julie

dddne MINORS DONT INTERACT!

[flyhighlittledove]

𝓳ulianna (but dad calls me julie!) ꪆৎ 20s a little fucked up but who isn't nowadays! perverted woman with many needs and no chill whatsoever . just because i read and write about it, does not mean i support it. this is fiction. everything here is fake. do not hate , masturbate!

quickies j.b.b dirty scribbles

[hail-marys]

Soaked

pairing: dad!bucky x reader warnings: MDNI. incest. watersports. fingering. m!masturbation dddne! the dove is so dead. it's cold. cannot be revived. word count: 1.1k

By the time Bucky gets home, you're so full it's painful. You’re practically squirming where you stand, shifting your weight from one foot to another. The slam of his car door sends a jolt of excitement through you, your heart rate increasing as the front door opens.

The moment he’s inside your dad kicks off his shoes and drops his bag, beelining to where you wait in the living room, clad only in an old shirt of his and your underwear.

Gently, Bucky lifts up your shirt and lays a soft hand on your swollen bladder. "Did you do what I told you to, baby?"

You nod, biting your lip. You’d followed his instructions to the letter, drinking water whenever he texted you, avoided the bathroom no matter how bad you had to go. Which had left you aching and desperate, so full you think you might burst.

“Shit. You’re so good for me, you know that?” Bucky says, loosening his tie.

Your dad is quick to rid himself of his clothes right there in the living room, too eager to move the two of you to the bedroom. His shirt comes first, tossed aside to pool on the floor, soon joined by his pants and his boxers. He’s half hard already, has been since he pulled into the driveway, his cock hanging heavy as he steps in front of you.

Bucky guides your shirt up and over your head, discarding it by the rest of his clothes. You hook a finger under your panties, moving to shimmy them down but Bucky stops you. He likes seeing them soaked knowing that he’s the reason, whether it’s with your arousal or something else.

Hands on your hips he backs you both up towards the couch. Bucky sits, pulling you to straddle him, your hands braced on his shoulders. As he maneuvers you, your bladder jostles. Before you can stop it you leak, a wet spot spreading in your panties before you get it under control.

Bucky pouts. “Poor thing. You gotta go so bad, don’t you sweetheart?”

You whimper and nod. He runs his thumb over the wet spot, traveling upwards to rub against your clit. When he takes his thumb away you start to complain, until you see him suck his thumb into his mouth. He hums, eyes closing momentarily at the taste.

“You always taste so good, baby girl. Tell daddy how bad you have to go.”

“It hurts, daddy,” you whine. “I can’t hold it anymore!”

His cock jerks and he grips the base of it with a stuttering breath. “Okay. Okay. Let go just a little bit baby. Theeere you go, good girl. Fuck."

You let go for only a few seconds, pee hissing out in a desperate rush. It pools in your panties, seeping through to Bucky’s waiting cock. Your bladder cramps once you cut off your stream but the pain is worth it when you hear your dad’s breathy groan, see the way his hand fists his cock, using your pee as lube.

The sight beneath you has your cunt pulsing, clenching around nothing. The slick, wet sound of it is obscene, the sheen of wetness on his skin intoxicating.

Bucky stills his hand and directs you closer. He pulls your panties to the side this time, moving his cock just under you, the tip prodding at your wet folds. “Go again, just a little bit. Good girl, that’s enough. Stop, baby.”

This time when he says stop you cry out. The pain is worse when you stop this time, your bladder screaming at being denied release yet again. You whimper, bouncing lightly on your knees. You can feel it pressing against your hole, an incessant burn that throbs.

You look down at Bucky, your breath catching at the debauched sight. His skin is wet with your pee, his cock hard, red and angry in his hand. It’s almost like he’s the one holding, with how heavy he’s breathing. The slow stroke of his hand, pupils blown wide and dark, it’s easy to imagine a different scenario. One where he’s as desperate as you, touching himself to keep from leaking. The thought overtakes you for a moment, your mind going hazy at the thought of holding with him, of letting go together.

You lose yourself in the fantasy so completely that you leak again, a dribble running down the inside of your thigh. You gasp, hand flying to press between your legs. Your dad tuts and grabs your wrist, moving your hand back to his shoulder.

