say, voice bright and a little breathless as you hold out the tin. “I hope I’m not too late. I made these for you- brownies and cookies, still warm. For fixing her so many times.”
Steve steps forward slowly, the faint creak of his boots loud in the stillness. He takes the tin, fingers brushing yours, rough, warm, streaked with faint traces of grease and sets it aside on the workbench. The metal lid clinks softly against the wood.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh glow on the scattered tools and the glossy pink hood of your Beetle, which gleams like candy under the bulbs. The evening chill seeps through the half-open bay door but it’s nothing compared to the heat building in your core as Steve steps closer, his boots scuffing softly on the oil-stained concrete.
“That’s real sweet of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-rough, vibrating straight through your chest. “But I’ve been dyin’ for a taste of somethin’ far sweeter than brownies.”
Your breath hitches, a soft, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it. “Sweeter…?” You tilt your head, cheeks already blooming pink. “Like… extra frosting? I can make another batch tomorrow if you want, I don’t mind-”
Steve’s low, dark laugh cuts you off. “Oh baby, no. Not brownies.” He crowds closer, pinning you gently against the workbench. “I’m talkin’ about this sweet little cunt between your legs. The one that’s already soakin’ through your pretty panties just from me talkin’ to you.”
Your eyes go wide, cheeks flaming. “My… what?” you whisper, voice tiny. “Steve, that’s not polite to say. And I don’t- I mean, I feel kinda warm down there... Like I need something, but I don’t know what.”
He grins, slow and filthy. “That’s your body beggin’ for a real man to take care of it, sweetheart.” His grease-streaked hands slide to your hips, thumbs stroking the soft fabric.
“That time you leaned over your Beetle, skirt ridin’ up, ass out… I’ve been rock fuckin’ hard ever since, jerkin’ off in the back room thinkin’ about bendin’ you over that hood and fuckin’ you till you scream.”
You swallow hard, pulse racing. “Jerking off… like touching yourself?” Your voice is small, curious, a little shy. “I’ve… tried that a couple times. It felt nice but nothing really happened. I thought maybe I was doing it wrong.”
Steve’s eyes flash with dark, thrilled hunger. “Oh we’re gonna fix that now baby. You’ve been with boys who didn’t know shit about makin’ a woman come.” He cups your jaw, thumb dragging across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part it. “First though- Christ, I need to breathe you in. Been dreamin’ about how this sweet cunt smells when you’re this worked up.”
Before you can answer, he drops to one knee, shoving your sundress up to your waist. Cool air kisses your soaked panties and you squeak, hands fluttering uselessly.
“Steve- wait, that’s-” You glance toward the half-open bay door, voice tiny. “Anyone could walk by and see…”
“Let ‘em watch,” he growls. “Might teach ‘em how a real man eats pussy.” He hooks his fingers in the waistband and peels your panties down slowly, the wet cotton clinging before slipping free. He balls them up, presses them to his face and inhales deeply with a guttural moan. “Fuck. You smell like sex and sugar. These are mine now-gonna wrap ‘em around my cock later and come so hard thinkin’ about you.”
Your knees wobble. “You’re… keeping them?” You bite your lip, embarrassed but oddly flattered. “That’s… kind of dirty, isn’t it?”
“Real dirty,” he agrees, smirking up at you. “And you love it, don’t you?” Strong hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide. “Hold the hood, sweetheart. I’m gonna eat this pussy till you understand why every other fuck you’ve had was a waste of time.”
He dives in, hot mouth sealing over your clit, sucking hard. You cry out, hands scrambling on the warm metal.
“Steve- oh my god-” Your voice cracks. “No one’s ever… put their mouth there before. It feels… so much better than anything I’ve tried myself.”
He hums against you, tongue dragging slow and filthy. “That’s ‘cause you’ve been with selfish little boys who didn’t know how to treat this pretty cunt right.”
He spears his tongue inside you, curling it, then pulls back to flick your clit fast and merciless. “This little button right here? That’s your clit. Suckin’ on it makes you shake like this. You like it, baby?”
You nod frantically, thighs trembling. “Yes- please don’t stop- it’s so intense, I didn’t know it could feel like this… I’ve never… never came from this before.”
“Good girl,” he growls, sliding two thick fingers inside you, stretching. “Feel how wet you are? That’s your pussy tellin’ me it’s finally gettin’ what it needs. Been cravin’ a man who knows how to fill it up and make it come, hasn’t it?”
You whimper, rocking into his hand without thinking. “I… I think so. The couple times I had sex it was just… quick. He finished fast and I didn’t feel much. I thought that was normal.”
Steve groans, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back. “Fuck, baby. No more of that. I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every half-assed dick you’ve ever taken.”
He adds a third finger, scissoring slow while his lips seal around your clit again, sucking in pulsing pulls.
The pressure builds fast and overwhelming. “Steve- I’m- something’s happening- I feel like I’m gonna burst-”
“Come for me,” he orders, voice muffled and rough. “Let it go. Squeeze my fingers and scream my name. Show me how sweet and slutty you can be when a man finally does it right.”
You shatter with a high, broken cry, back arching off the hood, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure crashes through you in waves you’ve never felt before. He licks you through every pulse, greedy and unrelenting, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
When he rises, he’s painfully hard, the thick outline straining his jeans so obviously you can’t help but stare, eyes wide and curious. He guides your shaking hand to the bulge, pressing your palm flat so you feel the scorching heat and the insistent, heavy throb.
“Feel that?” he rasps, voice gravel-rough and cracking at the edges. “That’s my cock baby, thick and leakin’ just from watchin’ you come on my tongue. Been like this every goddamn time you walked in here in those cute outfits, hips swayin’, not even knowin’ what you were doin’ to me. Now get on your knees and learn how to suck cock like a good girl.”
You sink down slowly onto the gritty concrete, the faint bite of it sharp through your dress but drowned out by the heavy throb between your legs and the excited flutter in your chest. You look up at him with wide, cheeks still flushed from your climax.
“Suck…? Like a lollipop?”
Steve’s grin is pure sin, eyes dark with lust and a flicker of something almost tender at your sweetness.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to hold himself together. “You’re gonna kill me sayin’ shit like that. Yeah, exactly like that. Open wide, sweetheart. Let me teach you. Go on, don’t be shy.”
He undoes his belt with a metallic clink, zipper rasping down, then frees himself. His cock springs out, thick, flushed, heavy, veined, curving slightly upward, the fat tip already glistening with pre-cum. It’s bigger than anything you’ve seen before, and your breath catches audibly.
You blink up at him, cheeks flaming. “It’s… really big. And it’s leaking. Is that… normal?”
“Normal as hell when a man’s this hard for you,” he growls, wrapping your small hand around the base, your fingers can’t even meet. “See how it jumps when you touch it? That’s it beggin’ for your mouth. Go on, lick the tip. Taste me. I want you to know exactly what you do to me.”
You lean forward hesitantly, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of pre-cum. It’s salty, warm, a little bitter, and you hum softly in surprise. “It tastes… kind of good. Like… salty skin and something else.”
Steve groans low, fingers threading gently but firmly into your hair.
“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Now swirl your tongue around the head, slow circles, like you’re lickin’ an ice cream cone you don’t wanna finish too fast. Yeaaah, just like that. Look at you, so sweet and curious, tongue flickin’ over my cock like it’s candy. You have no idea how fuckin’ hot that is.”
You obey, tongue tracing slow, tentative circles around the swollen head, eyes flicking up to watch his face. His jaw is clenched, nostrils flaring, breathing ragged.
“Good girl,” he praises roughly, voice cracking. “Now open wider. Take me in slow. Just the tip first. Let your lips seal around it and suck gently. Like you’re kissin’ it. Yeah… fuck, baby, just like that.”
You part your lips, sliding the head into your warm mouth. It’s hot, velvety, heavy on your tongue. You suck softly, unsure, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Christ- yeah, perfect. Now use your tongue underneath, flick it along the slit. Feel how it throbs? That’s me leakin’ more for you. You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart- messy little mouth already droolin’ all over me. You like havin’ my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
You hum around him in response, the vibration making his hips jerk slightly. You pull back just enough to speak, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Am I… doing it right? It’s so big, I don’t know if I can take more.”
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, guiding your head gently. “Now, you can take more, slide down slow. Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat. I’ll go easy. You’re safe, baby look at me. You trust me?”
You nod trustingly, sliding further down, inch by inch, until he bumps the back of your throat. Your eyes water but you don’t pull away. You hollow your cheeks and suck, clumsy but earnest.
“Fuck- look at you,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Takin’ my cock like you were made for it. Messy little mouth, droolin’ down your chin. You like havin’ me in your throat, don’t you? Nod if you do, baby let me see those pretty eyes waterin’ for me.”
You nod as best you can, eyes glassy and eager, and he curses under his breath.
“Goddamn. Now bob your head, slow up and down. Use your hand on the base, twist it a little while you suck. Yeah- fuck, just like that. You’re a natural sweetheart. Gonna make me come down your throat if you keep goin’ like this.”
You moan softly around him, the sound vibrating straight through his length. Your free hand rests on his thigh for balance, fingers digging in as you find a rhythm, awkward at first, then smoother, more confident with every ragged praise he growls.
“Such a good girl,” he rasps, hips rocking shallowly. “Look at me while you suck. Let me see those big eyes. Fuck, you’re killin’ me. Never had anyone this sweet and eager. You’re learnin’ fast, aren’t you? My perfect little cocksucker already.”
You keep your gaze locked on his, tears pricking from the stretch but refusing to stop. Saliva drips down your chin, slick and messy but you don’t care, you just want to please him.
He’s close, you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way his cock pulses harder on your tongue. “Gonna come soon, baby,” he warns, voice strained. “You want it in your mouth? Or you want me to pull out and paint that pretty face? Tell me- use your words.”
You pull off just enough to speak, voice hoarse and breathy. “In my mouth… please. I want to taste you. I want to be good for you.”
Steve’s control snaps. “Fuck- open wide then. Take every drop like a good girl.”
He guides your head back down, thrusts shallow and careful, then groans deep as he comes, hot thick pulses flooding your mouth. You swallow instinctively, some spilling past your lips but you try so hard to take it all, eyes watering but shining with pride.
He pulls out slowly, thumb swiping the mess from your chin, then pushes it back between your lips. “Swallow it all sweetheart. Good girl. You did so fuckin’ good- look at you, lips all swollen and shiny with my cum. You liked it didn’t you?”
You lick his thumb clean, dazed and flushed, then smile up at him shyly. “I… I did. It was strong, but… nice. I liked making you feel good.”
Steve hauls you up, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your tongue, groaning into your mouth. “You were perfect. Now it’s my turn to fuck you properly. Bend over the hood baby. Spread those legs wide. I’m gonna show you what a real cock feels like, gonna stretch this tight pussy till you’re cryin’ my name.”
You scramble to obey, bending over the warm pink hood, dress rucked up, thighs trembling. He kicks your feet wider, notches the thick head at your entrance, dragging it through your slick.
“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he growls, voice raw. “Still drippin’ from comin’ on my tongue. You ready for me, sweetheart? Gonna fill you so full you’ll feel me every time you walk tomorrow.”
You nod frantically, pushing back. “Yes- please, Steve. I want it. I’ve never felt this… needy before. I need you inside me.”
He sinks in slow, one relentless inch after another, until he’s buried to the hilt. You gasp, nails scraping the paint.
“It’s… so big,” you whimper. “Bigger than anyone else. I feel so full- oh god, I can feel every vein.”
“That’s ‘cause you’ve been takin’ inadequate dick,” he grunts, starting to move, long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot.
“This is what you’ve been missin’. Feel how deep I am? That’s me hittin’ places no one else ever reached. This pussy was made for me baby, tight and wet and suckin’ me in like it never wants to let go.”
You moan, high and sweet. “Yes! Oh god- right there. It’s so much better. Don’t stop- please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promises, snapping his hips harder, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. “Gonna ruin you for every other man. Every time you sit in this car, you’re gonna remember how I fucked you on the hood, how I made you come again and again on my cock. You feel that? That’s me ownin’ this pussy now.”
He reaches around, rough fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast circles. “Come on my cock, baby. Milk me. Show me how much you love bein’ filled up. Squeeze me- yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re so tight when you come.”
You shatter again, crying his name, walls clamping down hard, fluttering around him. He follows with a guttural roar, slamming deep and spilling inside you, thick pulses that leave you trembling and dripping.
He stays buried a long moment, both of you panting, the garage thick with sex, sweat, chocolate, and gasoline. Then he pulls out slowly, watching his cum trickle down your thighs with a satisfied growl.
He helps you stand, legs shaky, smoothing your dress down even though it’s ruined, grease-smeared, wrinkled, damp. He presses the brownie tin back into your hands, thumb brushing your swollen lip.
“Best treats I’ve ever had, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough and fond. “Come back anytime. You and this pretty little car will always need my kind of maintenance.”
You nod, dazed and glowing, leaning up to press a shy kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Stevie,” you whisper sweetly. “For… everything. I feel so good. I didn’t know it could be like this.”
He catches your chin, stealing one more slow kiss. “Anytime, baby. Drive safe. I’ll be waitin’ for you to break down again.”
You slip out into the night, thighs slick, heart fluttering, the taste of him still on your tongue and the sweetest ache blooming between your legs.
© 𝓼𝓵𝓾𝓽𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓻 2026 (do not copy, translate or repost)
taglist : @angel-bugz @sheriff-bodecker @arsenalofproblems @imanidiotsimpforhotmen @spdrveil @shackoflove @buckybunni @fancypeacepersona @noirecherie @babygirlxos @vickynguyennn @avgdestitute @silveredpenumbrashark @latenightmatilda @thegirlfatherr @nonotwithoutu @sebastians-love @doelikedollz @wintersgirllost @ryswritingrecord @biggestfangirl @swansonnetts @herejustforbuckybarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @lovelyygirl8 @gilwm @bb-laufeyson @gibbsgirl7 @hnnhbananananana @metal-armed-muse @mollyherondale @sambuckystony
when avril lavigne said And Hell Yeah Im The Mother Fucken Princess that was way real
runnin' down the road, loosen my load
pairing: farmer!bucky barnes x city girl!reader x farmer!steve rogers
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, threesome, pining, alcohol, banter, touch starved stucky, sexual tension, lots of pent-up sexual frustration, the boys are clingy attention whores, manipulation (they want you to stay), breeding kink, oral (m receiving), size diff, m!masturbation, overstimulation, jealousy, degrading, praising, dirty talk, pet names: "pretty girl" "sweetheart" "darlin'" "baby"
word count: 18k masterlist
a/n: what's better than one touch starved farmer boy? TWO touch starved farmer boys who are best friends!!!!! it gets kind of dark at the end (steve and buck are desperate.) so please tread carefully.
synopsis: Bucky and Steve live in a town filled with an endless stretch of green, animals, and their only company is other strong men and elderly women. When an attractive, young woman visits town for a research project, the touch-deprived boys can't help but want to play with the new piece of candy.
Steve threw the last log onto the flatbed of the good ol’ truck, a thing that had seen more rust than oil changes in its life.
“That should be the last of it,” he announced from the back, closing the tailgate and giving it a solid slap to make sure it held. “Start her up, Buck.”
Bucky turned back to the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. The truck answered with a loud rumble before sputtering out. He tried again, resulting in another shake that rattled the cab, and then… nothing.
Steve came up to the driver’s window, resting an arm on the sill as he wiped sweat from his face with a dirty towel.
“Lucy’s not startin’?”
“Does she ever?” Bucky sneered, turning the key once more as the truck grumbled in protest. “I thought you were supposed to look her over last night.”
“I was—then I got a call to round up some loose, wild chickens. After that I got sidetracked, and, uh…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, guilty. “I fell asleep.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”
“Hey,” Steve said, nudging his shoulder roughly through the window. “While I was being productive last night, maybe you could’ve spent that time fixing her up instead of jerking off.”
Bucky shoved the door open without warning, forcing Steve to stumble aside. He gave him a sharp side-eye glare.
