#uhm do i like joy do i like kittens and sunshine ???

[magicaldreamfox1]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ??????

[luxeavenger]

She Lost Control Again

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: Spanking as punishment, panties as gag, bratty reader, rude reader, quiet/silent sex, teasing, dom/sub undertones (Dom Bucky and Steve/sub reader), piv sex, pussy/clit slapping, derogatory language (slut - affectionate), pet names, poly relationship, BREAKFAST (not a warning, just delicious)

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You wake up to someone shaking you.

“Why the fuck are you shaking me?” you growl.

“Let’s go get breakfaaaaast.” It’s Steve. “We’re all going for breakfast. Come oooooon. Let’s gooooo.”

“First of all, who the hell eats breakfast at-” you squint at your phone, “eight o’clock in the fucking morning?”

“Uhm, most people do, doll.”

“SECOND OF ALL, go away or I’ll stab you.”

“Nope.” A cold hand wraps around your ankle and you’re unceremoniously dragged out of bed by Bucky. He rearranges you into a vaguely upright position, “Stevie said ‘let’s go’ so, let’s fuckin’ go. I want pancakes. So shake that bacon into some clothes.” He slaps your bare ass to get you moving.

“Fine. I am getting dressed, but I hate it. I’m doing it under duress, and with protest.”

“Too bad, cranky ass,” Steve chuckles.

You grab the first things you see and throw them on: a striped micro-mini skirt, and Bucky’s faded Joy Division t-shirt, tied in a knot at your waist so it flatters your figure. You pull on some panties too, because your skirt ends just below your ass cheeks, so a deep breath could have you flashing anyone who happened to be looking.

Once you pull your shoes on, you slouch and glower at both men.

“Someone is fuckin’ salty this morning,” Bucky smirks. “Go ahead and keep being a brat, kitten.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Mmm, no,” he grabs your waist and yanks you close, “it’s a promise,” he purrs and squeezes your ass cheek.

“Oo scary,” you grumble. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You let them drag you to the little diner where the band is already sitting around a table scattered with menus. It’s an adorable mom and pop place, where the specials are still written on a chalkboard, and the dishes don’t have cutesy, trademarked names.

‘G’morning, sunshine,'' Scott sing-songs at you with a grin. His mohawk is styled into six sharp, grape-colored peaks today, and he’s wearing a ratty old tee that says ‘punch your local nazi,’ over a green skirt covered in cheerful yellow flowers. You’d never figure out how someone could pop pills all day, barely sleep at night, and still be as chipper as Scott Lang.

Nat is busy trying to get the phone number of a waitress from another section, and Clint is unwrapping all the toothpicks in the holder and using them to build a tiny toothpick fort. They both give you a distracted wave.

“Hi,” you snap, “Scott, Clint, Nat.”

Steve sits next to Bucky, and pulls you down onto his lap. He leans close so his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re being very rude this morning.” You roll your eyes.

Now Bucky is in your ear too, “Go ahead, kitten. Sass one of us again. Just one. more. time.”

Steve, murmurs, “I dare ya.”

You sag, and squeeze your lips together.

“Aww. What a shame,” Steve tuts and hands you a menu.

You’re scanning over the menu to see the diner’s offerings, and Steve starts fidgeting, bouncing his legs, and tapping his hands on the table. “Damnit Steve, I can’t read like this,” you gripe.

“And there it is,” Bucky grins, plucking the menu from your hands and setting it on the table. He smiles at the rest of the band, “You’ll excuse us for a minute.” To you and Steve he says, “You two. Come.”

He takes your hand and pulls you across the diner into the men’s bathroom.

“Hey!” you squawk as the door shuts behind the three of you.

You’re cut off by Bucky’s CUNT PUNCHER hand around your throat. He pins you between his palm and Steve’s unyielding chest. “No. You hush. All you had to do was wake up and get breakfast with us this morning. That’s the lowest bar ever. But you’ve been surly and rude to everyone.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, and Bucky squeezes your neck tighter.

“What part of hush did you not get, doll?” Steve’s voice rumbles against the back of your head. “Sounds like we need to fuck the brat out of you.”

Bucky’s hand disappears but he takes a half step forward to press his chest against you. There’s a quiet click, then the point of a knife drags up your thigh. Bucky twists a fist into the front of your panties, and yanks the blade through them. Then he pushes you face first against one of the stall doors.

“Lift your skirt up,” Bucky orders. You aren’t moving fast enough for him, and his forearm falls heavily against your shoulders and he leans in to snarl, “Get it. fucking. up.”

Your shaky hands flip the skirt up to uncover your bottom. From this angle they can both see the moisture shining between your thighs. Bucky’s metal digits dip down to your slit and slide through the wetness that’s been collecting there ever since you asked Bucky if he was threatening you.