“Please! Please, I gotta go so bad!” If you weren’t straddling him your legs would be pressed together. Anything to help you hold, to keep from disappointing him.

“Please who?”

“Daddy! Please! Ahhh, I can’t hold it!

“Go ahead baby, piss all over your daddy,” he says, fisting his cock, eyes trained right between your legs.

With a heavy sigh you let go, the rush of relief nearly orgasmic as your overfull bladder finally empties. Your moan is pornographic, the molten pleasure only heightened when your dad moves his free hand to rub over your folds as you release. Hot urine soaks Bucky’s cock, splashes up to his chest as he strokes your clit with his free hand. It pools underneath him, his balls sitting in the puddle, splashing with every upward thrust of his hips into his fist.

“Such a good girl for me, shit, you really had to go, didn’t you? Love watching you let go like this. Oh fuck, I’m—“ Bucky comes with a strangled moan, thick ropes of cum shooting straight onto your cunt and into your stream, washing back down over his hand, his cock, pooling in the mess around his balls.

The moment your stream ends Bucky has two fingers buried in your cunt, the sound of your arousal and pee squelching as he drives them in and out.

“You hear that? So fuckin’ wet for me. My dirty little girl likes pissing all over her daddy, doesn’t she?” Bucky hisses. His thumb rolls over your clit, fingers bullying against your sweet spot. When you don’t answer he moves his hand from your clit to smack your thigh. “Say it!”

“Fuck! Love pissing all over you daddy. Ohh I’m gonna come, please let me come, daddy please!”

Bucky curses low. He goes back to rubbing your clit with a new determination behind his movements. “Go on baby. Come for me.”

You come with a strangled groan, legs shaking as you collapse against him. You keep shaking even as the aftershocks fade, and when Bucky shifts you back to capture your lips in a sweet kiss you melt further into him.

“So fuckin’ good for me, my filthy little girl.”

[charliesinbox]

dirtbag older brother!bucky ft. dirtbag!steve - caught on camera cw: incest, noncon + dubcon sex tape, spitroasting, blackmail, degradation

bucky's getting much too used to having you on your knees in front of him, keeping his cock warm in your warm mouth. then, the first time he sank his cock into your aching, leaking pussy, he thinks he's finally reached nirvana.

good things like this are meant to last — especially if it means he gets to have you, his darling little sister, over and over again. that is, as long as nobody finds out.

you're still the same as always. you avoid bucky like the plague in public, you pretend like he doesn't exist. you go through the motions of the day in your heels and pretty pink skirts. you talk smack about dirtbags like bucky and his friends to your friends.

none of them have to know that you're crying on your brother's cock nearly every night when you tell them you're off to study at the library.

it's one of those nights bucky's taking you from behind — he's rough, he's hungry, he's stupidly high. you should've known better than to respond to his text, to come running when he beckons you. however, bucky's too hard to resist especially when he sends you a picture of his hard cock with a promise to stretch out your tight pussy until you can't walk straight.

"fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my fat cock, little sis. princess like you on all fours like a bitch in heat. your brother's cock filling you up. you're such a fucking slut."

"s-stop being mean, buck," you slur, but the words hold no weight. you're too busy relishing in the heat that twists inside your guts. arousal that leaks between your legs as bucky slides in all too easily.

"you're getting too loose. maybe we're fucking too much," bucky grunts with a click of his tongue.

your heart falls. for some reason, the idea of remotely disappointing your brother now has your heart hammering in your chest. you don't care what he thinks in all other aspects of your life — but he's always called your pussy perfect. he has always loved the tightness of your cunt, appreciated how he has molded it to the shape of him.

you bite down your protest, saying that you don't think he even fucks you enough. after the first time, you keep coming back to him to get your fill. you've tried this with other boys but all of them leave you drier than the sahara.

only your loser big brother gets you this wet. something about someone as perfect as you, someone so untouchable and pristine, being defiled by a pothead, bottom-of-the-ladder man like your brother has you squeezing your legs.

there’s also the fact that he’s your brother.

"squeeze your pussy. come on. tighten it up. i want to feel you squeeze me."

and you do, core clenching tight to make sure you're wrapped around bucky in a vice grip.

"atta girl. that's my good little sister. tell me you like your big brother fucking you."