“I was not jerking off,” he muttered, heading for the front of the truck and popping the hood to peer into the engine.
Steve barked out a laugh as he stepped up beside him, clamping a heavy hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You keep tellin’ yourself that. The walls are paper thin, you know?”
“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled with a flushed face. He reached down, jiggled the loose battery cable, then tightened the clamp with a huff.
“All right,” he said, wiping his hands on his dirty jeans. “Try it now.”
“You sure that’ll—”
“Just get in the damn truck, Steve.”
With a shrug, Steve climbed back into the cab and turned the key. The engine coughed in front of Bucky, then rumbled to life, making the whole truck shaky but steadily idle.
Steve grinned out the open window. “Well, would you look at that. It’s our lucky day.”
“And we don’t get much of those,” Bucky agreed, not wasting a second as he slammed the hood shut and jogged around to the passenger side, yanking the door open.
“Don’t admire her too much now,” he warned, climbing in. “Start drivin’ before it gives out and we have to push this damn thing ourselves again.”
The truck rattled its way down the dirt road, tires crunching over gravel as the town came into view—if you could even call it that. The ‘town’ had a handful of weather-beaten buildings, a leaning water tower, and more livestock than people. Chickens scattered as Steve eased off the gas, the engine making a suspiciously loud noise that couldn’t even be ignored if they turned the radio up higher.
Fury’s place sat at the center of it all. A squat, sturdy building that had once been a general store several years ago, then a post office, and now served as whatever the town needed it to be. Meetings, supplies, paperwork.
Basically, everything important that no one else wanted to deal with.
A faded sign out front still read “COMMUNITY OFFICE,” though half the letters were missing.
“Made it,” Steve said, turning the engine off as he glanced at Bucky with a smile. “Told you Lucy had one more trip in her.”
“One,” Bucky huffed, hopping out. “Don’t get greedy.”
They climbed onto the flatbed and started unloading, tossing logs into a neat pile beside the building. The door creaked open halfway through, and Fury stepped out, cane in one hand. His good eye flicked over the truck, the wood, then the two of them.
“You’re late,” he said calmly.
Steve lifted his head as he tossed another log. “Truck trouble.”
Fury snorted. “That truck is trouble.” He eyed the woodpile with approval, though. “Still—this’ll last us through winter if rationed right. The town owes you.”
Bucky threw another log. “Town’s been owing us a while.”
Fury shifted his weight, tapping the end of his cane against one of the logs. “When you’re done,” he said, already turning back toward the door, “I’m gonna need you boys to come inside and sign the delivery papers. Wood tally, fuel credit, the usual nonsense.”
They both gave each other a look. Anything involving paperwork, pencils, and pens was well outside their familiar territory. Their comfort zone was muscles, strength, and work done with their bare hands.
The boys were… really good with their hands.
They finished stacking the last of the logs in relative silence, the only sounds being the dull thud of wood and the distant lowing of cattle.
Steve hopped down from the flatbed and dusted off his hands. “You ready, Buck?”
“Ready to skim the papers and not read a word of it?” Bucky wiped his hands on the dirty towel before tossing it through the open passenger window. “Sure.”
Inside, the building was way cooler, the air was filled with the smell of old paper, dust, and faint bitter coffee. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with binders, ledgers, and boxes labeled in Fury’s neat handwriting. A single desk sat near the back, buried under forms.
The two men lingered by the front door, leaving a trail of dirt and mud beneath their boots as their eyes adjusted from the harsh sunlight to the dim interior.
“Come here, boys,” Fury called, circling around his desk.
Steve stepped forward—but Bucky stopped short, his attention snagging on something off to the side of the office.
“Uh,” Bucky raised a finger to point, not even trying to hide it. “Who the hell is that? She lost?”
There you sat, prim and composed, one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper folded neatly in your hands. Your clothes were clean, your shoes never touched by dirt, and the two suitcases at your feet looked like they cost more than what Steve and Bucky made in a day.
You looked like you had stepped off the wrong bus, yet decided to stay anyway.
Steve turned at Bucky’s voice, nearly breaking his neck to get a better look. His gaze trailed from your face down to your legs, the way you subtly bounced your foot as you were absorbed in whatever dull headline held your attention.
Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip, and Bucky’s breath hitched.
“Damn…” he muttered.
“No.” Fury emerged from behind the desk, glancing between the three of you. “She’s right where she’s supposed to be.”
You finally looked up when Fury tapped the side of your bench with his cane. Lifting your head, you pulled the earbud from your ear.
“Nick?”
“These are Rogers and Barnes,” Fury said. “They run the livestock operations on the outskirts.” Then he turned back to the two men. “And this is—” he paused, nodding to you, “—a family friend from the city, a couple hours away. She’s here for a research project.”
Steve stepped closer, raising a brow. “Research?”
You folded the newspaper and tucked it under your arm before standing. “Animal productivity,” you explained. “Sustainability in isolated farming communities. Breeding patterns, yield consistency, that sort of thing.”
Both of the boys tilted their head in sync, and Fury shook his own, looking at you. “You’re speaking a whole different language to these cave animals.”
Bucky crossed his arms, ignoring the jab. “And you picked this place?”
“I insisted she come here,” Fury said, raising a brow at him. “Why are you making it sound like this place is bad?”
Steve shrugged. “Well—”
“Don’t answer that,” Fury cut in with a sigh, waving a hand as he turned back to his desk. “Sign these. And once you’re done—” his gaze flicked to your suitcases, “—help her get settled in the farmhouse out back.”
“The farmhouse?” Bucky met Fury at the desk, planting both hands on the edge as he leaned over him. “You’re not stickin’ a girl like that in some dirty farmhouse, Fury.”
It seemed like every farmer you’d met so far was loud and painfully straightforward. You glanced down at yourself—your clothes, so different from the muted dresses the handful of elderly women wore around town. Since stepping off the bus, you’d been surrounded by the smell of manure, too much testosterone, and a growing sense of self-consciousness.
Fury looked up at Bucky with his good eye. “I already told her about our very limited lodging options.” He turned to you for backup. “And she was okay with it. Right?”
You were not okay with it.
You were used to a queen-sized bed in your comfortable city apartment, right in the heart of everything. Not a farmhouse.
“Yup,” you said anyway, forcing a nod and a smile.
For research. Right?
Bucky scoffed and clamped a hand down on Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer hard enough that Steve nearly stumbled.
“You know, We’ve got Sarah’s old house right next to our farm—the one that’s been collectin’ dust,” Bucky said, giving Steve a firm slap on the back to rope him in. “What do you say, Stevie? Take us a few hours to clean it up, pull the mattress outta the closet, get it all nice and tidy for our little friend here.”
All three men turned to look at you, and you suddenly felt very small beneath their attention—especially under Steve and Bucky’s eyes.
“I… wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said gently, scratching at your temple. “I’m not sure how Sarah would feel if I just moved in—”
“Sarah—God rest her—wouldn’t want an impressionable young woman like you sleepin’ in a cold, dirty farmhouse,” Bucky cut in, flashing Steve a grin.
Steve let out a slow, patient breath through his nose. “I suppose you’re right. My mother wouldn’t want that.”
Bucky turned back to you, a charming smile tugging at his mouth. “How about it, pretty girl?”
You glanced at Fury, searching his face. He was the only person you trusted here, and as long as he trusted them, that would have to be enough.
Fury let out a quiet, weary sigh and gave you a small shrug. “They look like troublemakers,” he said, “but they’re the ones keeping this town running.”
He pointed at Steve while looking at you. “You can trust this one.” Then his finger moved slowly to Bucky. “But be careful with this one.”
“Hah. Hah,” Bucky replied dryly as he crossed the room, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his heavy boots. He bent down, grabbed one of your suitcases, and tossed it toward Steve, who barely caught it off guard.
Bucky picked up the other bag and flashed you a smile.
“Our truck’s right outside. Come on.”
With one strong hand gripping the strap of your suitcase, his other hand—surprisingly respectful—settled at your lower back as he guided you towards the front door.
On the way out, he gave Steve a look, nodding once to signal him to follow.
“You two better take good care of her,” Fury called after them. “She’s a family friend. Remember that.”
Steve paused, glancing back at Fury with a sigh.
“Yeah, noted,” he muttered as he stepped outside with the luggage, following you and Bucky.
Fury waved you off, then turned back to the desk, eyeing the untouched stack of paperwork still waiting for signatures.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered.
Outside, Steve and Bucky tossed the luggage into the flatbed haphazardly. The heavy thud of your expensive bags made you flinch, especially knowing your laptop and notebooks were inside.
Bucky swung the passenger door open wide and motioned you over with a hand. “Come on in,” he said. “Lucy don’t bite.”
“Lucy?” you huffed a small laugh, hesitating as you stepped closer. Leaning inside, you saw the floorboards caked with dirt and mud; one step in and your shoes would be ruined in an instant. “Uh, I don’t think there’s room for me—”
“Sure there is,” Bucky interrupted.
Without warning, his rough hands found your hips and lifted you easily, setting you down on the passenger seat. “Scoot over,” he said. “You’re gonna have to be the middle man.”
Before you could even say anything, Bucky planted one heavy boot inside the cab and hopped inside, rocking the truck and forcing you to scramble over as he slammed the door shut. You barely had time to find your balance before Steve opened the driver’s door and climbed in, settling behind the wheel with a huff.
Now, you found yourself wedged between two broad, very dirty men who smelt like sweat and sun.
And suddenly, the cab felt very, very warm.
“Let’s see if she’ll turn,” Steve muttered, twisting the key in the ignition.
“What do you mean, let’s see?” you asked warily, tugging at the collar of your shirt. “And does this thing have air-conditioning?”
Steve pressed his lips together. “Air-conditioning would be the very thing that puts Lucy in the ground.” He tried again—the engine sputtered, then died. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but… she should come around.”
Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on your hands folded in your lap, realizing what you had gotten yourself into. You were in the middle of pretty much nowhere, with spotty service, no sleep, wedged into a truck with two men you had never even met, headed for a house where who knew what kind of bugs were waiting for you.
“Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself, voice shaky.
Steve glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Hey—don’t panic. She’ll start. Just gotta—” he turned the key again, then once more. The engine finally roared to life, rattling violently as the truck shook beneath you.
“There we go.”
Bucky rested his arm out the window, flashing Steve a grin over your head. “Our lucky day, you said?”
The corner of Steve’s mouth tugged into a smirk as he shifted into drive. “Don’t get greedy.”
As Steve pulled onto the road, the truck rattled and shook over every rock and rut. You reached for the seatbelt, tugging at it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Seatbelts don’t work, sweetheart,” Steve said, glancing over at you with a reassuring smile before returning his focus to the road. “Just try to hold on tight.”
That did very little to calm you.
That was a safety hazard and straight up illegal.
You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, shoulders rigid. Your eyes switched between the flaws of the old truck— to the web of cracks in the window, to the dust on the dash—and the unfamiliar stretch of land rolling past. The farther you got from town, the quieter it became. Fewer houses, fewer people—just fields and fences stretching on forever.
Bucky could feel how tense you were from the faint brush of your shoulder against his.
“You alright?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. “You look like you’re thinkin’ about jumpin’ out and runnin’.”
You looked up at him and forced a laugh, though it came out thin and brittle. “I’m fine. Just… adjusting, I think.”
“A lot different than city life, huh?” Steve asked from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” you admitted. “This is… very different.”
“Well,” Steve said, resting one hand on the window sill and the other on the wheel, “since we’ve got a bit of a drive, why don’t you tell us more about this research project of yours?”
“Yeah,” Bucky added. “You studyin’ cows or somethin’?”
“Not just cows,” you said. “Basically, when communities are geographically isolated, access to veterinary care, supplemental feed, and modern equipment becomes limited. That can unintentionally alter breeding cycles. Livestock may breed earlier or later in the season, fertility rates can fluctuate, and stress levels directly affect overall yield.”
Bucky scratched at his chin, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Breeding…”
Steve glared at him over your head.
You just kept going, oblivious as your hands lifted slightly as you explained, slipping deeper into familiar academic territory.
“I’m also comparing seasonal fertility rates,” you said. “In places like this, breeding windows tend to be less controlled, which can lead to overlap between generations. That affects herd structure, genetic diversity, and long-term productivity.”
Bucky nodded slowly, eyes still on the road ahead. “Uncontrolled breedin’, huh.”
“Buck,” Steve warned.
“What? I’m not doin’ anything.”
You glanced between them, finally catching the smirk tugging at Bucky’s mouth as he fought back a laugh and the disapproving look on Steve’s face, despite the smile he was clearly trying to hide by staring out the window.
For fuck’s sake.
You were realizing now that Dirty Man One and Dirty Man Two were trying to crack inappropriate sex jokes.
“Jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “You men are disgusting.”
“Hey! Don’t lump me in with him,” Steve said quickly. “I’m the one tryin’ to get him to settle down.”
The rest of the drive was surprisingly pleasant. Both of them asked about your school and your research, and every time you answered in more detail, you noticed their slightly dazed and confused expressions. Steve tended to ask the more in-depth questions, genuinely curious, while Bucky nodded along like he understood every word.
The truck bounced and swayed over ruts, rocks, and packed dirt as Steve turned into a long, wide driveway. Ahead stood a large farmhouse, with a smaller cabin-like building off to the side.
Farther to the left sat another structure.
A very, very small one.
Too small to be a house, but just big enough to be a storage shed.
“Here we are,” Steve announced as the truck rumbled to a stop and the engine cut out.
You raised a finger, pointing to the small shed. “Is that—”
Before you could finish the question, both men opened their doors and hopped out of the truck without a word. They grabbed your luggage—now smudged with grime and dirt—and started carrying it to the shed.
You scrambled out of the truck, nearly stumbling as your feet hit the ground, and hurried after them.
“Wait—hey!” you called, jogging to keep up as they headed straight for the shed. “T-that’s not where I’m staying, is it?”
Bucky glanced back over his shoulder, adjusting his grip on one of your suitcases. “That little building over there? Yeah. That’s it.”
Steve slowed a little, giving you a little apologetic look as you caught up. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promised. “My mom used it as a guest place for a bit. Solid roof, no leaks—”
“And a whole lot better than the farmhouse Fury was gonna stick you in,” Bucky added.
You looked at the structure again as you walked —weathered wood, a single small window, and a door that had clearly seen better decades. Your pace faltered.
“Guys,” you said flatly. “That is a shed.”
Bucky stopped in front of it and set the luggage down, turning to face you with a grin.
“Technically,” he said, “it’s a converted shed.” He lifted a hand just in time to catch the key Steve tossed his way.
“We fixed it up, mostly.” Steve looked down at your expression, the way your teeth caught your bottom lip and the weary, beady eyes you’ve been wearing ever since they picked you up in their truck.
Without thinking, he rested a protective hand at your back, drawing your attention.
“I know this is different from the city life you’re used to,” he said gently. “But I promise, it just needs a few touch-ups. You’ll get comfortable in no time.”
The way Steve looked at you eased the tension in your chest. His smile was warm, his voice patient and kind. And if Fury said this was the one you could trust, then so be it.
“Thank you, Steve.”
The other one, on the other hand…
Bucky unlocked the door with a huff. Dust immediately billowed out, making him cough as he waved a hand in front of his face. He glanced back at you and Steve.
“Oh, by the way,” he said. “There’s no bathroom in here.”
Perfect.
Bucky nudged the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside, his heavy work boots creaking against the frail wooden floorboards. Steve followed, setting your luggage just inside the doorway.
You hesitated at the doorframe before stepping in after them.
The place was ridiculously tiny. One narrow room with a low ceiling, a single window coated in dust, furniture and cabinets that looked like it could barely hold up. It smelled like old wood, hay, oil and something faintly metallic—you didn’t know what.
Back in the city, you had white walls, clean linens, and the oddly relaxing hum of traffic outside your window. Here, you had stained wallpaper peeling at the edges and bawking chickens.
For your research project, you reminded yourself. You chose this.