Steve groans behind you, “God, what a slut.”

Bucky chuckles, then his metal hand slaps down on your ass. You whimper and he shushes you. His hand collides with the meat of your ass again, and you mewl.

His breath ghosts over your ear when he leans in to growl, “What part of hush are you not fucking getting? Shh. Be quiet. Silence. No talking. No noise. Shut up.” He pops the p and the puff of air makes you jump.

“I'm trying,” you whisper.

“I’m so glad you wore panties today,” Steve chuckles. His thick fingers dig into your cheeks and he squeezes your jaw until your mouth opens. He stuffs your panties inside, and pushes it closed with his palm.

Bucky speaks again, punctuating each word with a firm smack to your ass. “Now,” smack, “can,” smack, “you,” smack, “fucking,” smack, “hush?” smack. You nod vigorously, huffing in breaths through your nose, the bathroom is rank with the smell of piss and it stings your eyes.

Bucky’s fingers slide through your folds again. “We’re going to fuck you now kitten,” he holds his fingers up to show you the wetness coating them, “and from the looks of it, we’re gonna be able to slide right in. If you can stay quiet for both of us, we’ll take these out,” he taps your lips, “and you can eat breakfast with the rest of us.”

“And if you can’t,” Steve continues, “you can sit there with your panties in your mouth while everyone else eats, and you can eat your breakfast all by yourself on the bus.”

“Think you can do that?” Bucky asks. You nod, and he scoffs, “We’ll see.”

Steve raps a knuckle over some writing on the stall door. For a good time call Candy Robinson, and what is (presumably) Candy’s phone number. He smirks at you, “Let's see if you can show us a good time, or if we have to give Candy here a call.”

You hear the sound of a zipper raking down, then Bucky kicks your feet apart and pushes into your cunt. He bottoms out so forcefully your feet leave the floor and your cheek slides up the stall door with a dull squeak that echoes off the tiles.

He doesn’t bother setting you down, just uses his hands to adjust the angle of your hips, and starts fucking you hard and fast. You curl your fingers over the top of the stall door and hold on for dear life.

Bucky’s cock knocks the breath out of you every couple of strokes, and you grunt with the force of it. Steve leans against the stall door next to the one Bucky has you pinned against. He smirks at you and taps the graffiti again as a reminder. “That’s not very quiet,” he tsks, then gasps, “I think I hear someone coming. Some old man’s gonna walk in here and see you getting railed in the men’s bathroom like a little slut.” He pauses as if listening, then claps a hand over his heart in an exaggerated show of relief, “Oh they went into the women’s bathroom. Lucky you.”

The panties are soaked with drool now, but you keep your teeth clamped shut around the wet, uncomfortable weight. You huff breaths in through your nose, but you can feel the telltale heaviness of an orgasm building in your core. You try to prepare for it, to somehow turn off your vocal cords. The pressure crests and you come with a quiet sob, your back arching, and your fingers digging into the stall door hard enough that you’d find paint under your nails later.

Bucky’s cock twitches inside you. He grabs one of your hands from where it is clutching the top of the door, and twists it behind you. Fastening his teeth in the meat of that shoulder, he comes with a few more sloppy thrusts. A thin moan squeaks out of you even though you try so hard to be quiet.

When he pulls out of you a warm cascade of come spills out of you and dribbles down your thigh. Bucky chases it with an index finger. He makes a move to pop the finger into your mouth, and chuckles sarcastically, “Oops. Guess this one’s for me then.” He sucks on his finger and hands you over to Steve.

The room spins like a ride at a cheap carnival, and you’re snatched to an abrupt halt against Steve’s chest. You’re facing the mirror now, instead of the stalls. Steve’s eyes shine with mischief, and a thrill climbs up your spine at the sight of his smirk.

He hoists one of your legs up to rest on the counter, and gets his fingers on your clit. He slaps the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times, and your knee buckles. He pins you against his chest with a hand around your throat. Your hips buck against him, and Steve grins at you in the mirror.

“Come on,” he purrs, “give it to me. Come for me. Then I’m gonna get my cock in you, and you will scream for me, you bratty little slut.”

And you whimper because you know it’s true. You can feel heat pooling in your belly, and you’re already keening low in your throat, despite your best efforts to stop.

But you don’t want to stop it. The panties in your mouth are a soggy reminder of how you got yourself into this. As you fall apart for Steve, you regret, with every fiber of your being, your shitty attitude, because it’s preventing you from making the noises Steve and Bucky love to hear. You want to moan for them, wail for them, cry their names aloud so they know how good they make you feel.