"n-no, that's embarrassing," you whine as bucky slams back into you, the plap plap plap of his skin against yours bouncing off the four walls.

you don't even know if his roommates are home. bucky's gotten a lot more careless lately — kissing your cunt in the kitchen, bending you over the living room couch, and sometimes even making you ride his cock while he's on his drum set.

unfortunately, you also can't bring yourself to care. not when bucky fills you up so good. not when the words that leave his mouth has hellfire burning bright in your guts.

"come on," bucky coaxes smugly, "tell me or i won't let you cum."

"bucky," you argue again.

he growls, hand wrapping around your hair as he yanks it back. "come on. say it."

"i-i like my big brother fucking me."

a groan leaves his chest. "tell me you like my big brother cock. fucking incest slut. tell me you want my cum."

your brain resists the request but your pussy is leading your decision-making at this point, and you know bucky won't give you what you want unless you do what he says.

"i like your big brother c-cock. i want your cum. please, buck. please."

"gonna breed you, little sis. gonna fill you up with so much cum i knock you up. what's mommy and daddy gonna say when they see their perfect little girl all knocked up? let alone by her brother."

your vision goes spotty afterwards. bucky rails into you harder and faster, so much so that you come undone with stars before your eyes. you try to muffle your moans into his sheets but bucky's groan ricochets off the walls.

"a-are your roommates home?" you ask afterwards, chest heaving with every breath.

bucky toys with your nipples lazily, twirling his finger in your hair. "dunno. don't care."

"buck," you warn with a frown, "you can't let them find out."

bucky merely waves you off then. little does he know, the two of you have had a fly on the wall — one with his hand down his pants and the other on his phone capturing the two of you.

this reality sinks in when steve confronts bucky.

"come on, buck. you've been distracted. you haven't hooked up with any groupies recently. who is it?"

"shut up, steve. i don't know what you're talking about," bucky grumbles as he jots down more lyrics for a potential song.

he's been more inspired lately. fucking you has done wonders for his music. he feels his pants tighten again at the thought of you, he wonders what you're doing now. if you're touching yourself to the memory of the two of you.

i like your big brother cock.

christ, bucky's trained you well.

"what about your sister then?"

bucky freezes. "what about her?"

"she's hot."

"she's a fucking princess," bucky hisses.

steve smirks, "think she'll agree to me asking her out?"

"you're not taking her out."

"why not?"

"because she's my sister," bucky snaps right back.

"didn't stop you from fucking her."

bucky's blood runs cold, blue eyes blowing up the size of saucers at steve's accusation. his lips tremble slightly. it's one thing for steve to know he's been fucking someone in secret, it's another thing for him to know that he's been fucking his sister.

"what the fuck are you on about?"

steve slides his phone out of his pocket, pulls out the little sex tape he has saved in his phone. bucky doesn't need to know how many times steve has jacked off to this video, how many times he's dribbled cum splatters on it.

the lump in bucky's throat only grows. "why the hell do you have that?"

"why the hell are you fucking your sister?"

"that's none of your business."

"kinda wanna make it my business."

bucky's jaw clenches. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"means i want in. let me get a taste of her pussy and i won't tell anyone."

"some fucking friend you are."

steve laughs, "a good friend would share good pussy. clearly she's got great pussy if you haven't fucked anyone but her in months."

he's not wrong. you've got grade-a, prime pussy. a reformed virgin. bucky can't get enough of it. he can imagine steve will be the same.

now he just has to figure out how to convince you to let steve in.

you're already so paranoid, so careful. you only come in in the dead of night or ass crack of dawn to make sure nobody sees. sometimes bucky can't help himself and he indulges in you when the sun is out and people are wandering around the house.

this time, he has you planted on his cock while you're working on your homework. he can tell you're partially distracted, you're squirming incessantly, trying to get more friction from his cock buried deep inside your pussy.

"hey, sis," bucky starts, brushing your hair off to the side.

you don't turn, instead your pen keeps moving across your page. "hm?"

"what do you think of stevie?"

your pen stops. you turn around to raise a brow at him. "your friend steve?" he nods. "he's fine, i guess," you frown, "don't really think about him. why?"