Bucky looked around with his hands on his hips. “It’s small,” he said thoughtfully, “but I think it’s the perfect size for a girl like you.”
He smiled, and you weren’t entirely sure how you were supposed to take that.
When he noticed your silence, the smile slipped just a bit. “You okay?”
You snapped out of it, nodding a little too fast. “Yeah, I just…” You exhaled, rubbing your arms. “I think I really need a shower. If that’s—uh—even possible.”
“Oh,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Sure. But you’re not doin’ that here.”
You gave Steve a look, almost like a silent plea for backup, but he only shrugged in response as Bucky continued, smirk firmly in place.
“C’mon. Our place is right next door. Real bathroom. Hot water.”
You shifted on your feet, eyeing them both suspiciously. “And the door,” you asked carefully, “it locks?”
The two men exchanged a silent look, and immediately, you regretted asking. Here they were—offering you a ride, a place to stay they’d fix up just for you, even letting you use their shower—and you’d gone and asked if the lock worked, as if you were accusing them of being some kind of creeps.
But then they blinked at each other and burst into laughter.
Bucky let out a sharp bark, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he grinned. “It locks.”
Steve wiped at his face, trying to rein it in. “You know, you’ve got men out here showerin’ in their front lawns with a bucket of water and a bar of soap,” he added. “But I get it. Can’t blame you for askin’. City instincts.”
Your face immediately burned with embarassment. You’ve delt with your fair share of annoying men in the city, but it was something about being surrounded by farmer men that made the teasing feel ten times more insufferating.
“Yeah,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. “Very funny.”
Still smiling, Steve wiped at the corner of his eye and motioned toward the door. “Come on. Follow us—we’ll show you where you can wash up.”
After you quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes out of your luggage, they led the way across the yard, Steve out front and Bucky hanging back just enough to make sure you were keeping up. The dirt path had been worn smooth by years of boots and tires, and on either side of it the farm stretched out in every direction.
Cows clustered near the fence line, tails swishing lazily. A pair of horses lifted their heads as you passed, ears flicking toward you with mild curiosity. Chickens roamed freely, darting around your feet like they owned the place. Everything felt alive— busy and loud in ways that reminded you of the city, though it couldn’t have been more different.
The farm loomed closer as you approached—big, solid, and weathered, with hay bales stacked nearby and buckets of feed scattered around the yard.
Walking past, you reached the house itself. It was a small, one-story, cabin-like structure built from dark wood. The door creaked as Steve pushed it open, and the scent inside was a stark contrast to the earthy, animal smells outside.
From the doorway, you could smell the soap, clean laundry, and coffee. You were met with heavy wooden furniture. Worn floors. Tools leaned neatly against one wall. A pair of muddy boots sat by the door.
Very manly was the only way you could describe it.
Steve stepped aside to let you in. “Watch your step.”
As you stepped in, dodging the muddy boots, the house felt sturdy and lived-in. Not polished, but definitely cared for.
Bucky shut the door behind you with his heel and jerked his head down the narrow hallway. “Bathroom’s this way.”
You followed, your gaze drifting over the details as you walked by. Family photos tacked messily to the wall—they didn’t look alike at all, had different lastnames, so siblings seemed unlikely, yet there were dozens of pictures of them together from childhood. A calendar hung nearby, crowded with notes about feed deliveries and vet visits, all scrawled in incomprehensible, sloppy boy handwriting.
Bucky paused and pointed at one of the photos—a younger version of him and Steve standing side by side with crooked smiles.
“Handsome, ain’t he?” he asked, tapping at himself.
You couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve seen better.”
Steve snorted while Bucky rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. He stopped at the last door and pushed it open with his knuckle.
“Here we go.”
The bathroom was small but clean. White tile lined the walls, a deep tub sat beneath a real showerhead, and shelves held neatly folded towels alongside mismatched bottles of soap. A narrow window above the sink let in a stripe of late-afternoon light, dust motes drifting lazily in the air.
“Hot water takes a minute,” Bucky said, leaning against the wall. “Gotta let it run first.”
You looked between the two men, clutching your folded clothes to your chest. “Thank you—both of you. I really appreciate this.”
“Don’t mention it,” Steve said with a casual wave of his hand. “A friend of Fury’s is a friend of ours.”
Bucky pushed himself off the wall and stepped aside, giving you room to enter. “Steve and I will clean up the shed while you’re in here. By the time you’re done, it should be ready with the mattress and all.”
Your smile softened as you glanced at him. “You guys are great. Seriously, I couldn’t be—”
“Just make sure you shout us out in that research paper,” Bucky cut in with a grin, resting his hand on the doorknob. “And don’t forget to let the water run. Enjoy your shower, pretty girl.”
The door shut softly behind you.
And on the other side, Steve immediately whacked the back of Bucky’s head.
“Pretty girl? Pretty girl?” Steve whisper-yelled. “Are you kidding me?”
Bucky winced, rubbing the back of his head as they headed down the hall towards the front door. “What? She is pretty, Steve. And don’t act like you’re any better. ‘Sweetheart’? Really?”
“I’m trying to be respectful, Buck,” Steve sighed as he pushed the front door open.
“And I was being respectful,” Bucky clicked his tongue. “You know how rare it is for a beautfiul woman like that to be around here. Gotta make a good first impression.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Get your head out of your ass. A girl like that would want nothing to do with dirty men like us.”
“Oh—come on, Steve,” Bucky whined, following after him like a bug in the air, “why you gotta be so hopeless, man?”
“Not hopeless,” Steve corrected, pushing the shed door open. “Realistic.”
Bucky scoffed as he followed him inside, heading straight for the closet. He hauled out the folded air mattress and the old hand pump, dropping them onto the floor. “Yeah, yeah. Still—doesn’t hurt to imagine, you know?”
Steve grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner and started clearing dust and debris. “Imagine what, exactly?”
Bucky grinned, eyes drifting back to the window that faced the house for a second before he caught himself.
“I dunno. Coming home after a long day, boots covered in dirt, back sore as hell—and there she is. Clean, soft, talkin’ about all that smart stuff she knows. Maybe dinner’s on the stove, or she’s sittin’ at the front there with a book, lookin’ all pretty.”
Steve snorted. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Have not,” Bucky said, laying the mattress out where Steve had just swept and starting to pump air into it. “Tell me you wouldn’t want that—a gorgeous girl like that walkin’ around the house, keepin’ it warm and cozy—barefoot and all.”
Steve went quiet as he lifted an old bed frame and leaned it against the wall. He didn’t answer right away, but the faint pink creeping up his ears gave him away at the thought.
“…I guess,” he admitted slowly, “it’d be nice to have someone to come home to.”
Bucky’s grin turned smug instantly. “Ah. There it is.”
“She’s here for research,” Steve reminded him firmly, snapping himself back to reality. “Not to get hitched to a couple of guys who spend all day haulin’ logs and tendin’ cattle.”
“But picture this, Stevie—” Bucky glanced up as he crouched on the floor, steadily pumping air into the mattress. “You work yourself half to death,” he went on, muscles flexing. “We both do. Up before the sun, down after it sets. Muscles sore, hands cracked, brain fried.” He slowed, leaning his weight against the pump. “Wouldn’t kill us to have someone who… helps take the edge off.”
“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned, turning to try and hide the blush on his cheeks. “You’re gross, man.”
“Look—” Bucky sighed as he stood, “we haven’t had a woman like that around here in a long time. And she’s not just any woman—she’s smart.” He shook his head, scoffing lightly. “A man’s allowed to dream about comin’ home to somethin’ nice. Maybe even havin’ a smooth pair of legs wrapped nice and tight around—”
His voice trailed off as his eyes caught sight of you through the window.
You stood on the front porch, barefoot, a towel draped around your shoulders as water dripped from your hair. You were dressed in something light and easy—a dress. Nothing fancy, but far more comfortable than what you’d worn when they first met you.
… And somehow, far more domestic.
Steve followed Bucky’s gaze, his breath hitching once he saw you. Bucky swallowed hard. Neither of them spoke.
Then, they finally looked at each other, faces warm, wearing the same boyish, awed grin—just like the ones frozen in those crooked childhood photos on the wall.
“Pretty,” they both murmured at the exact same time.
They watched as you lifted a hand to shield your eyes, squinting against the afternoon sun as you scanned the yard. You took a few steps down the porch, bare feet tip-toeing around the dirt as you tried to squint at the shed.
Bucky straightened immediately, dropping the pump as it hit the wooden floors with a loud thud. “She’s lookin’ for us.”
Steve was already moving, setting the broom aside so quickly it wobbled, then clattered against the wall before falling to the floor. “Well—don’t just stand there!”
They headed for the door at the same time, bumping shoulders as they squeezed past each other, neither willing to give ground. When you spotted them walking toward you with Steve taking the lead and Bucky half a step behind, clearly trying to edge ahead, a small smile spread across your face.
“Oh—there you two are. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to—” you sighed in relief, gesturing vaguely at the farm around you. “—wander.”
Bucky let out a short chuckle, rocking back on his heels as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You can wander all you’d like, darlin’,” he said. “What’s ours is yours.”
The nickname threw you off guard. You felt your face warm, heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the sun as you tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Back in the city, men didn’t really talk like that unless they were intoxicated at a bar and trying to get in your pants.
But this felt different. Maybe it was just that gentleman, charming, farmer boy thing.
“Oh,” you said, a little breathless. “That’s—uh… really sweet. Thank you, Bucky.”
Steve gave Bucky a look out of the corner of his eye—a careful look. Bucky, meanwhile, looked far too pleased with himself.
“Just don’t go wanderin’ too far, baby,” Steve added quickly, stepping up onto the porch beside you. “Some of the fences are old, and the horses don’t always respect personal place.”
If you hadn’t been flustered before, you definitely were now.
You didn’t get called things like darlin’ or baby very often, and even when you did, the words had never affected you like this. Not the way they sounded coming from two devastatingly handsome, accommodating men with soft southern accents.
“I—okay,” you said quickly, nodding as you snapped yourself out of it, though the corners of your mouth still tugged into a smile. “I’ll be careful.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he glanced at Steve, then back at you, his own lips twitching like he was biting back a comment.
“We’ve fixed up the shed for you,” Bucky said instead, propping one leg on the porch step and resting a hand on the railing. “Mattress is ready if you wanna rest. You wanna take a look?”
Your attention drifted past the shed, toward the open fields, the fencing, and the animals moving lazily across the land.
“Actually,” you trailed, removing the towel from your shoulders, “would it be okay if I checked out the animals first?”
Bucky tilted his head. “Animals?”
“For my research,” you clarified quickly. “I’d really like to get an initial survey while there’s still daylight. Just some baseline observations—livestock condition, spacing, behavior. I won’t get in the way.”
Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky—a look you’d noticed they shared often since you arrived.
Then Steve smiled back at you. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just—” he gestured vaguely to the fences, “—stay where we can see you. Okay?”
“Don’t worry,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’m not planning on getting lost.”
As you turned back to the house, already half a step up the porch with the intention of grabbing your shoes, something caught the corner of your eye. Your gaze snapped to the far end of the pasture, where a small cluster of animals had gathered. A few cows wandered lazily nearby, but it was two chickens in particular that caught your attention.
A hen crouched low to the ground, wings spread slightly, tail lifted—while a rooster mounted her from behind.
Your eyes went wide.
“Oh—wait, wait, wait!”
Shoes forgotten entirely, you pivoted on your heel and hurried back down the porch steps, already digging your phone out of your dress pocket. “This is perfect timing! Hold this—please—”
Behind you, Steve barely had time to react before the towel was tossed his way, landing squarely over his head.
“Hey—” he started, but you were already jogging barefoot across the dirt, eyes locked on the breeding chickens.
Your hair breezed through wind and they got a good whiff of the pleasant scent before you ran off. Despite using the same shampoo as them, it smelled surprisingly soft and very feminine. A smell they weren’t used to, but one they’d easily grow fond of.
You slowed as you got closer, steadying your hands, snapping a few quick photos as discreetly as possible, and crouching slightly to keep from startling them. Your lips moved as you narrated under your breath.
“Estrus behavior visible… herd proximity unchanged… minimal disruption…”
Bucky stared after you, incredulous, before letting out a low whistle. He nudged Steve in the arm just as Steve pulled the towel off his face.
“What’d I tell you?” Bucky murmured with a crooked grin. “Barefoot—” he nodded inside the house, still warm and humid from your shower, “—and already keepin’ the house warm.”
“Alright. Enough gawking,” Steve warned, though his eyes were still still fixed on you. “Just ’cause we’ve got a pretty girl livin’ with us now doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do.”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that while you stare even harder.”
For the rest of the afternoon, until the sun laid low and the sky began to darken, the two men worked diligently around the farm. And despite Steve’s warnings not to gawk, their eyes found you anyway—again and again.
You crouched near the animals, scribbling notes into your journal, occasionally lifting an expensive-looking camera—one in far better condition than their own damn truck—to snap photos of the cattle. And even after they’d warned you about the fences, you climbed up onto the railings anyway, the wood creaking beneath your toes as you leaned forward, determined to get the perfect shot of the horses.
Wood was getting stacked, hay bales tossed aside, tools scattered and gathered again as needed.
Still, every so often, Steve would glance up from his work to try and look at you, but only to catch Bucky leaning against the farmhouse doorway, eyes trailing shamelessly in your direction.
“Whatcha starin’ at, Buck?” Steve grinned as he tied off a rope around a hay bale.
Bucky didn’t look away from you. His smile softened as he watched the way you held the camera carefully, how your toes balanced on the fence rail, the breeze tugging gently at your hair and dress.
“Just admirin’ the view.”
Steve’s gaze followed his, and he let out a low groan as he stood up. “She’s gonna fall off that fence if she keeps leanin’ over like that.”
“And we’ll be there to catch her,” Bucky replied with a grin, pushing off the doorframe to help with the bales.
You had no idea you were being watched so closely.
Unbeknownst to them, you had been sneaking glances of your own towards the farm. Their white tank tops—streaked with dirt and darkened with sweat—clung to their muscular bodies. Broad arms and strong backs flexed and tensed every time they lifted something heavy. Each hay bale toss came with a grit of teeth, a scrunched brow, and a low, rough groan.
And afterward, they would both exhale deeply, chests rising as they wiped sweat from their foreheads with thick forearms.
They were both strong, capable men—reeking of masculinity, so sure with their hands with what came from years of real work.
Men you’d never meet in the city.
Night had fully settled in now, the sky stretched dark blue and wide, scattered with bright stars. From where you stood, you watched Steve and Bucky just outside the house, pumping water through the pipes as they rinsed off their hands and faces.
Water trickled from their chins, disappearing into the deep lines of their firm chests beneath worn tank tops. They wiped their faces with towels, murmured something to each other—and then both turned your way.
Two sets of eyes found yours that stared at them shamelessly.
You immediately looked down at your camera screen, pretending to be fixated on the chickens you photographed as you tried to play it cool.
Then you heard footsteps, two sets of heavy footsteps treading through the grass and dirt and closer to you.
Fuck.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve approached, crossing his arms while he looked down at you. “We were gonna grab some food in a bit. You hungry?”
“Oh,” you hummed, your stomach already answering with a rumble. “Yeah. I could eat.”
“Every Friday night, the town heads down to the bar,” Steve continued. “More of a saloon, really. Beer, cheap whiskey, food. Sometimes there’s live music if Gary brings his guitar—or the jukebox, if it decides to work.”
“And line dancin’,” Bucky added. “Bad line dancin’.”
“I’m not sure if you have that kind of thing in the city,” Steve went on, resting a hand against the fence as he hovered over you, “but if you wanna tag along for a bite, you’re more than welcome.”
You closed your journal and slipped the camera strap from around your neck, standing with a small groan as you stretched. You were here for research, yes, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what the town had to offer beyond livestock and open fields.
“That sounds fun,” you said, smiling. “I’ll come. I just need to rinse up real quick and I’ll be right out.”