Suddenly Steve bends you over the counter top, and starts working his dick into you. He pushes in hard, and your body slips forward over the damp surface. You throw your hands up to stop yourself before you hit the mirror.

He’s got the back of your skirt twisted in his fist, and he’s using it as leverage to fuck you hard, knocking cries out of you with every jarring slap of his hips against your ass. You’re not even trying to stay quiet anymore. That ship has sailed, and you’d take your licks for it. You start making all the noises you’ve been wanting to make since Bucky cut your panties off of you. Even with the wet fabric as a baffle you’re loud, but you don’t give a shit anymore.

You go placid and pliant in Steve’s hands, letting him use you to get himself off. He immediately catches the change, and hauls you up and against his chest. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs. A strong arm goes around your waist, and his other hand dives under your shirt, his calloused fingertips grazing over your nipples. The new little barbells make them so sensitive and you push your chest into his hand with a mewl. The puff of air from his laugh tickles your damp neck.

You regret treating your family like shit, and feel ashamed of yourself. You drop your eyes so you’re looking at the soap dispenser next to the basin. The shimmery pink liquid spilling out of the nozzle onto the bleach-white counter. Your eyes sting with tears, and the streak of candy-colored soap blurs.

Steve taps a finger on your chin until you look up at him with wet eyes. “There she is,” he says softly, thumbing away the tear that skitters down your cheek. “Eyes on me princess,” he orders, holding your gaze in the mirror with his vivid blue stare. “Come for me one more time, and you’re done, I promise.” You sniffle and nod. He presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers, “There’s my good girl,” in your ear.

His hand falls to your clit, he slaps it a few times until you groan. Then he circles the little bud with his rough fingertips until your back bows, and your throat sings with unrestrained moans when you gush on his cock.

He rumbles out some praise that you don’t hear because of the blood rushing in your ears, and slams into you one last time. The heat of his climax fills your pussy and dribbles down your thighs when he pulls out.

While Steve helps you get your legs under you and makes sure they’re going to stay there, you notice Bucky smiling smugly in front of one of the stall doors. He slides to the side with a flourish and a grin. “Tada!” he declares, gesturing at the door.

With his knife, he’d scratched out For a good time call Candy Robinson, totally obscuring the blurb written in black sharpie. Next to it he neatly carved, For a good time call Y/F/N Y/L/N, and surrounded it with a heart. You trace it with your fingertips. There’s no phone number, like Candy had, but that’s not the point of his little art project. You hug him tightly.

“Open,” Bucky says, tapping your lips. Your mouth falls open and he removes the wad of ruined fabric. He chuckles, “I think you did it Stevie. Fucked the brat right out of her.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, contrition written all over your face.

Steve hooks a thumb under your chin and kisses you gently. “It’s okay, sweet girl. You don’t have to put those back in your mouth. We’re not gonna make you wait to eat.”

“No Stevie. I’ll keep them there.”

“Are you sure, princess?” Bucky asks gently. You nod. They both take the opportunity to tangle their tongues with yours before Bucky pushes the sodden cloth back into your mouth. He looks at you with eyes full of love. “God, you’re such a good girl for us. I love you so much.”

“Come on,” Steve steers you toward the door with a steadying hand on your back. “You want us to order for you, princess?” You nod at him gratefully.

When you return to the table Nat’s got three napkins in front of her with scrawled phone numbers and lipstick kisses on them. Clint has finished his toothpick fort and fashioned little soldiers out of the straw papers. And Scott is animatedly discussing music theory with a teenager at the next table who has lavender hair, and a safety pin in his cheek.

“Hey guys,” Bucky grins at everyone.

“Sorry about that,” Steve chuckles, raking a hand through his golden fauxhawk.

You smile at everyone, and lift the edges of your skirt in a prim little curtsy.

Steve pulls you down onto his lap and asks you to point out what he and Bucky should order for themselves.

You give the waitress a bright smile when she comes to take everyone’s order. She looks at you oddly when they skip over you when it’s time to order, but Steve distracts her with his stunning smile. Then he tells her what you want, and instructs her to package it to go.

You smile, and nod or shake your head whenever anyone speaks to you. The band looks at you oddly until Bucky gets Clint talking about his fragile paper army and distracts everyone.

Scott studies you for awhile, then leans over to loudly ask Bucky, “Is this a sex thing?” then laughs when Bucky throws a piece of toast at him.

When the food comes, Bucky and Steve wolf down their breakfast and toss a handful of bills onto the table, grabbing your food from the startled waitress and dragging you out of the restaurant behind them.

When you get back to the bus they pull you into your bunk and make you eat your breakfast off of them.