"kinda want him to join us."

bucky predicts your reaction before you slowly unravel. the widening of your eyes, the icing over of your gaze, your entire body going taut. "no, absolutely not." bucky opens his mouth but you beat him to it, "don't even think about asking me why because that's a stupid question. what we're doing—" you pause, swallowing, "—it's wrong. can't have anyone else finding out."

"not wrong if it feels so right," bucky smirks, hand reaching up to cup your jaw and draw you to him.

the kiss is hot and messy, he draws out whimpers from your throat as you grind yourself down on his cock.

"he has a video of us."

you go completely stock still. "what?" you whisper.

"he filmed us fucking once. now he wants a taste of you."

"bucky! i fucking told you we should be more careful. we shouldn't—"

"it's done," bucky cuts you off sternly, "now, i'd rather just give him what he wants instead of him leaking that i've been cumming inside my dear little sister. you don't want that either, do you?"

your reputation would never survive it. perfect golden girl getting railed by her own brother? taking her brother's seed? it would be the school's biggest scandal.

"what do you wanna do with him? suck his cock? want him to eat you out? because i'm not letting him stick his filthy dick in your pussy. that's mine."

your chest stirs with an odd warmth. the snark of possessiveness in bucky's voice has you biting your lip, pussy clenching around him.

before you can answer, the door slams open to reveal steve. you're immediately scrambling to tug your skirt lower to hide bucky's cock buried inside you.

"jesus, stevie, i told you to wait," bucky snaps.

steve clicks the door closed behind him. "getting impatient. couldn't stop thinking about what the two of you were doing in here." his gaze drops to where you're planted on bucky's lap. "you really are the perfect slut for your brother."

heat floods your cheeks at his words and you try to extract yourself from bucky but your brother is faster, arm fastening around your waist to keep you there.

"i don't want to do this, please," you plead to steve.

"you're okay taking your brother's cock but you won't even look at mine?" steve snorts, "come on, princess. i want to see those tits. maybe use them to jerk off a little. i can't get the idea out of my head since i saw them bouncing when bucky fucked you."

you turn to bucky for help but he only shrugs. "better your tits than your pussy."

steve's tongue darts out to wet his lips. "i can't wait to feel that pussy around my cock too."

"no," bucky interrupts with a glare, "you can do whatever you want but you're not fucking her. that pussy's mine."

"damn, you were never this protective of your other cunts, buck. this one must be special."

he doesn't answer, which speaks volumes already. instead, he redirects his attention to you. his lips on your neck. "tell me, baby, where do you want him?"

"i-i don't know." your eyes dart between the two of them — bucky who's looking at you with a firm gaze and steve who hasn't stopped palming his cock through his pants since he came in.

and that looks like a massive cock.

"you fuck her then. i'll take her mouth. i'll stretch out that pretty throat around my cock," steve grins.

bucky keeps his gaze fixated on you. "you okay with that, baby?"

do you really have a choice? your teeth catch your bottom lip as you nod slowly. bucky kisses your forehead once more before he's lifting you up by your legs, drawing a squeal out of you as he keeps you impaled on his thick cock.

he carries you over to the bed and positions the two of you on it. you on your hands and knees and bucky right behind you, pushing his cock back in with a groan. "alright, steve. you've got her mouth."

steve looks too pleased for a man who's blackmailing his best friend and his sister. however, bucky is pleasantly surprised to find your cunt squeezing tighter around him in anticipation.

he grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back before steve could hold you. "are you getting turned on right now? are you really fucking choking my cock at the thought of getting spitroasted by two losers like us?"

a whimper is all you manage.

"fuck, you're such a slut, sis. no wonder stevie knew you'd want this. he didn't even need to threaten me, did he? all he needed to do was show you a peek at his cock and you'd be drooling all over that."

on cue, steve tugs out his cock as his sweats get shoved to his knees. it's long, longer than bucky's. he's got blonde curls at the base, the tip glaring red as it leaks a pearl of precum. light blue veins run along the length of it like rivers on a map. it's beautiful.

his hand reaches down and cups your jaw, fingers digging in until your lips part. your jaw aches with his grip but your whine only eggs him on, his thumb sliding into your mouth to press down on your tongue.