Your gaze dropped to your feet, dirt caked between your toes, bits of grass still clinging to your skin. Then you glanced down at your clothes.
“Is… what I’m wearing okay?” you asked, a little self-conscious as you smoothed the fabric down.
Steve’s eyes dropped before he could stop them, taking in the way the dress fit you—how it followed and hugged your curves, how the neckline framed your chest just right. Realizing how intensely he was staring, he snapped his gaze back up to your face. His jaw tightened as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Yeah,” he nodded quickly, standing up straight. Then he cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s— it’s fine. You’re fine.”
Bucky, on the other hand, took your question as an invitation to check you out shamelessly. His eyes roamed over you—appreciating your chest and legs. Liking what he saw, his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, teeth catching it afterward.
“Real pretty, doll,” he said lowly. “Wearin’ a dress like that around here… almost makes me wanna keep you to ourselves.”
You rolled your eyes, hoping the silver moonlight didn’t betray the flush on your cheeks or the way your lips twitched into a reluctant smile.
“You two are unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head as you stepped past them towards the house.
Halfway to the porch, you called back over your shoulder, your voice playful. “Do you flirt with every woman who crosses your path, or am I just lucky?”
Bucky’s mouth snapped open—a smart-ass remark already locked and loaded—but Steve cut him off instantly, pointing a stern finger at his chest. “Hey now! Don’t look at me. It’s him. He’s the problem.”
The sound of your light, airy laugh drifted back to them—a sound so soft and gentle, it seemed to knock the air right out of their lungs.
“I’ll be back in a minute!” you called with a wave, jogging up the porch steps and disappearing inside.
“Don’t take too long!” Bucky shouted after you. “Or else all the food will be gone by the time we get there.”
As the screen door clicked shut and you vanished from sight, their laughter trailed off. The silence of the countryside came back, broken only by the faint chirps of crickets in the distance.
Steve let out a heavy exhale, rubbing the back of his neck.
“…We gotta get a grip,” he muttered.
“I’m being serious, Stevie,” Bucky said, giving his friend’s arm a sharp nudge.
His flirtatious smirk was gone, now replaced with a protective look that Steve had only seen him give to their horses.
“I mean—look at her. If she shows up at the bar looking like that, every bastard in the county is going to be breathing down her neck.” He crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the door where you had just been.
“…Yeah,” Steve huffed quietly. “I know.” His gaze stayed on the house, tracking your silhouette as it moved past the lit windows.
“Hell, half the men in this town would get worked up just seein’ a lady show a bit of ankle,” Steve added dryly. “I still can’t believe Fury told her to come to this dump.”
Bucky let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Listen to us—soundin’ real territorial all of a sudden.”
Steve scrubbed a hand down his face, his palm rasping against his stubble. “It’s just—she’s our responsibility while she’s here. Fury trusted us to look out for her. That’s all it is.”
“Yeah,” Bucky hummed. “That’s all.”
They stood in the yard, watching you move past the glow of the house windows.
In the long silence, they both realized how dead wrong they were. Truthfully, they weren’t all that much better compared to the sleazy, overworked men in town.
When they first laid eyes on you, they immediately wanted to keep you to themselves. And despite only having you here for a couple of hours, they were going to make sure to keep it that way.
Steve started talking lowly to Bucky, quiet enough to make sure you couldn’t hear—even though you were already inside.
“We stick close tonight. No one bothers her. No one gets handsy. And if anyone does—” Steve stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. “—we shut it down. Calmly.” He emphasized.
“Right.” Bucky nodded. “Calmly.”
“That means we don’t start fights, Buck.”
“Hey—I don’t believe in startin’ fights,” he mumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “Just… finishin’ ‘em.”
“Alright, enough loitering. Let’s start up Lucy.” Steve slapped a firm hand on Bucky’s back, nudging him towards the truck.
Bucky mumbled grumpily but trailed behind anyway, yanking the hood latch and propping it open while Steve climbed into the driver’s seat. The keys jingled as Steve turned the ignition.
The truck clicked, chugged, whined, and gave them nothing.
He tried again. Another cough, a weak sputter—and then silence.
“… You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Steve muttered, giving Bucky a flat look through the windshield.
Bucky leaned over the engine bay, bracing one hand on the frame. “Don’t look at me like that. She was runnin’ fine earlier.”
“Well, she’s got real bad timing,” Steve shot back sassily, twisting the key once more, like sheer will might help. The engine answered with a pathetic hiccup and died again. “We can’t invite her out and then tell her the truck’s dead.”
“I didn’t invite her,” Bucky said, poking at a hose. “You did.”
“Oh, don’t start.”
Bucky adjusted a loose wire, fingers blackening with grease. “Try it now.”
Steve turned the key, and still… nothing.
Steve leaned his head back against the seat, exhaling sharply. “Unbelievable. First night she’s here, and we’re about to tell her we can’t even get her into town.”
“Relax,” Bucky said, though his jaw was tight. “Lucy’s temperamental. Always has been.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and bent closer to look inside the engine. “Could be the starter. Or the battery. Or—”
The screen door slammed shut, and both men froze at the sound.
You stepped back out, shoes on this time, hair neatly fixed, looking entirely too put together for a place like this. You jogged towards the truck, a smile already on your face.
“Hey!” you called brightly. “You guys ready?”
Steve’s head snapped up so fast he nearly cracked his neck. Bucky straightened, narrowly missing the hood as he stood.
“Yeah—uh—we’re ready,” Steve said quickly, turning the key again. “C’mon…” he muttered under his breath.
Then the engine finally roared back to life, loud and rumbling, sounding like music to their ears. Both men looked at each other in disbelief.
Bucky slowly lowered the hood and gave it an affectionate pat. “Atta girl,” he murmured. Then he glanced at Steve, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Our good luck charm, ain’t she?”
Steve shook his head, trying to hide his own smile. “Yeah. She is.”
And you couldn’t tell if they were talking about the truck—or you.
Lucy rattled beneath you like she was held together by sheer luck alone.
The ride into town was loud and bumpy, the streets dark and lit only by the truck’s dusty high beams and the occasional window light from passing houses.
The windows were down, warm night air rushing through the cab, drifting in the scent of dust, grass, and something smoky from farther ahead. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel, relaxed now that the truck had decided to cooperate, while Bucky leaned back in his seat, elbow hooked out the window.
Town came into view slowly—a handful of buildings clustered under string lights and old streetlamps. It looked far more beautiful than it had in the broad daylight when you first arrived. The bar stood near the center, a squat wooden building with a faded sign swinging above the door. Even before Steve cut the engine, the twang of banjos and guitars met your ears.
“Well,” Steve said, hopping out and extending a hand to help you down. “We made it.”
The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with the sounds of loud music, laughter, and the smell of cigarettes.
Glasses clinked, boots thudded and scraped against the old floorboards. A few men with weathered faces leaned against the bar with their sleeves rolled up, while a group of elderly women sat at a corner table with playing cards spread out before them. Someone whooped near the jukebox, and a few people were already on the floor, dancing and sweating.
One pair of eyes landed on you, then several.
Soon enough, nearly everyone in the damn bar was staring.
Conversation grew a little quieter. Curious, surprised, and a few openly appreciative glances lingered on you longer than they should’ve. You crossed your arms defensively on instinct, suddenly very aware of yourself.
And both of your boys noticed.
Steve stepped up beside you, resting a protective hand on your lower back that somehow managed to soothe you. Bucky moved to your other side quietly, his broad shoulders subtly boxing you in as he glared at everyone else in the room.
Most of the crowd looked away and returned to their drinks, but the younger men kept their eyes fixed on you.
“Don’t mind them,” Bucky murmured, leaning in so only you could hear. “Town don’t get many new faces. Especially not pretty ones.”
Before you could respond, someone at the bar shouted, “Rogers! Barnes! Thought that was Lucy I heard coughin’ her way into town!”
Steve laughed, lifting his other hand in greeting. “You know she wouldn’t miss a Friday.”
The elderly men at the bar chuckled, and one of them leaned back on his stool to get a better look at you. “Well, don’t just stand there hoggin’ her, Rogers,” he called out. “Come on over and introduce us to your new friend.”
You hesitated, your eyes darting between Steve and Bucky. Despite the protective hand on your back, Steve’s expression remained calm and gentle, clearly intent on not starting any trouble. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to fight anyone who even dared to look your way.
“They’re alright,” Steve reassured you quietly. “Promise. Half the fellas at the bar are married.”
Then a burst of laughter exploded from a table near the back where a group of women sat hunched over cards and half-empty glasses—clearly the wives in question. One of them slapped the table. “That’s because you earned it, Marie!” another shouted back. “Now stop yellin’ and play your damn hand!”
You couldn’t help but smile.
Steve gave you a gentle nudge. “C’mon. Let’s say hello.”
They led you toward the bar, Steve’s hand relaxed and guiding at your back while Bucky stalked half a step behind you, mugging everyone who looked your way. The older men adjusted their stools, flashing friendly smiles as they made space for you.
“This is Frank,” Steve said by way of introduction, and you reached out to shake his hand.
“So,” Frank raised a brow, looking between the three of you. “Who’s the young lady?”
You returned his greeting with a polite smile. “I’m a family friend of Fury’s. I’m here for a research project.”
“Ohhh, Fury’s girl?” the bartender whistled, wiping down a glass. “Well, hell—someone warn the whole town not to lay a finger on this one.”
A few men barked a laugh, the scent of beer wafting from their breath, as Frank waved a finger between Bucky and Steve.
“Specially you two,” he said, looking at you. “These guys are the ones causin’ most of the trouble around here. Fury actually trusted you with them?”
“Hey, we’re perfect gentlemen,” Steve countered. “Ain’t that right, Buck?”
“Right,” Bucky muttered, his arms crossed as he glared at someone across the bar. “Gentlemen.”
You shrugged lightly, smiling. “They’ve been nothing but nice. They even fixed up a shed for me to stay in.”
“A shed?” one man barked, spit nearly flying. You took a subtle step back. “Rogers, Barnes—you stick a girl in a shed and call it hospitality?”
“Don’t sully my ma’s house like that,” Steve joked, reaching over the counter to grab himself a beer.
“Y’know, when Sarah was alive, she didn’t call it much of a house, either,” Frank added, stifling his cigarette in the ashtray as a cloud of smoke drifted toward you.
Steve reached over the counter again, this time snagging two more bottles and sliding cash to the bartender with a nod of thanks.
“Alright, alright,” he said good-naturedly. “Before you all start fillin’ our girl’s ears with nonsense, we’re gonna grab a table.”
Bucky tipped his chin to the back corner. “There’s an empty one over there.”
Steve nodded in that direction, gesturing for you to lead the way.
“Oh, so she’s your girl now!” the men teased, their laughter following you. As the three of you walked away, they called out their goodbyes. “It was nice meetin’ you, sweetheart!”
You looked over your shoulder, giving them a quick wave.
“And it was nice talkin’ to you too, Barnes!” Frank shouted sarcastically. Bucky didn’t even look back, simply raising a hand in a dismissive wave as he guided you to the booth.
Bucky stood aside, letting you take the inside seat of the booth. As you slid in, the cushions felt worn and soft—broken in by years of Friday nights exactly like this one. Once you were settled and had set your beer set on the table, Bucky slid in right next to you.
“I’ll grab us somethin’ to eat,” Steve said, standing at the edge of the table and scanning the chalkboard menu. “Place may be small and reeks of cigarettes, but they do grill a mean burger.”
You smiled up at him. “I’ll trust your judgment.”
Steve turned back toward the bar, weaving his way through the crowd. It was just you and Bucky now, surrounded by the loud music and people nearly tripping over themselves. You took it all in with curious eyes while Bucky leaned back against the booth, his arm draped lazily across the top of the seat behind you, beer resting casually in his hand.
“So,” Bucky huffed after taking a sip. “How’re you likin’ the small-town nightlife? Real glitz and glamour out here.”
Your eyes continued scanning the room—the scuffed, dirty floors, the dartboard with three crooked darts still stuck in it, and some burly men arm wrestling in the opposite corner.
“Oh, yeah,” you agreed sarcastically. “Definitely glitz and glamour. We do this all the time back in the city.”
“Yeah?” he laughed softly. “Definitely just like the champagne-and-rooftop parties you have every night. Uh-huh, got it.” He smiled at you before taking another swig of his beer.
You watched the lines crinkle attractively at the corners of his tired eyes—evidence of long days and too little rest. His tongue swept across his bottom lip to catch a stray drop, and the simple motion made your stomach flip, your pulse ticking up a notch.
You took a quick sip from your own bottle to hide your reaction, then cleared your throat.
“Anyway,” you started lightly, “what’s with everyone telling me that you two are trouble?”
Bucky let out a playful scoff. “That’s just old-timer slander. We’re model citizens.”
You gave him a skeptical look. “Right. So innocent that every person I’ve met has warned me about you two,” you added dryly.
“Absolutely,” he said, lifting his beer in a small toast. “Wouldn’t hurt a damn fly, darlin’.”
“Does that explain why you’ve been scowling at every man in here like you’re ready to fight since we walked through the doors?” you taunted.
He set his beer on the table and leaned in closer; you could catch the scent of it on his breath. “Look around you, sweetheart,” he rasped.
You did. The room was full of weathered faces, grease-stained flannel shirts, and men who had clearly seen better days. Most of the women were gathered at the cards table—all silver hair and loud, gravelly laughter.
“See any other woman as young and beautiful as you?” he asked. His eyes trailed over your face, down to your jawline and your neck while you were too busy scanning the bar to notice. “Stevie and I are just protectin’ you, that’s all.”
Protecting you?
Your face warmed, and the second you turned your gaze back to him, you found he was already watching you, leaning in dangerously close.
“That so?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his.
“That’s so,” he repeated lowly. You watched as his gaze dropped slowly from your eyes to your lips.
In the city, independence was everything; women were expected to take care of themselves. But here, it felt like those modern rules had been stripped away in favor of the old ways. It was traditional—strong, capable men protecting and providing while the women held down the home. It was a lifestyle that didn’t—couldn’t— exist in the city where everyone was always on the clock.
Just then, Steve approached, setting down plates piled with burgers, fries, and ribs. He had a wide grin on his face. “Eat up, princess.”
As you looked at the food and then back at the two of them, you realized that maybe you didn’t mind being taken care of—especially by them.
You all dug in, the smell of grilled meat and greasy fries making your stomach rumble. Bucky took a massive bite of his burger, already smearing sauce across his chin. He glanced over at you, smirking while he chewed.
“Bet you don’t eat this kind of slop back in the city, do ya?” he teased, nodding at your hands as you tried to steady a burger the size of your head. “Probably don’t even know how to eat with your hands.”
You rolled your eyes. “I do know how to eat with my hands,” you said, adjusting your grip. “I’m just eating with manners—something you two should try learning.”
“Hey, don’t be afraid of a little mess,” Bucky said, swiping a finger over a barbecue rib until it was coated in sauce. “That’s part of the fun.”
Steve gave him a disapproving look across the table. “Buck, no—”
But Steve’s warning went in one ear and out the other. Before you could react, Bucky reached over and swiped a thick line of barbecue sauce right over your lips and chin.
“Hey—!” You recoiled, pressing your lips tight to keep his finger from slipping into your mouth. Bucky sat back in his seat, letting out a roar of laughter at your reaction.
“Oh my god, Bucky! You are trouble!”
You reached for a napkin, but Steve snatched it away before you could grab it, snickering along with his friend.
“Steve, you too?!” you frowned dramatically, dropping your burger back onto the plate. You stood up, reaching across the booth to grab it, but Steve held it further back, laughing at your sad attempt. “How could you do this to me? You literally told Bucky no!”
“I know, I know,” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “But look at you—you look so damn cute, sweetheart.”
With a groan, you leaned over the table, stretching just far enough to snatch the napkins right out of Steve’s hands. You immediately started dabbing at the mess on your chin.
“Jesus,” you said, shaking your head playfully. “Nick was right about you two.”
All three of you were still recovering from the laughter when two large shadows fell over the table, blocking the warm overhead light.