"fuck, buck, she really is drooling." saliva pools on your tongue as he keeps your mouth open and he pushes it around with his finger. "such a wet mouthpussy, you've got, sweetheart."

while bucky keeps your pussy plugged with his cock, steve slowly pushes the tip of his cock into your mouth. you groan as he enters you, precum salty on the scrape of your tongue.

he's less thick than bucky but your lips can still barely wrap around him. not to mention his length. he touches the back of your throat easily and he isn't even all the way in.

"gonna stretch out this throat, sweetheart. i'm gonna make sure you're going to be able to swallow all of me by the end of tonight."

bucky snorts, "stevie comes a lot, baby. you better be ready."

"and i want you to swallow every last drop. do you understand?"

tears prick your eyes as steve nudges his cock a little deeper. you nod.

"good girl. fuck. this mouth of yours is still so hot and tight. feels like a pussy of its own. i can't believe bucky's kept you all too himself. that's right, sweetheart. hollow out your cheeks. suck on my cock."

bucky continues a steady pace from behind, hips stuttering every time he buries himself to the hilt. he can't seem to ever get tired of you. this pussy's clenching around him so tight. something about having steve here has you more desperate, your ass bumping back in search of him. your pussy's leaking all over his cock, juices soaking his length like he's never seen before.

"you're such a pretty little slut, sis. if only the entire campus could see you spread your legs and mouth open for two dirtbags like us. soiling your expensive skirts with our cum."

your needy sound is muffled around steve's cock, he nudges another centimeter deeper. steve groans as he threads his fingers through your hair, tightening his fist.

"can't believe this is real. i can't believe this pretty princess is sucking my cock while her brother's taking up her cunt. you're a filthy brother fucker, sweetheart. if only everyone could see you now," steve moans as he begins to move your head back and forth on his cock.

his cock slides along your tongue, tip kissing the top of your mouth and drags to the back of your throat. then he slides it out and repeats it again and again.

bucky feels irritation prickle his skin. he can sense that you're more focused on steve, the way you're suckling on his cock, how you're slobbering and gargling around his length. you're cockdrunk on his best friend.

he doesn't like that.

so he grips your hips harder as he rocks into you faster, deeper. his cock hits the deepest parts of you. "baby, i'm getting a little hurt here. i thought my cock's your favorite."

steve chuckles and bucky dismisses him with a withering glare. "go on, answer your big brother." steve yanks your mouth off his cock with a pop, a string of saliva keeping you connected to him. "wish you could see her, buck. mouth of a whore. my cock's wet as fuck."

"take a picture for me," bucky grunts.

"what— no!" you yelp then squeal when buck thrusts particularly hard into you. "no, please. i don't want another pic—"

your voice is buried again when steve pushes you back onto his cock. steve watches as you mouth hungrily at his cock again, licking up the sides and around. bucky watches as steve pulls out his phone, he can see his thumb move to press the record button and steve groan as he pushes his cock into your desperate mouth again.

"don't worry, buck. i'll share this with you later. video of your princess sister sucking my cock."

you try to whine, you try to pull off him but bucky drives forward to send you gagging around steve's cock. he opens up his own phone and keeps one hand on your back as he fucks into your tight pussy. the camera captures everything — how your folds stretch around him, tight channel sucking in his cock greedily, how it tightens and clenches around his girth.

"you're gorgeous, sis. i could stare at how your cunt swallows me up for hours. i'm the only one who's been in this beautiful pussy. i'm the only one that gets to cum in it. isn't that right?"

when you can only give a stifled whine, bucky jerks his hips harder.

"isn't that right?" he grits out.

"she can't talk with a mouthful, buck," steve laughs, which stutters off into a moan when he fucks deeper into your throat. "we'll trade videos later. you can watch me fuck your sister's tight little mouthpussy. i can watch you defile your pretty sister's cunt. make sure to record every drop of your cum filling her up. i want to see that creampie in her used pussy."

your pussy squeezes around him again, pulsing twice. bucky grins, "oh that got you going, didn't it? she's gonna cum, stevie. i can feel this pussy tightening up."

"you've got the perfect slut for you, buck. your own sister, shit, you really trained her to be such a good cock sucker," steve grunts as he pumps faster and harder into your mouth.

bucky can hear you gagging, crying around steve's cock. the muffled whines. the squelching of his cock inside your pussy. he feels your vice grip around him, getting tighter and tighter.