“Well, well,” a slurred voice drawled, catching the guys' attention. “Ain’t this a pretty picture.”
Bucky looked up, and it was like a dark cloud loomed over him; his smile was instantly replaced by a hard, dangerous frown. “Get lost, Mike.”
‘Mike’ didn’t even glance at Bucky. Instead, his bleary gaze raked over you, slow and hazy in a way that made your skin prick uncomfortably. You sank back into your seat, subtly trying to hide yourself behind Bucky’s frame.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” Mike said, leaning his hands on the edge of the booth, trying to keep himself from toppling over. You could smell the cheap whiskey on his breath from across the table. “Didn’t know Buck was harborin’ such a pretty little secret. Take a look at this prize, Dave.”
His buddy, ‘Dave’, snickered beside him, resting a lazy arm around Mike’s shoulders. “Oh, what a pretty thing you are. City girl, right? You bored with these two yet? You know, we could show you a real good time.”
Steve shot you a careful look. “Just ignore them—”
“I’m good where I am, thanks,” you answered sternly, the words out before you could even register Steve’s warning.
Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Mike’s. “I said get lost.”
They ignored him again.
Mike tilted his head at you, a lopsided, ugly smirk on his face as he adjusted his footing, nearly stumbling. “You’re probably gettin’ real tired of being stuck with these two nobodies,” he scoffed. “Why don’tcha hang out with real men like us?”
That was when Bucky’s hand curled into a white-knuckled fist on the table.
Steve reached out, his fingers brushing Bucky’s forearm as a warning. “Buck.” Then, he faced the men, his voice calm and level. “Alright. That’s enough. She’s with us. Go stick with your arm wrestling and leave us be.”
Dave laughed—a mean, loud sound—and reached over to give Bucky a mocking nudge on the shoulder. “Yeah, listen to your boy-toy, Barnes. Like the loyal dog you are.”
Steve’s brow twitched. “What the hell did you just say to him?”
You rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, leaning in with a worried look. “Bucky, I think we should just go—”
But before you could finish the sentence, Steve moved in one quick, explosive motion—his boots hit the floor hard as he lunged out of the booth. A blur of movement followed as his fist cracked straight across Dave’s jaw. The brutal, clean punch of skin-against-skin echoed through the bar, followed by a startled gasps of people who stood nearby.
Mike blinked in shock, watching his friend drop, then let out a roar and swung at Steve. The punch caught Steve high on the cheekbone, snapping his head to the side.
People jumped out of their chairs, wood scraping against floorboards as they shouted and lifted their drinks. “Fight, fight, fight!”
“Jesus Christ!” you gasped, quickly getting up. You nudged Bucky in the shoulder hard. “Bucky, grab Steve and let’s get out of here—!”
But Bucky was already standing, and he had absolutely no intention of ending it.
His blue eyes were filled with fury as he closed the distance to Mike. He grabbed the man by the shoulder, spinning him around just to deliver a devastating blow straight to his face—then another immediately to his gut, sending Mike doubling over.
“Fuckin’ Barnes!” Mike wheezed.
A circle formed around them almost instantly, leaving you trapped inside the booth with no escape. People cheered, laughing and whooping as if this were a Friday night show rather than a real fight.
“Knock ’em silly, Rogers!”
“Your punches are gettin’ sloppy, Barnes!”
Your heart thumped fast in your chest as punches flew in a blur and blood splattered the floor. You twisted in your seat, scanning the room desperately for anyone who might step in—a security guard, a bouncer, any responsible grown-up.
The bartender just threw his head back and laughed, wiping the counter with a rag. “Ah, hell,” he called over the noise, sounding more amused than concerned. “Didn’t think it’d only take two drinks tonight.”
A few men near the bar raised their glasses, toasting to the chaos.
“Hey! Can someone stop them?!” you tried again, but no one heard you. Or, more likely, no one cared.
A couple of the older women at the card table barely glanced up from their game, still laughing among themselves.
“They’ll walk it off,” a guy at a nearby table said casually, taking a slow sip of his beer.
“Barnes always did have a temper,” one of the elderly women added from the card table, her voice sounding almost fond of the memory.
You watched in horror as Bucky and Mike stumbled into a nearby table, knocking it over and sending beers flying as they exchanged heavy blows. Next to them, Steve had Dave in a chokehold while Dave repeatedly drove his elbow into Steve’s gut, making him recoil with every hit.
The bartender noticed you trying to push your way out of the booth, your hands waving in frantic, useless circles as you tried to get him to stop the madness.
“Don’t try to fix it, city girl!” he called out, his booming voice carrying over the crowd. “They’ll be done when they’re done!”
Your shoulders slumped in defeat. Just then, the room erupted into cheers as Steve delivered a massive hook to Dave’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. Dave groaned, spitting blood onto the floorboards as he tried to push himself back up.
Steve stood over him, chest heaving as he adjusted his stance. “You done?”
Dave wiped his mouth. “Not even close.”
“Good,” Steve huffed, raising his fists again. “I could do this all day.”
Oh.
Despite the panic, a snort escaped you at how ridiculously corny that was. Yet for some reason, the line seemed to amp up the crowd even more—as if he were a pro wrestler and that was his legendary signature catchphrase.
“That’s it, Rogers!”
“Yeah! Show ’em!”
“Knock his teeth out!”
As you looked between the men, your shoulders eased just slightly. You realized Mike and Dave were in far worse condition than Bucky and Steve.
They weren’t losing.
They were in complete control, moving like they’d fought like this a plenty of times before. It was as if this bar floor had been their training ground since they were kids.
With a defeated sigh, you tipped your beer back and took several long swallows, emptying the bottle in one go. The cheap alcohol hit your system, mixing with the leftover adrenaline and replacing your earlier panic with a sudden, sharp spark of excitement.
You slammed the empty bottle down on the table, cupped your hands around your mouth, and shouted over the roar of the crowd.
“Kick his ass, Steve!”
A few heads turned—some giving you surprised glances—while other men cheered along with you.
“Come on, Buck—you can do better than that!” you yelled.
Bucky blinked at you, a surprised smile ghosting over his bloodied face before he used your voice as fuel to keep going.
Steve ducked a sloppy swing from Dave, landing a clean hook that snapped the man’s head to the side. Dave staggered backward, fighting to stay upright as the crowd erupted. Meanwhile, Bucky had Mike pinned against the floor, each punch making the wood rattle and creak.
You watched, breath caught in your throat. You were worried about their safety, but God—they were good at this.
And they looked good doing it.
Their hair was damp with sweat, trailing over their faces as they grunted and delivered heavy blows. You couldn’t help but notice the way their muscles flexed or the way the veins stood out on their large, powerful hands.
The brawl continued until more tables were upended and bottles shattered, glass spraying everywhere as the locals scrambled to avoid the crossfire.
Finally, the bartender slapped his rag onto the counter with a sharp, fed-up sigh.
“Alright! That’s enough!”
Steve grabbed Dave by the shirt, his fist cocked back, while Bucky buried another punch into Mike’s stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. The bartender’s patience finally snapped for good.
“I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!”
The room finally fell quiet.
He jabbed a finger towards the entrance. “Barnes. Rogers. OUT. And take Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum with you before you bleed all over my damn floor.”
By the time you all made it back to the farm, the night air had cooled significantly, the crickets still humming lazily just as they had before you left. Lucy rumbled to a stop, and the three of you climbed out in silence.
As you approached the house, the porch light flickered on with a weak, twitching buzz.
In the dim yellow glow, you finally saw the extent of the damage.
Steve’s cheekbone was already swelling, a dark bruise blooming beneath the skin, while dried blood traced a path from his split lip to his chin. His knuckles were raw and scraped open. Bucky didn’t look much better—one brow was split, a smear of red trailing down his temple, and dust was ground so deeply into his clothes it looked like he’d rolled through every inch of the town’s dirt.
“Well,” Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’ll turn in. Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Bucky added, brushing dirt off his shirt like that would somehow fix anything. “Let us know if you need anythin’, doll. We’ll keep the door unlocked for you.”
They both turned to the door, but your voice made them stop.
“No,” you said sternly.
They both looked back, Steve tilting his head in confusion. “No?”
“You guys are not going to bed like that.” You gestured wildly between their bruised faces. “You’re both bleeding. You’re filthy. And—God, both of your knuckles look like ground meat.”
Bucky glanced down at his fists and mumbled, “It’s not that bad…”
“It is,” you insisted.
He shrugged. “Fine. We’ll rinse off with some cold water and soap. Done.”
“Not done,” you corrected sharply. “You’ll wake up with infections and crusted in blood. You guys were rolling all over a floor covered in God-knows-what.”
They exchanged a glance, not really knowing what to say. You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest.
“Inside. Now,” you ordered.
Steve opened his mouth, holding up a hand. “Honey, we’re fine. You should get some rest—”
You ignored him, pointing firmly past him toward the house. “Go.”
Inside, you guided them to the kitchen table like scolded schoolboys. Steve sat down, his posture stiff and awkward, while Bucky leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. He was trying to play it cool, though he clearly had no idea what to do with himself.
It had been years since they were in this position—not since they were kids and Steve’s mom was patching them up after a rough day of playing in the dirt and getting into scrapes. Back then, they’d have wide grins on their faces as she kissed their "boo-boos" goodbye.
But now, as grown men with a beautiful woman in their home tending to them, they were both as stiff as a load of bricks.
They watched in silence as you filled a bowl with warm water, found a clean cloth, and grabbed the small first-aid tin they pointed out in one of the cabinents.
You sat down in front of Steve. “Alright,” you murmured, dipping the cloth and wringing it out. “You’re first.”
You pulled your chair closer, tucking yourself between his knees as you gently tilted his face toward the warm overhead light. The bruise across his cheekbone looked even worse up close. When you pressed the damp cloth to his skin, he flinched.
“Sorry,” you whispered, softening your touch.
“S’okay,” he murmured back. “It feels nice.”
Bucky watched from the counter, his jaw clenching. He couldn’t quite place the feeling in his chest; all he knew was that he wanted the same focused attention Steve was getting.
So, when you said, “Bucky, come here. I’ll do you next,” his feet moved without hesitation.
He grabbed a chair and dragged it right up behind you—perhaps a little too close in his eagerness. He settled in as he impatiently waited his turn, sandwiching you between the two of them.
“Both of you,” you said, setting the bowl down and picking up the gauze. “Watch me. That way, when someone’s not here to take care of you, you can take care of each other the next time you get into a bar fight.”
You took Steve’s hand, and he shuddered at the contact. As you carefully wrapped his split knuckles, your fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, making him swallow hard.
You could feel Bucky’s presence right behind you. He leaned over your shoulder, watching your hands work. Seeing how softly you cared for Steve hit him with a deep sense of longing he couldn’t hide anymore. He sighed softly, resting his forehead against your back, his rough hand finding your waist to give it a gentle, needy squeeze.
“I… need attention, too,” Bucky mumbled.
You finished wrapping Steve’s hand, snipping the excess gauze with a pair of scissors. A soft chuckle escaped you at Bucky’s blunt admission.
“Well,” you teased. “Maybe if you two hadn’t started a fight, you wouldn’t be in such desperate need of my attention.”
“We had to defend you, baby,” Bucky sighed. His hands palmed your waist, making you gasp softly.
For Bucky, there was something grounding about your proximity—the way you felt under his hands was relieving for him after the chaos of a long day.
“They were lookin’ at you with bad intentions, sweetheart,” Steve added, leaning in even closer as his eyes bored into yours. “We were just tryna protect you.”
You picked the towel back up, looking deep into Steve’s gaze. He was staring at you so intensely that it made the air feel thin. If you leaned in just an inch further, you could have kissed him.
And judging by the way his gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, he was thinking the exact same thing.
“I’ve been stared at and talked about by plenty of nasty men in the city,” you explained softly, wringing the towel over the bowl. “But not once did anyone defend me the way you two did. You’ve both done so much for me since I got here, and I don’t know how to pay you back.” You lifted the damp cloth. “This is the least I can do.”
“You being here, taking care of us… that’s more than enough,” Bucky rasped.
You turned in your chair to face him, your brow furrowing as you took in his split skin. When you dabbed the towel gently against the cut, he hissed.
“You might need a butterfly bandage for your brow.” You frowned.
Despite the sting, Bucky let out a rough chuckle. “You’re speakin’ a different language, darlin’.”
You rummaged through the tin and, to your surprise, managed to find one. You held up the bandage; it was still in its wrapping, though the edges were a bit frayed.
“How long has this been in here?” you asked.
Steve shrugged. “I dunno. We don’t really use the kit. Not since my ma passed.”
“It should be fine,” you shrugged. “Better than nothing.” Because of Bucky’s height, even with him sitting, you had to stand up to get a clear look at the wound.
“Hold still,” you whispered, reaching out to push a few long, dark locks of hair out of his face.
Bucky’s hands didn’t stay still, they continued to roam around your waist, originally with the intention to steady you as you stood over him, but his touch was growing bolder.
He let out a low shudder as your fingers trailed over his forehead, smoothing his hair out of the way. The sensation of being taken care of by you finally broke through him as his palms slid from your sides toward the small of your back, pulling you just an inch closer.
Bucky looked up at you, his eyes dark and heavy—and it had nothing to do with the exhaustion of the day.
“You feel so warm underneath my hands, baby,” Bucky rasped, his thumbs grazing the hem of your shirt. “I like this sight. You takin’ care of us. Ain’t that right, Stevie?”
You felt the floorboards creak as Steve rose from his chair. A second later, his presence loomed behind you, solid and warm. You were completely trapped between them now—Bucky’s hands at your waist and Steve’s shadow falling over your back.
Steve leaned in, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a shiver straight down your spine that made your hands tremble as you held the bandage.
“You’re right, Buck,” Steve murmured against the smooth skin of your neck, resting his hands on your hips. “I like this. Very much.”
You stood frozen as Steve’s nose brushed against the sensitive spot behind your ear while Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumbs tracing slow, and smooth circles over your hips.
“You guys…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper—breathless and trembling. You tried to focus on Bucky, your fingers shaking as you finally pressed the butterfly bandage over the split in his brow.
He leaned his face into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a long, heavy exhale.
“Shhh,” Bucky murmured, his voice vibrating. He shifted his head to press a soft, lingering kiss to the palm of your hand. “Just stay here, baby. Let us hold you. We’ve had a long day.”
Behind you, Steve’s hands slid fully around to your front, his large palms splaying across your stomach as he pulled your back against his broad chest. He buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke.
“Buck’s right,” Steve rumbled, his arms acting like a warm, heavy anchor. “Just for a minute. Stay right here.”
The silence of the night outside amplified the low, gravelly tones of their voices. They both spoke as if you weren’t there—or as if you were a prize— talking over and around you while their hands continued their slow, possessive exploration of your body.
“Fuck, she’s so soft, Stevie,” Bucky groaned.
His eyes were still closed, his forehead resting against your stomach as his hands slid lower, his calloused palms molding to the curve of your backside. “I didn’t think skin could be this soft.”
“Smells so good, too,” Steve murmured into your hair, his voice vibrating through your spine. He took a deep, shaky breath as his stubble grazed your neck. “Like vanilla… something sweet.”
Bucky let out a dark, huffed laugh, his grip tightening to let you know he wasn’t letting go. “What’d I say? A pretty girl taking care of us… ain’t this the dream? Makes you wanna keep her all to ourselves.”
Your breath hitched and your gaze dropped, looking down at Bucky as he sat between your legs. Through the thin fabric of your clothes, you could feel the heat of his body, but it was the sight of his heavy denim that made your heart skip a beat.
The friction of your bodies pressed together had clearly taken its toll because a prominent, hard bulge was straining against the fly of his jeans, mere inches from your legs.
Before you could even process the sight, you felt Steve shift behind you. He leaned his weight into your back, his large hands firmly placed on your hips. Then, he gave a subtle and slow rock of his hips, pressing his own growing hardness firmly against you from behind.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Steve whispered against your ear, his deep voice making your legs tremble. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s just… you guys are—” you swallowed nervously, embarrassment rushing to your face. “Hard.”