"shit, 'm gonna cum, baby. gonna cum inside you," bucky stammers as he pounds into you, casting his phone aside so he can dig his fingers into your hips.

"that's right, cum in your little sister's cunt. let her milk your cock, buck." steve groans as he also sets aside his phone to grab hold of your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest. "i'm gonna cream all over this pretty mouth. i want to see it on your tongue, sweetheart. i want to see both of your holes filled. maybe next time, we'll get sam in on this and fill all three."

bucky growls, snapping his lethal look at his best friend. "don't even fucking think about it."

"guess your big brother's possessive about your ass too," steve grins before his lips part in a guttural groan. "okay, sweetheart, gonna cum in your mouth. don't s-swallow yet, okay. i wanna see it in there."

bucky thrusts repeatedly until he's painting your insides a bright shade of white, a lewd sound pouring from his throat. he feels you spasm around him as you reach your own orgasm, but he can't hear your needy whines with steve still stuffing your mouth with his own cum.

a few last spurts fill your cunt before bucky pulls out and watches it dribble down your pretty legs. he flattens his palm on your ass, thumb opening up your pussy to let it leak out more. he uses two fingers to fuck it back inside you.

at the same time, steve is pulling out of your mouth, fingers in your cheeks to pry your mouth open. "lemme see it, sweetheart."

you let your jaw hang open, tongue curling to keep all of his cum on your tongue.

steve curses. "shit, buck, you should look at this. so fucking pretty with all my cum in her mouth." a smile stretches across his lips.

"if i see a fucking drop of it by the time i get there, i'm cutting off your balls, rogers."

"alright, swallow now. think i'd like to keep my dick," he smiles down at you.

dazed and cockdrunk, you can only do as you're told. your head is a jumbled mess. a puddle. by the time you manage to pull your eyes up, bucky and steve are staring down at you.

"good job, baby," bucky hums. "will you say thank you to stevie too?"

"t-thank you," you gurgle.

"now, shall we watch your new feature?"

requested by anon: can u do a spin off of dirtbag brother!Bucky, Steve finds out about him and reader and takes a photo of them fucking without them knowing. He shows Bucky and threatens to tell everyone on campus if he doesn’t let him join in 👀

a/n: thoroughly enjoyed writing this one even if it did take me a while. i hope that you like it too! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/strangergraphics

[flyhighlittledove]

Whoever sent this request 🤤🤤 thank you! So yuarmyy ughHH I love this account so much!!! Every time you post it truly makes my day . can’t wait for the next one. Im hoping for more dirtbag Bucky 🙈☺️😼

[cottontail-confessionals]

just the tip ꫂ❁

Ი𐑼 pairing | daddy!bucky x female!reader Ი𐑼 warnings | MDNI 18+ (reader is an adult and you should be too), incest, the dove is dead, eat at your own risk Ი𐑼 word count | 343 Ი𐑼 bunny purrs | just getting my tail wet, let me know if it does the same for you? note that this is a work of fiction and i don't condone nor participate in such activities ♡⸝⸝

"just the tip, princess, i promise."

his muscular chest was pressed to your back after he oh so carefully peeled back the covers that were draped around your frame. his hands roamed the sides of your body, sending a thrum of anticipation through your muscles.

you were naked. warm. pliant.

just how he requested you to be when he left for work that morning.

he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. then the other. then down nearly every vertebrae of your spine.

just the tip. he promised.

but it was never just the tip, was it?

not when his darling girl had the sweetest, tightest pussy bucky had ever experienced.

not when from the first push, your cunt sucked him in further like your body knew what you craved. what you needed to be satisfied.

"oh, princess, you make this so hard for your daddy…" he groaned with another shallow thrust, trying desperately to cling to a threadbare promise.

you only pushed back in response, the teasing of his cock doing nothing to gratify the need pooling low in your gut. "more daddy…" you whispered into your pillow.

"such a greedy girl…" bucky hissed, bracing a hand on the supple rise of your backside to try to still your movements. "where are your manners?"

you whimpered as he pushed just a fraction deeper before withdrawing all the way. the pulsation of your cunt around nothing felt torturous. your hands fisted into the sheets beside your shoulders in frustration.

"what do good girls say to get what they want?" he whispered in your ear, voice rough with promise. goosebumps erupted along your skin at the baritone.

"please, daddy, need you," you keened, arching your back to try to bring him in deeper of your own accord. "need your cock, need you to fill me, please."

bucky hummed in satisfaction, sliding slowly so you could savor the stretch until he was filling every one of your senses, and breaking his promise of just the tip.

because good fathers give their daughters everything they begged for. and bucky barnes was a very good father.

[charliesinbox]

dad!bucky - estranged dad at your door cw: incest, somnophilia, dubcon, mentions of "drugging", memories of noncon, groping, cream pie, fingering, breeding kink, mentions of "rape"

of all the places you expected to see your deadbeat dad, your front door would not have been one of them. yet here he is, looking much too proud for someone who's desperate for a place to stay.

"whaddya say, kid? wanna take your old man in?"

you don't want to say yes. but you have this sense of responsibility to a parent — just because he's blood. you hate that part of you but you can't help the teachings your mom has ingrained in you since you were young.

"no matter what happens, you don't abandon family."

you should've clarified with her if that included your useless, perverted father. all throughout college, you didn't miss the way he would leer at you. the way he'd brush up against you as if it was all accidental. he'd be hard when he pressed up against your back to reach for a bowl. his erection digging into your ass as he caught a whiff of you.

it didn't only happen while you were awake.

you've always been a heavy sleeper. countless times you've woken up to him pressing up against you, rubbing his coarse palm along your bare thigh. you never knew how long he had been there, how long he's been touching you as if your body belonged to him.

you could never say a word to your mother in the fear of hurting her. for some reason, she's absolutely enamored with this man who has done nothing good for her all her life.

now, looking at him today — how he found your apartment, you don't know. you're just hoping your mom wasn't dumb enough to share your address with him (you have a terrible feeling that this was exactly what happened).

"why exactly would i do that?"

"oh, come on. i'm a little short on cash right now. it's just for the night. i get paid tomorrow. promise."

he doesn't look or smell like he's had a bath in days. you crinkle your nose and unfortunately let him in. he gets comfortable real fast, dropping off his bags in the living room before making his way to the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.

you don't know what the man's been doing all this time. ever since you moved away, you haven't once reached out to him — why would you? he's probably traumatized you for life.

every relationship you tried to get into, every man that has tried to touch you felt wrong. like their hands shouldn't be on you, touching you so carelessly.

the only familiar set of hands that have been on you, one that you have reluctantly — and even involuntarily — accepted has been your father's.

and now he's back and you're not sure how to feel about it.

while he's running the shower, you get to work preparing dinner. it's all mechanical movements, muscle memory of taking care of yourself over the years. the knife clacks against your cutting board in a steady rhythm, one that matches your heartbeat.

it stutters when you feel a weight against your back. the firm bulge against your ass.

"d-dad," you clear your throat, knife nearly slicing into your finger.

"careful there," he murmurs, his hand reaching up to brush your hair over your shoulder. his lips are a little too close, breath ghosting the sensitive skin of your neck. "need some help?"

"no, just go sit," you swallow thickly, turning back to the prep work in front of you.

he doesn't move. instead, he leans even closer. his lips on your shoulder to press soft kisses that elicit shivers up your spine. they trail up your neck as he mouths gently, sucking on the skin enough to leave a bruise. you whimper quietly, unable to find the energy to resist him.

it's a pull. a magnetic draw that keeps you glued against the counter as his hips rut against your behind. your pussy clenches around nothing, a plea for something you don't quite want to acknowledge.

"good girl. you're so soft," he whispers.

"dad, please. i need to finish cooking dinner."

he relents, but not without another nudge of his hips against your body. "alright, sweetheart."

then he's gone and you feel that loss. it's a gaping hole in your chest, a coldness that soaks you down to the bone at the disappearance of his familiar warmth.

as you're cooking, you still feel the heaviness of his gaze. curious, hungry eyes that rake over you to see how much you've grown. how much his young daughter has matured into a full-blown adult.

you can feel his eyes linger on your behind every time you turn around.

it doesn't help that after you serve him dinner, he still squeezes your hand across the table. his thumb lingers on your wrist, brushing over the vein to feel your pulse skip. his lips curve in a satisfied smile.

you insist that he doesn't have to help with dishes because the last thing you need is for him to stand so close to you. but he insists right back and you suddenly find yourself side by side. his hips keep bumping against yours. when he moves around to put away plates, he makes sure to pinch your hip or press up against you. his mouth only millimeters away from your skin.