Bucky chuckled lowly, his hand coming down to palm himself through his jeans.
“Do you want us to stop, baby? We can stop—” he groaned, palming himself even harder as he looked at you with hungry eyes. “We’re good boys. We’ll stop if you want us to. We can behave. Right, Stevie?”
Steve was behind you, getting bolder with his movements as he rocked his hips deeper against the curve of your ass.
“Yes,” he grunted. “We’re good. Very good boys.”
Their hands continued roaming over your body eagerly. Bucky’s breath grew heavier as he touched himself through his pants, and the feel of Steve’s rock-hard erection pressing against you while he planted soft kisses on your neck was enough to make your head spin.
The whole kitchen reeked of lust, like there was spell in the air that only made you want them more and more.
“D-don’t stop,” you breathed, your eyes hazy with desire. “This is the least I can do to pay you guys back, right?”
Steve let out a sharp sigh and Bucky groaned so deeply—it was practically a growl.
Bucky pushed himself off his chair, his movements powerful and sudden as he crowded into your space. He didn’t give you a chance to breathe before his mouth crashed onto yours.
His kiss wasn’t gentle or patient; it was hungry and demanding, and you could taste the faint, bitter tang of the beer from earlier. His tongue swept against yours, a low, possessive sound vibrating in his throat as his hands moved from your waist to cup your face, his calloused thumbs brushing over your burning cheeks.
Now that Bucky was standing, Steve was able to press even closer, his large body a solid wall of heat against your back. His hands, now wrapped in the gauze from your careful work, slid upward from your hips.
One hand splayed across your stomach, bunching the fabric of your dress beneath his fingers as he pulled you firmly against his hips, rocking into you. Meanwhile, his other hand moved higher, his fingers groping your tits through the thin material.
Steve buried his face in the crook of your shoulder. “So good,” he murmured against your skin. “You fit so perfectly between us, sweetheart.”
You were drowning between them—lost in the friction of Bucky’s tongue and the way Steve’s hands explored your curves from behind. Your senses were completely overwhelmed. Every time Bucky tilted your head to deepen the kiss, Steve would find a new patch of skin on your neck to mark with his lips, leaving you gasping into Bucky’s mouth.
“Shit, baby,” Bucky groaned against your lips.
His hand slid down your arm, his fingers locking firmly with yours. He guided your hand down between your bodies, pressing your palm directly over the hard, straining heat of his denim. You could feel him twitch beneath your fingertips.
“Touch us, baby,” Bucky groaned, rocking his hips into your hand, his voice desperate. “Don’t be shy now. You wanted to take care of us, didn’t you?”
The friction of your palm against him made his eyes roll back for a second. Steve let out a low, approving growl against your neck. He reached around, his own hand covering yours, adding his strength to the movement as he pressed your hand even firmer against Bucky.
“That’s it,” Steve encouraged, his breath hitching as he watched your hand work. “Look at how tiny your hand looks against him. You like that, don’t you? Feeling so small and helpless between us?”
Bucky’s head fell back, his jaw tight as he fought for air. “God, Stevie…” he moaned. “Help her—guide her hand against me—fuck, just like that…”
Steve’s hand tightened over yours, his movements guiding the friction of your palm against Bucky’s heat. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear; his voice was a gravelly, commanding rumble.
“Get on your knees and take care of my best friend, would ya?”
“O…okay…”
You sank to the floor, the wood cool and hard against your skin as you settled between Bucky’s boots. He let out a ragged breath, his hands immediately finding your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands to tilt your head back so he could look down at you with raw, uncontrollable hunger.
But you weren’t alone on the floor for long. You felt the floorboards groan as Steve knelt directly behind you, his massive frame shielding you from the rest of the room. His large hands slid under the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric upward until it was bunched around your waist, leaving your skin bare to the kitchen air.
As you reached for Bucky’s belt, your fingers fumbling slightly with the heavy leather, you felt Steve’s hand slide between your thighs. His thumb dragged across your clothed clit with a slow, agonizing pressure that made your back arch and your head drop onto Bucky’s lap.
“Focus, sweetheart,” Steve taunted from behind you with a low, condescending laugh. His other hand came around to cup breasts—teasing your nipple through your dress, holding you steady as his thumb continued to work you. “Take it off him. He’s been waiting all day.”
With a sharp tug, you finally eased Bucky’s jeans down. When he finally sprang free, the sight made the air leave your lungs in a sharp gasp. He was thick and heavy, his skin taut and pulsing with a heat you could feel even before you touched him.
Bucky let out a low groan at the sensation of being exposed, his hands tightening in your hair. He seemed to preen under your shocked gaze, his hips giving a small, instinctive twitch towards your face.
Steve chuckled darkly behind you. His hand was still buried between your thighs, and as his thumb made another slow, heavy pass over you, he felt the sudden, hot gush of moisture through your panties that coated his fingers.
“Fuck, Bucky. Look at that. It’s like she got even wetter just seeing how big you are.”
Bucky reached down, his fingers trembling as he cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
“Is that right, darlin’?” he chuckled, his thumb catching on your bottom lip. “You like what you see?”
“Think you can fit me in your tiny little mouth, baby?” Bucky challenged. You watched as his cock throbbed, the tip already leaking and eager to be inside your mouth.
You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure if you could; you had spent a handful of nights with men in the city, but none of them were of… this size.
“I don’t know,” you admitted embarrassingly, your hand coming up to circle his shaft. “But I’ll try—”
Growing impatient, he pressed the head of his cock against the seal of your lips, the warmth making your heart beat faster.
“It’s okay,” Bucky reassured, breathing hard above you as he began pushing past your lips. “Steve will help you. Ain’t that right, Steve?”
You weren’t sure what he meant by having Steve help you, but he didn’t give you much room to think or ask anyway. He probed his length more firmly against your lips, forcing you to open up. You began taking in as much of his thick length as you could manage, your tongue swirling around the broad head as you started to bob your head rhythmically.
“Fuuuuck, that’s it,” Bucky hissed.
His hands stayed firmly anchored in your hair, his knuckles white as he held you in place. Behind you, Steve became even more relentless. You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them aside until he could slide two fingers deep into your slick heat.
“God—you’re accepting me so easily, baby. Bet you’ve been wantin’ this from the moment we picked you up, huh?” Steve whispered, kissing your ear as he continued to work his fingers inside you.
“Jesus—Steve, I wish you could feel how warm her fuckin’ mouth is,” Bucky moaned, tossing his head back while giving you shallow, sharp thrusts. “This—this is incredible…”
The dual sensation was a sensory overload of pleasure—the feeling of Bucky stretching your mouth while Steve’s fingers curled inside you, hitting your sweet spot with every rhythmic movement of his hand.
“More… more…” Bucky groaned, his voice breaking as he tilted his hips up to meet you halfway. He was desperate, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
“You hear that, baby? He wants more,” Steve said.
He wasn’t just watching anymore.
His desire to see his best friend satisfied was overriding his patience.
You let out a small, muffled whimper of protest against Bucky’s shaft, your eyes watering as you reached your limit, but Steve didn’t let you pull away. He placed his large, heavy palm on the back of your head and…
… firmly pushed you down against Bucky’s cock.
Your eyes went wide as you took Bucky deeper than you thought possible, his length hitting the very back of your throat. He let out a sound that was half of a groan and a sob—a loud, desperate moan that echoed through the kitchen. He bucked his hips upward, losing all composure as he finally found the depth he’d been craving.
“Fuck—oh my god,” Bucky gasped, his eyes rolling back. “Just like that—keep her head down, Stevie—shit. Feels too damn good!”
The kitchen was filled with the lewd sounds of his ragged, uncontrolled breathing and the wet slide of your mouth working over him. Steve’s fingers were moving just as frantically inside you now, his rhythm matching the desperate pace of Bucky’s thrusts.
“That’s it, sweetheart, take it all,” Steve growled from behind you. “Keep your eyes open. Look at him. You’ve got him falling apart. Give him everything.”
Bucky’s eyes were blown wide, staring down at you with overwhelming lust.
“Fuck, Steve… she’s perfect. Her mouth—so tight… so warm,” he gasped, his voice cracking. He began to thrust more wildly, his hips snapping forward as he searched for that final bit of release.
“I’m gonna—fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum. Don’t you dare stop. Steve, hold her head. She’s gonna swallow every drop for me.”
“Do it, Buck,” Steve encouraged, his thumb hitting your clit with a press that sent sparks through your vision. “Fill her mouth up. Show her how much we needed this.”
Bucky finally snapped.
He bucked his hips hard against your face, his entire body shuddering as he began to pulse deep in your mouth. You whimpered, your hands gripping his thighs for balance as you felt the hot, heavy waves of his release hitting the back of your throat, making you choke around his shaft.
“Christ—God, her mouth is so warm… shit, Steve. You hear her chokin’ around me? She can barely swallow it down!”
“She’s fluttering all over my fingers too, Buck,” Steve groaned. “She’s gonna cum—I can feel it.”
Bucky finally pulled his cock out of your mouth with a wet, sloppy pop, his release dribbling down your chin as you fought for breath. Your head was dizzy from how brutally he had used your mouth and how deeply Steve was fingering you.
“Steve,” you gasped. “Don’t stop—please. Don’t stop—!”
But Steve didn’t give you the release you were begging for.
He abruptly curled his fingers and pulled them out of you with a sharp, wet sound that left you feeling cold and aching. You let out a cry of frustration, your hips twitching involuntarily to the space where his hand had just been.
Steve stood up, the floorboards creaking under his massive weight. He didn’t look satisfied. If anything, watching Bucky use you had only made him look more predatory. His hands went straight to his belt, the leather creaking as he unbuckled it impatiently.
“You don’t cum until you please the both of us first, darlin’,” Steve commanded.
“Steve, please,” you whined, turning around so that your hands tugged at his jeans. “I was so close.” You looked at Bucky next, frowning. “Bucky?”
“He ain’t gonna help you, baby,” Steve said. “On the table,” he ordered, nodding to the sturdy wooden surface where the medical supplies had been scattered. “Get up there and show us how much you want it. Lay on your back for me.”
Bucky was still catching his breath, leaning against the counter with a dazed, satisfied smirk.
“You heard him, baby,” he rasped, his voice still rough from his climax. “Better be a good girl and please him well.”
With your face burning in embarrassment and two sets of eyes watching your every move, you crawled onto the table, your panties soaked and dripping between your thighs. You slowly settled down on your back, with Steve standing before you and Bucky making his way to the other side.
Steve stepped up, reaching down and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, stripping them down your legs and tossing them onto the kitchen floor.
As soon as you were bare, he stepped into the space between your thighs, the heavy, scorching weight of his cock poking against your entrance. He was even longer than Bucky—not quite as thick, perhaps, but still more than big enough to stretch you to your absolute limit.
“Look at you,” Steve murmured, staring at you with hazy eyes as he stroked his length. “Look how ready you are for me.”
Bucky stepped closer, jeans still around his ankles, as he gripped his own half-hard length. He jerked himself off with slow, heavy pumps, his gaze fixed on Steve as he prepared to take you. With his free hand, Bucky grabbed the hem of your dress and hiked it all the way up to your neck, exposing your breasts to the cool air and their burning gazes.
“So pretty,” Bucky whispered in awe, as if he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
He leaned over, his fingers gently playing with your nipples as you whimpered and squirmed on the table, caught between the two of them.
Your heels dug into the wood of the table as you arched your back, the friction of Steve’s heat against your entrance making you whine. You were desperate for the fullness, your body burning with an unfinished ache that Steve was intentionally prolonging.
“Please,” you whimpered, your hands reaching out to grab Steve’s muscular forearms. “Steve, please... I need it.”
“Jesus,” Bucky rasped, his eyes dark with a mix of affection and hunger. “She’s so damn cute when she’s begging like this. Make it last, okay? I want to see our girl come apart nice and slow.”
“I’ll try,” Steve managed, his voice strained. He slowly pushed the broad head of his cock past your folds, stretching you open just enough to make you gasp before he pulled back, teasing the very edge of your sanity.
“Steve—please! Stop with the teasing, I can’t—” you begged, “I can’t take it anymore.”
Steve’s jaw clenched tight as he hissed through his teeth. “I know, baby girl. I know.”
Deep down, he wasn’t intentionally trying to tease you. The feel of your wet tightness already clamping down on him made him remember how long it had been since he’d fucked anything other than his own hand.
And it meant that, despite Bucky’s request, he likely wouldn’t be lasting nearly as long as he wanted to.
He slowly pushed in deeper and deeper, each inch making you gasp and arch your back off the table as you tried to adjust to his size.
“F-fuck, Steve!” you moaned.
Finally, he bottomed out completely inside you, his massive weight pressing you down into the sturdy wood of the table. Every time he slammed his hips forward, the medical supplies rattled and the table groaned under the force.
“Fuck, too tight,” he hissed.
His big arms circled your frame, holding you tightly as he began fucking you with a desperate, frantic hunger.
“God, you’re so tight,” Steve repeated, “so fucking warm.”
Bucky was right there, leaning over the side of the table to catch every detail. The sight of Steve losing his usual composure—seeing his best friend’s broad back muscles tensing and rippling as he drove into you—had Bucky’s cock snapping back to full attention for a second round.
He jerked himself off faster, his eyes darting between your flushed face and the place where Steve was disappearing inside you.
“Tell me how tight she is, Steve,” Bucky urged.
“Like you wouldn’t believe, Buck,” Steve groaned. “She’s squeezin’ me so good—it’s just like you said… a nice, smooth pair of legs wrapped tight around my waist. Fuck—it’s going to be so hard to pull out.”
Bucky’s eyes darkened at Steve’s words, the blue turning to a stormy midnight black. His cock was twitching and pulsing in his hand, slick with his own pre-cum and the lingering wetness from your mouth as he watched Steve’s massive body hammer into yours.
“Pump her full, Steve,” Bucky growled. “Breed her. Fill her up so damn deep she can’t think about anything or anyone else—until she thinks only about us.”
“B-breed…?” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back.
Your head spun at the words. The thought of Steve’s cum filling you— of that thick, heavy seed flooding your core while Bucky watched—sent a violent jolt of overwhelming pleasure through your body.
You felt your walls contract, clamping down on Steve’s length—milking him so hard that it made him choke on his own breath.
“B-Buck…” Steve gasped, his pace becoming erratic. He was losing the fight for control. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he felt your climax beginning to roll over him. “She’s so close… God, I’m gonna—”
“Cum inside her,” Bucky urged, leaning in close until his breath hitched against your ear. “Fill her up and make her our girl, Stevie. Pump her so full she’ll never want anyone else.”
The command from Bucky was the final blow to Steve’s restraint.
With a low, hungry roar that vibrated against your chest, Steve bucked. He rocked his hips into you one last time, pinning you to the table with his full weight as he bottomed out.
“Christ, take it, sweetheart! Oh—fuck, take it—”
His body went rigid as he began to pour himself into you. You felt the hot, thick jets of his release hit the very back of your womb. It felt like he was never going to stop—years of pent-up sexual frustration finally rearing its head.
Your mind fractured. The internal pressure of him, combined with the mental image of being bred, sent you over the edge.
“Oh my god, Steve! I’m—I’m gonna cum—!” you screamed into the crook of his neck, your walls seizing and pulsing in a violent, uneven rhythm that milked him for every last drop.
“Fuck—yes—take it all, baby,” Steve groaned, his voice jagged as he shuddered against you, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder.
Bucky stood before you, panting as he watched the liquid evidence of Steve’s climax begin to seep out and coat your thighs. Seeing you stretched and filled by his best friend was too much; with his own cock already hard again, he was more than ready for round two.
And this time, he wanted to be the one inside.
Steve slowly pulled out of you, the sound of the wet, suctioning release loud against the heavy breathing between the three of you. You let out a broken gasp, your body feeling hollow and sensitive as the cool air hit where his heat had just been. A thick trail of his release began to spill over your thighs, coating the wooden table beneath you.
Steve leaned down, his eyes a bit softer than they were before, reaching out to hook his arms under yours to help you up. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned—”
“Move aside, Steve.”
Bucky’s voice was like a whip crack.
He stomped over, his boots heavy on the floor, and physically brushed Steve’s hands away from you. There was no gentleness left in him now; his jaw was set, and his eyes were fixed on the mess Steve had left behind.
“Bucky?” you asked softly, trying to catch your breath. “Are you okay—?”
“I’m not done with her,” Bucky growled.
Before you could reply, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over. Your face was pressed down into the hard, cool wood of the table, your cheek flat against the surface as he forced your ass up high.
“B-Buck—!”
Without warning, Bucky lined himself up against your puffy slit, and in one aggressive motion, he buried himself deep in your overstimulated heat. You let out a muffled shriek against the table as he began to fuck you doggy-style, one hand pinning your head down while his other gripped your waist tightly.
“Fuck!” Bucky barked, biting his lip. “She is tight, Steve. Fuckin’ hell… like a tight, warm and wet fist wrapped around my cock.”
“Bucky—haaah, I… It’s too much—fuck—oh!”
The friction was almost too much to bear. You were a babbling, overstimulated mess, your voice reduced to broken sobs and incoherent pleas against the wood of the table.
With every heavy, bottoming-out thrust, you could feel Bucky physically pushing Steve’s cum deeper into your core. It was a strange, overwhelming sensation—the feeling of being claimed by one man while the other’s mark was forced even further inside you.
Steve stood by the side of the table, his chest still heaving as he watched. He looked genuinely surprised, a small, breathless huff of laughter escaping him as he watched Bucky go to work. “Christ, Buck... you're still going? Fuck. You’re ruinin’ her.”
Bucky only grunted like an animal in response as he gripped your waist tighter, rocking his hips even harder.
You were a drooling, slutty mess on the table, and the pathetic sight made Steve smile softly at you in sympathy. He reached out, his large hand stroking your sweat-dampened hair away from your face. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple while Bucky hammered into your hips from behind.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, his voice a soothing balm against Bucky’s relentless pace. “Just let him in, darlin’. Such a good girl, taking him so deep for us. Just breathe through it for me.”
“Stevie,” you whined, your voice pitching higher. “He’s so th—thick… he’s stretching me so much…”
“I know, baby,” Steve murmured. You weren’t sure if his words were meant to soothe you, but his tone was shifting, becoming almost condescending—as if your overstimulated state was exactly where he wanted you.
He watched with a possessive sheen in his eyes as Bucky’s hips continued to batter against you. “Cum inside her, Bucky. Fill her up.”
Bucky let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh between the loud creaks of the table. “Shit, Stevie… you want me to knock her up too?”
Steve just kept stroking your hair, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “It’s just like you said—a pretty girl like her staying home and takin’ care of us. Don’t you want that, Buck? To see her round, glowin’, and barefoot? Somethin’ about keepin’ the house warm?”
The rhythm of Bucky’s thrusts faltered for a split second before becoming twice as violent. A low, needy sound escaped him.
“Fuck… I want that so bad. More than anythin’. Shit.”
Bucky leaned down, his chest crushing against your back, his voice sending tingles down your spine. “I’m going to breed her. She’s stayin’ here with us, Stevie. We’re makin’ her ours for good.”
The thought should’ve terrified you, but as you lay there pinned between them, lost in a haze of pure, unadulterated lust, the idea only turned you on even more. Your only concern now was whether you could even contain Bucky’s release inside you.
“I—I don’t think I can,” you babbled against the table, your words slipping out between broken gasps. “…take it… take Bucky’s cum… I—”
Steve didn’t let your panic spiral. He leaned down further, his large, warm hand moving from your hair to cup your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head so he could look you in the eye.
“Yes, you can, sweetheart,” Steve cooed. “You’re made for this. You’re made for us. Just relax those pretty muscles and let him in.”
He then pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his thumb stroking your cheekbone even as Bucky’s pace turned frantic.
“Look at her, Buck,” Steve whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “She’s worried she can’t hold it all. Tell her what you’re gonna do.”
Bucky let out a choked, desperate sound, his fingers digging into your hips. “I’m gonna fill her to the brim,” he rasped, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “I’m gonna fill her so full she’ll leak all over the table.”
Another needy moan tore from his chest. “G-gonna knock her up until there’s—fuck— atleast one brunette and one blonde baby runnin’ around the house, Stevie.”
At Bucky’s nasty words, your walls spasmed, clenching around him as your second orgasm finally shattered. You let out a high, broken cry against the table, your vision sparking white as you came right along with him—completely spent, completely undone.
With a final, sloppy, and shaky thrust, Bucky fucked into you one last time. He groaned your name as his body locked up. You felt the first hot stream of his release hit you, and your eyes went wide as he began to pump himself empty.
He held you pinned to the table, his weight crushing you down, ensuring that every drop of his heat was forced deep into the space Steve had already claimed. “Yes, yes—that’s it…!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve praised, his voice thick with pride. He watched the way your body jolted with every pulse of Bucky’s climax. “Takin’ it all, keepin’ it all inside for us. Such a good, fertile little thing.”
Bucky stayed heavy against you for a long time, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths.
Slowly, he eventually began to pull out. You let out a small, needy whimper at the loss of his heat, your body feeling heavy and thoroughly used. A thick, creamy mixture of both men began to spill out of you, making a mess of your inner thighs and dripping onto the dark wood of the table. He hooked his arm under your waist and gently pulled you back against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.
“Look at that,” Bucky rasped, his voice rough with post-coital bliss as he looked down at the mess they had made of you. He pressed a firm, possessive kiss to the top of your head. “You’re ours now, pretty girl. Every inch of you.”
Steve moved in from the side, his expression soft as he watched the two of you. He leaned down and wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Our best girl,” Steve echoed softly, his large hand coming to rest over your stomach, splaying wide and possessive.
“We’re gonna take such good care of you. You’re never going anywhere else.”
I am so sorry about the massive wordcount. I got carried away at the end w/ all of the smut 🚬 anyways, credits to @earthsmightiestbenders for helping me come up with this massive filth of a line:
“G-gonna knock her up until there’s—fuck— atleast one brunette and one blonde baby runnin’ around the house, Stevie.”
thank you for taking the time to read my work, and I hope you enjoyed!
read this for the first time a week ago and have had to come back and reread it three times since. The tension, the eager flirting, the gorgeous gorgeous boys 😫 everything about it is just delicious
thank you so so much!! i'm glad you liked it! <3
DL old hag dom bottom aaron rodgers
Leg up is crazy work but also hes obssessed with josh allen why 😭😭😭
War (2019)
remember to tenderly play with her balls and jerk her off! for feminism!
can you touch me and touch me and touch me and maybe touch me some more? thanks in advance
Can we make pretty porn together already 🙄
Making the Best of It Chapter 19
Fandom: Baseball RPF
Pairing: Pete Alonso/OFC, Pete Alonso/Jeff McNeil, Pete Alonso/Jeff McNeil/OFC, Jeff McNeil/OFC
Notes: What do you mean, nothing happened Mets-news wise. I will not hear slander or lies otherwise (AKA I continue to disregard trades and other roster moves). I struggled hardcore with this chapter, ngl. Not sure why, but it happened.
Wordcount: 2,467
AO3 Portal
Pete groans as he flops onto the couch in Jeff’s apartment. Jeff and Sloane look over from playing Minecraft. “What’s the matter, babe,” Jeff asks, looking back at the screen as he gathers honey.
“I don’t know,” Pete admits.
“Just a bad day,” Sloane asks, glancing at the screen as she builds herself into a wall so she can talk without dying in-game. She’s almost at level 30, and she needs good enchantments.
“Yeah.”
“How can we help,” Jeff asks, looking at him as he navigates into the house out of muscle memory.
“I don’t know.”
Jeff and Sloane glance at each other. They pause, save, and then quit out.
“No, hey,” Pete protests half-heartedly. “I like watching you play.”
Sloane puts the controllers down since Jeff has handed her his. Jeff taps Pete’s shoulder so he lifts his head. Pete obliges and Jeff slips under him. Pete puts his head in his lap with a contented little sigh. Sloane watches fondly. Jeff strokes Pete’s hair, then down his cheek, then brushes over the scent gland on the side of his neck gently. Pete rumbles. Jeff smiles and makes the pass again. Slowly, Pete relaxes into him and he starts releasing comfortable pheromones. Sloane leans down and kisses Pete’s cheek. “I’ll be back.”
She gets up and picks up her keys, leaving Jeff’s apartment.
“Where d’you think she’s going,” Pete mumbles.
“No clue,” Jeff says, still gently touching Pete. “Up.”
“Aw, I’m comfortable.”
“On your belly.”
Pete grumbles as Jeff leaves, but gets on his stomach. Jeff gets on his hips and gently rubs his back. Pete relaxes as Jeff feels his tension knots and starts to get them out. “Talk to me,” Jeff murmurs.
“I don’t know. It’s just…I don't want to hide you,” Pete says quietly.
“I know. I don’t want to hide you, either of you,” Jeff reassures him. “But it’s just…complicated right now.”
“I wish it wasn’t.”
“Me too.”
The door opens some time later and Sloane comes in with some groceries. The Alphas turn their heads. “Hey, boys,” she greets, closing the door with her foot. Pete scents the air. “Yes, I got you your favorite,” she smiles. Pete smiles and tries to get up, but Jeff doesn’t move. “Uh-uh. You’re gonna sit right there while I cook.”
“I wanna help.”
“Nope,” Jeff says. “We’ll take care of you.”
Pete settles on his stomach again. Jeff rubs his back and then holds the sides of his neck while he drags his thumbs down the back of it. Pete arches into it and rumbles. Jeff smiles softly.
“Better, sweetheart,” Jeff asks quietly.
“Better.”
“Good. I’m gonna get up, but you’re not going to help. Ok?”
“Ok.”
“Good boy.” Jeff gets up and Pete sits up. Jeff sits next to him and Pete hums. Pete carefully gets into Jeff’s lap, facing him. Jeff is surprised but smiles.
“Is this ok,” Pete asks, voice quiet.
“More than ok, sweetheart,” Jeff assures him. Pete relaxes and Jeff gently rubs the back of his neck. Pete hums and tucks his face under Jeff’s chin and breathes. Jeff rubs his back. That can’t be comfortable, hunching like the bigger man is to reach the position he’s in right now. “Can I lay down? Don’t want you to hurt your back,” Jeff whispers.
“Like being in your lap,” Pete mutters. Jeff smiles, warming internally.
“Ok, sweetheart.”
The Alphas sit there, Jeff ghosting his hand up and down Pete’s spine until the man is melting. Jeff digs his nose into Pete’s hair and breathes. He smells good, that sandalwood he’s so familiar with soothing. Neither man is hard- this is purely comfort.
They both start to smell the food start reaching completion and Pete grumbles but pulls away. He nudges his nose against Jeff’s. Jeff smiles and kisses him chastely. Pete smiles against him. Then Pete gets up with obvious reluctance. Jeff follows him to the table. Sloane is plating the food and Pete wraps his arms around her waist. “Thanks, babe,” he says, kissing her head.
“Any time,” she replies, reaching back and touching the back of his head. Pete pulls away and they sit down. They eat Sloane’s great cooking slowly, enjoying each other’s company and the comfortable quiet.
At the end, Jeff takes his turn cleaning up. He wraps the little food that’s left and looks over his shoulder. He doesn’t see Sloane at first, only Pete on his stomach on the couch. He soon realizes the Alpha is almost completely covering her when he sees her hand on his shoulder blade. He smiles and loads the dishwasher. He returns to his boyfriend and girlfriend, sitting in a chair and watching them fondly.
“Can we go to bed,” Pete asks quietly.
“Sure,” Sloane nods.
“Yes,” Jeff says. Pete gets up and takes Sloane’s hand. He reaches for Jeff, and he holds his as Jeff takes the lead, bringing them to his bed. They get comfortable, Sloane getting into shorts and one of Pete’s shirts while Jeff and Pete get into pajama pants. They lay in Jeff’s bed, Pete on his back in the middle. Jeff and Sloane curl around him, a head on each shoulder. Pete relaxes.
Pete likes this- his partners with him, close and comforting. He noses into first Sloane’s and then Jeff’s hair, inhaling. Jeff strokes his stomach gently, his palm open and gently touching. Sloane has her hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“You know we love you, right,” Jeff asks quietly, looking up at him.
“I know,” Pete smiles. Then he sighs deeply.
“And I wish we could show everyone, too,” Sloane says. “But unfortunately, we can’t. Yet.”
“But what if-”
“Shh,” they both hush him.
“No what ifs,” Jeff says, stern but gentle. “This is good. This is perfect.”
“It’ll change,” Sloane says, tilting her head up. Pete recognizes the sign and gently gives her the kiss she’s requesting. “I promise,” she whispers.
“Ok,” Pete says, even though he knows that she can’t promise anything. He lets himself believe, though.
He turns his attention to Jeff, gently kissing him too. Pete puts his head back against the pillow. He closes his eyes, enjoying the three scents mingling together. Almost like they were always meant to. He goes to sleep.
Sloane wakes first and slips out of bed carefully. Pete turns more into Jeff, throwing an arm around his waist. Jeff hums, not waking. She smiles and tip toes out to make breakfast.
She’s just finished up when Pete wanders in, bleary-eyed and hair sticking up. “Ah, so I get up and nothing. You smell bacon and bam, you’re awake,” Sloane teases. Pete grunts and Jeff chuckles, coming in behind him. Jeff makes coffee and Pete hugs him from behind, leaning his cheek on his head.
“Go eat, babe,” Jeff coaxes. Pete makes a complaining noise.
“Come on,” Sloane gently tugs his wrist, and he comes. He sits and eats, then Jeff puts the right coffee in front of the right partner. Pete mumbles what could be a thanks before he sips.
Sloane and Jeff chat about their Minecraft world as Pete slowly wakes up. “Ok, I’m awake,” Pete announces. His lovers laugh.
They finish breakfast and clean up. Jeff starts to wash dishes as Pete dries. As soon as he’s dried the last dish, Pete ducks his head and kisses the side of Jeff’s neck, making the Alpha hum. Pete rubs his lower back, comes closer, and kisses the same spot. “Pete,” Jeff whispers.
“Yeah, babe,” Pete teases, lips moving against Jeff’s skin. The Alpha shudders and looses a low moan. “How about we have a lazy day,” he murmurs. Sloane purrs and presses against Jeff’s side.
“I like that idea,” she says. Jeff turns his head and kisses her, tongue sliding slickly into her mouth. Pete puts a hand on his ribs and rubs his thumb gently up and down. Jeff reaches back and brings Pete’s hips closer, and the Alpha obliges, pressing against his side. Pete’s hardening and Jeff’s hole clenches. He whines softly. Sloane kisses him again and the trio stumbles to the bedroom, touching all the way. Jeff reaches under the bed and brings out his toys, making Pete growl. Jeff pants and settles on his back, grabbing the lube and shoving off his shorts in one motion. He slicks his fingers as the others watch and swallows. He reaches behind himself, still a little awkward about it, and presses two fingers in. He whimpers and Pete growls, eyes locked on his hand.
“Good boy,” Pete growls. Jeff whimpers. “Yeah, good Alpha, stretching yourself for me.” Jeff moans. Sloane hums.
“Can’t wait to see you take Pete’s cock,” Sloane admits, leaning down so she can pant against Jeff’s shoulder. She rolls her hips and Pete recognizes the sign. He braces himself over her and licks the back of her neck. She moans quietly. Pete undresses her and pushes off his own shorts.
“Knotting or non-knotting condom,” Pete asks, his voice low and husky.
“Neither. Just knot me, Pete,” Sloane begs quietly.
Jeff watches, panting, as Pete gets Sloane ready. He twists his fingers and his hips jerk when he brushes his prostate. Pete hums and slides two fingers into Sloane, moaning quietly after. “You’re so wet already, baby,” Pete murmurs.
“Fuck me,” Sloane begs. Pete kisses the back of Sloane’s shoulders and tries to coax her to turn over. She resists. “Like this,” she says, and both men moan quietly.
“Ok, baby,” Pete says, and gets on his knees behind her. Jeff watches with his fingers in himself as Pete presses his cock into their girlfriend. Jeff’s fingers move involuntarily and he chokes out a moan.
Pete sinks in slowly and Sloane moans when he’s flush. Pete pauses, probably to see if she needs to adjust. “Just fuck me, Pete.” Pete pulls out slowly and then eases in. “Harder,” Sloane moans.
Pete leans down to kiss her shoulderblades again and speeds up. Jeff curls his fingers and moans at the electricity zipping up his spine. He wraps his free hand around his cock and jerks himself off messily. He moves his fingers over his prostate at the same time he thumbs under his head and cums, moaning. “Jeff,” Sloane says desperately, and Jeff looks at her. She opens her mouth prettily and Jeff groans, pulling his fingers out of himself and pushing the cum-covered ones into Sloane’s mouth. She licks and sucks, moaning around them. Pete growls and speeds up, and Sloane’s arousal climbs to a peak.
“Cum for us,” Jeff commands, and Sloane does, her noises muffled by the fingers in her mouth. “Attagirl,” he croons, and ducks down. He kisses her, and it’s sloppy and messy and perfect. “Can see how good Pete’s being for you,” he pants. “Such a good Alpha.”
Pete moans and Jeff looks up, smirking. Pete puts his hand on Jeff’s head and pulls him into a kiss. They lick into each others’ mouths and Pete’s hips lose rhythm. He fucks forward a handful more times, then pulls away to gasp. “Close, Sloane,” he moans.
“Good,” Sloane pants. “Knot me, Pete.”
Pete obeys after a couple more quick, messy thrusts, moaning his completion. Jeff slides his hand through Sloane’s wetness and finds her clit, rubbing it gently until she cums with a sob. “Good girl,” Jeff whispers. He’s hard again, but he doesn’t know what he wants.
“Jeff, I only got a taste,” Pete says. “Well, a taste of a taste.”
“Of,” Jeff prods.
“Your cum.” Jeff stares at him as Sloane moans, rocking back onto Pete’s cock.
“How the Hell are we supposed to,” Jeff asks, looking at their positioning.
“Sloane, lay flat, sweetheart.” Sloane does so and Pete covers her more. He coaxes Jeff closer and manages to get him in his mouth. Jeff buries his hand in Pete’s hair, moaning quietly. Pete’s at the wrong angle, but he somehow makes it work. Jeff gently rubs Pete’s head and thumbs Sloane’s chin, fond.
“I love you both,” Jeff whispers.
“We love you, too,” Sloane says, and Pete swallows in agreement. Pete thumbs his growing knot and Jeff groans.
“Close, baby.”
Pete doubles his efforts and Jeff cums in his mouth. Pete sucks it all down, then cleans him up with short swipes of his tongue. Jeff hums and flops onto his side, nosing into Sloane’s shoulder and smelling the three of them.
When Pete’s knot deflates, he pulls out and they reluctantly shower. They make sure to make up for the fact that they’re now clean by kissing often.
“Ok, what’s the plan for today,” Sloane asks as they get dressed. “Because I wanted to have an art day.”
“What kind of art,” Jeff asks, curious.
“Not mosaic, that would take too long. Was thinking of painting,” she muses. “I have a few sketches I like and I want to develop them more.”
“Want company,” Jeff asks.
“You’re sweet,” she says, and gives him a gentle kiss. “But I’m good.”
“Ok,” Jeff nods. “I wanted to spend today cleaning, to be honest,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “Fridge needs a deep clean.”
“Ok,” Pete shrugs. “Then I’ll,” he trails off. “Go home, work on some date night ideas.”
“Sounds good,” Sloane smiles. They kiss and Pete and Sloane leave.
Jeff does clean his apartment and scrubs down his fridge, then changes out of his bleach-stained ‘cleaning’ clothes. Since he has time, he sits and plays some guitar. He finds an arrangement he likes and writes the chords in his notebook. He flips through it, finding a tune he liked at the time. He looks at the paper, playing it again. He still likes it and adds to it, scribbling notes in the margins.
By the time he’s winding down for bed, he’s tired. He yawns and stretches, the day catching up with him. His phone pings and he checks it. ‘Thought of some fun date nights,’ Pete had messaged in their joint group chat.
‘Fun as in 😈 or fun as in 🥳,’ Sloane messages.
Jeff laughs. ‘The second one,’ Pete replies. ‘You always say that everyone should be more creative, Sloane. So what if we do like a paint night?’
‘Like follow a Bob Ross tutorial,’ Jeff questions.
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
‘That’d be so much fun,’ Sloane texts.
Jeff looks through the emojis for something suitable. He finds the perfect one. ‘🎨!’ The others laugh react to it.
’I saved a few videos already,’ Pete says. ‘:) 🤏🌲 mode activated.’ It takes Jeff a second, but he laughs. He makes sure to like the message so Pete knows he’s a comedic genius.
Hmmm. i really want to write a brett baty/francisco alvarez fic, specifically one with alvarez speaking spanish. but i do not speak spanish, nor do i want to use the probably-bad google translate version. my only idea to compromise would be to have francisco speak spanish without actually me putting it in quotes? Like:
"Francisco says something, his tone heavy with meaning. But the language he chose is Spanish, and Brett's elementary Spanish lessons aren't helping him out."
Maybe? Eh, i'll see what i can spit out.
The Night He Claimed You (incubus demon x f!demoness reader)
Summary: In the cruel underworld, you are a weak demoness with barely enough strength to summon a flicker of flame. Despite your standing, Zevrath, a powerful incubus has long now wanted you to be his.
Warnings: nsfw, MDNI, possessive demon, power imbalance, consensual and dark themed, oral (fem), size kink, p in v, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, special 🍆 with tentacle, public claiming at the end and sex during flying, lots of fluids.
Another day in the underworld...
You sighed as you went to work, deep in the dark caverns of Mountain Vesperion. You worked under the direction of more powerful demons, assisting them by cleansing their tools, lairs, and even their own energy when needed.
The underworld was a merciless land. A place burdened with shadows and whispers, where the powerful flourished while the weak were forgotten. And you? You were among the forgotten. As a lowly demoness withno wings and barely enough power to create a flicker of flame, you spent your days cleansing equipment of the demon realm, neglected and overlooked by everyone.
Well, not everyone... not by him. Zevrath.
You didn't know if that was good or terrifying. Probably the second. Even the mere sound of his name sent shivers down your spine. Zevrath ranked highest of them all, a high incubus and demon of unbridled power, desire and seduction. His mere presence was like a storm, drawing attention wherever he went. And for reasons you didn't understand, his attention had been focused on you for what seemed like an eternity. You always avoid him, of course. What could he possibly want from someone like you? But tonight, as you walked through the dimly lighted tunnels under the mountain, you sensed his presence before you saw him. The air became heavier, charged with a heady scent and such strong energy that made your skin prickle. "Little demoness," Zevrathpurred. "Running from me again?" You froze, your pulse thumping in your chest, as he emerged from the darkness. He dwarfed the room, tall and muscled, his body dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt. And his wings, black as midnight, were folded behind him, but you'd seen them spread wide and knew how massive they were.His deep red eyes roamed your body and face, his lips twisted into a grin that was both dangerous and alluring. "I'm not running." Even as you said that, you looked around in hopes of finding a way out. There was none. He was blocking the only exit.
He chuckled and filled the gap between you in a a few strides. "Liar," he said, his clawed hand reaching down to lift your chin. "You've been running from me for years. But not tonight." You swallowed hard as the tip of his nail brushed against your upper lip.
"Why me? I am nothing. No one. What do you want?"
"You," he said and there was such possessiveness in his eyes that you almost —almost believed him.
"What?"
"You," he repeated loud and clear. "I want to take you as mate."
"But— but— why do you care? I'm no one important?" "You think you're nothing?" he drawled, his finger traveling over your cheek. "You're mistaken, demoness. You are everything."
"I'm not a worthy mate. Not for you—"
"I will be the judge of that." He cupped your face. "And when I say I want you, I mean it. You are not powerless. You are unique in everything you do. I've noticed every detail."
You bit back a moan. "Like what?"
"Your power and flames might be small, but are perfect for delicate work rather than destruction. Your work is detailed and flawless."
"Wow... you are really complimenting me."
He smiled. "I can do so much more."
Before you could react, he leaned down and his lips were on yours, claiming you with a kiss that left you mindless. His mouth was hot and soft, and you couldn't help but sink into him, your hands grasping his shoulders for comfort. He growled, his tongue stroking across your bottom lip and you opened for him without hesitation.
When your tongues met, a surge of electricity passed through you, firing every neuron in your body. He tasted like sin and danger, he was addictive, and you couldn't get enough. His hands went down to your waist, bringing you closer until there was no room between you. His chest pressed into you, and the heat from his body seeped into yours. You whimpered into his mouth, but his kiss buried the sound, and he answered by holding your hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue twirling with yours in a dance that made you dizzy with need. When he finally drew back from the kiss, you were disoriented, your lips deliciously swollen and tingling. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing through soft moans that matched yours.
"I've wanted you for so long," he rasped, his voice a deep growl, sending shivers down your spine. "You're innocent. Your fire. Your soul. I've been watching you from the shadows, waiting for the proper moment to claim you. And tonight, I want you to be mine."
"Yes," you said, your voice raw with longing. "Yes, I will be your mate." Tentacles of black magic swirled around you as he transported you to what had to be his bedroom. The room was draped in shadows and illuminated by candlelight. It smelled of faint tobacco and something darker and headier. He tossed you down onto the velvet-covered bed and trapped you underneath him, his palms resting on either side of your head. His crimson eyes shone in the dark, never leaving your stare as his fingers trailed over the thin fabric of your dress.
"Zevrath," you said softly, his name falling from your lips like a plea. "Say it again," he demanded, his lips running down your neck, leaving a trail of wet heat. "I like hearing it from your lips." "Zevrath," you repeated, your voice strained as his fingers moved down, pulling up the hem of your dress. "Good girl," he purred, his claws burrowing into your hips just deep enough to make you gasp. "Now, I want to see what's mine."
Sharp claws sliced through your clothing, causing the fabric to shred easily. He was very precise, he didn't even touch your flesh. But he moved quickly and efficiently. You didn't protest as he tugged at your dress, ripped your bra and panties, and even took off your shoes and socks. Now you were stripped naked, your garments in tatters. Feeling self-conscious, you pressed your legs together and crossed your arms over your chest. He only chuckled at that and slid his long tongue along your neck, suckling your pulse point. You moaned and relaxed, unconsciously pressing your hands against his chest. You forgot that your breasts were no longer covered.
It must have been his plan, because he descended upon them with a deep moan, cupping both tits with his big, clawed claws. He kneaded the pert mounds, watching as they changed shape under his touch. It felt so good that you also widened your thighs and he swiftly sneaked between them, pressing his clothed cock againt your heat. "Such softness," he said, his forked tongue wrapping around one nipple. "So delectable." "Hnn…!" you cried out, feeling alive and aroused in every fabric of your being. He experimented with one bud, circling the swollen areola before switching to the other. You arched againt him, offering more as his tongue suckled and marked your breasts with his touch. "Hmmm, so pretty and responsive, my mate," he moaned, his gaze fixed on yours as he circled one tight bud with his tongue. "And these nipples? Mine. Right?" You let out another moan, clutching his shoulders. "Yes!"
After he'd thoroughly marked your tits, he kissed every inch of your stomach and headed straight for your pussy. His clawed hands grasped under your knees and pushed them further apart, exposing your gleaming pussy. And then he was eating you up, his breath hot on your folds and clit. He lapped up your juices, then wrapped his forked tongue around your clit.
It was as if you were his favorite meal, devouring you with abandon, slick sounds echoing in the room.
You came apart in a series of pants and whimpers and still he continued to suckled your clit, gentler this time, while his hands cupped your tits and pulled at your nipples. "This is mine, too," he said huskily, his tongue thrusting your pussy. "My tight little pussy, that tastes like fucking nectar."
When you didn't reply, he pinched your nipples hard. "Right?"
"Yours! All yours!" "As am I, my demoness. My loyalty, heart and cock are yours." With that, he grasped the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head. The same went for the rest of his clothes until he was gloriously naked. He sat back on his haunches, and you stared at the monstrous cock that jutted up his stomach. The girth was as powerful as him and fitted him perfectly. Only the tip was pointy, while the rest of him fattened up, thick, long and covered in ridges. At the base of his shaft, a tentacle writhed in the air and heavy balls hung between his thighs.
He looked stunning, all lean muscles and dark power, and when his wings extended behind him, your pussy gushed even more with desire.
Grabbing your thighs, he covered your body, your tender breasts pressing against his hard chest, your legs stretching wide. He claimed your lips and pushed his tongue into your mouth, taking and taking. You gave him everything, kissing him back with all your might.
"You've been mine from the moment I first saw you," he drawled, nibbling your lower lip. "And tonight, I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
Zevrath's cock rubbed over your soaked pussy, the slender head massaging your folds, before it pushed within, invading you inch by inch. You moaned into his mouth, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. He impaled you slowly, the thick length of his cock stretching you to your limits until he was fully implanted within you.
The tip kissed your cervix and the wriggling tentacle latched on your clit causing you to go frantic. You reached another peak, overstimulated and speared by his cock. Your orgasm didn't stop him. His hands kept you captive as he started thrusting, setting a primitive tempo that created more squelching sounds.
As he fucked you, the tentacle stayed on your clit, drawing two more shattering orgasms out of you.
“Zevrath,” you gasped, your hands clutching at the sheets as he brought you closer to the edge. Again. “Oh, we're not stopping, love. I want to hear you scream my name,” he growled, his his pumping erratically. “I want the entire underworld to know who you belong to.”
"I want to hear you, too," you demanded breathlesslt. "Let the whole world know you're in my pussy."
"Damn," he snarled, his grip on your hips tightening. “You nearly undid me with that. I'll let the whole world fucking know I'm balls-deep inside you."
"M...Mine. You're mine!" you said as you held on for dear life, your tits shaking with the force of his thrusts.
"Yours."
Zevrath growled his passion, deep and savage, his voice booming so loud that it tingled every nerve in your body. He didn't hold back—not with his whimpers, groans, or the way his body squelched into yours. Each thrust was deep and relentless, bringing you closer to the brink and leaving you a whimpering, breathless mess underneath him. Hours passed as he took you in every way imaginable, his hands and mouth claiming every inch of you, leaving no place untouched. Finally he pulled you on his lap and impaled you on his cock, the tentacle circling your poor clit. You barely had time to recover your breath before his gigantic wings spread. With a forceful beat, he took off into the sky, the crisp night air rushing past as he went higher and higher. The world below blurred as held you protectively, his cock moving inside you as he flew. He took you again and again, his cock pounding your depths. It wasn't a private moment; it was a spectacle, a declaration to the mountain below. He was showing to the world you were his. Oh, the sheer audacity of what he was doing sparked something deep within you, and instead of being shy, you felt proud and teetering on the edge once more. It didn't take long; his constant thrusts, the cool air on your hot skin, and the tentacle tickling your hypersensitive clit, soon pushed you over. You came with husky cries, stars erupting behind your eyes as warm bliss washed over you in waves.
Zevrath wasn’t far behind—with one final, toe-curling thrust, he spilled inside you, filling you until you felt impossibly full. So much seed flooded your pussy until it overflowed, pouring down your thighs as he hugged you tight, his breath rubbing across your ear.
“I'm your eternal mate, demoness,” he drawled proudly. "Yours. Forever."
You nodded, your heart swelling with love.
You were no longer the unnoticed weak demoness. You were his. Zevrath's mate.
And for the first time in your life, you belonged.