"my couch is being reupholstered so you're going to have to take the floor," you say, twiddling with your fingers as you shift your gaze away from him.

you already know what he's going to say, what look he has on his face. the little displeased curl of his lips. the blue eyes melting into a pleading look. you know that if you turn, you'll cave.

it's not an if, it's a when.

but then he raises his hand, slides it around your waist to tug you closer to him. his face buries in the crook of your neck. "come on, sweetheart, your old man's got a bad back. you wouldn't put me out on that hard floor, would you?"

"i'll get a comforter," you weakly protest, a futile attempt to extract yourself from him.

he tightens his grip. "'s not gonna be enough."

"dad—"

"you've got a big bed. i saw it. we'll share. keep to each of our sides."

that's a lie. you know it is. you know what's going to happen. but once again, your sense of responsibility and that guilt peeks through and you're forced to finally look at him.

and he's got those eyes and that look and you find yourself saying — "okay."

bucky tucks in close behind you before the lights are even out.

"you said you'd stay on your side."

"aw, come on, you haven't seen me in so long. let me hold you for a bit."

it's never just a bit. it's never enough with him.

sure enough, he tangles himself around you. legs twisting together. his arm winds around your waist to pull your back flush against his front. you can feel the warm puffs of breath on your neck. you swear you feel his tongue dart out, dragging lightly against your skin.

however, the pull of slumber is too difficult to resist — and before long, you find yourself giving in to the temptation.

you're floating. it's that liminal space between consciousness and deep sleep that you can never seem to navigate. the peacefulness of your rest is disturbed by the careful touches that seem to perturb that stable balance.

the pleasure builds between your legs. warmth blooming in your core as you feel rough, coarse hands roam across your body. they slip under your shirt, creeping upwards to grope your tits.

in this safe space, this lack of clarity, you let yourself relish in the sensations. the hands are familiar in a way that allows you to melt into the touch, moans crawling up your neck as those fingers pinch and pull.

"so soft for me, sweetheart. you've always been so good to your dad."

the whispers feel like a twisted combination of a nightmare and a dream. words that shouldn't be said out loud by a man who shouldn't be thinking of his own daughter this way.

but it feels good nonetheless and you feel your legs squeeze together.

"you like this, don't you? you've always liked my hands on you. you only trust your dad to touch you like this. hope you haven't been giving any other boys the time of day. you're my good girl, nobody else gets to have you like this."

another whimper slips past your lips. darkness still cloaks your sight but the flames flicker in the distance, a spark of light inside your body as those hands begin to wander once more. they slip lower, over your tummy where he rubs it gently—

"imagine how beautiful you'd look with a baby inside you. my baby inside you. you'd give your old man another kid because you're such a good girl for me, aren't you? knock you right up. your mom doesn't have to know."

"d-dad." the stutter leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

bucky tenses only for a brief moment before you can feel him smile against the back of your neck. "mhm, it's your dad, baby girl. don't worry. you're safe with me. just let me take real good care of you, because that's what good dads do."

your head instinctively nods. an obedient response. trained.

family comes first.

"you feel so good. look at how wet you are," bucky groans in your ear, his hips rut into you. nudging up against your behind like he's begging to be let in.

but his hand is between your legs, pushing off your panties until he's separating your folds. he drags his fingers along the slick moisture that coats your lips, drawing out a shudder as you let him play with your pussy the way he always has.

you've woken up like this before. and bucky would stop. he'd let you go and finally return to his wife. your mother.

but tonight — your mother isn't here and you haven't felt this kind of pleasure in months — hell, you haven't even been able to achieve the same feeling with your own fingers — and you don't want him to stop.

you want him to finish what he started.

"soaking my fingers real good, sweetheart. i always knew you wanted this. you wanted your dad to touch you, play with this cute little cunt that i created."

another moan bubbles up, a garbled protest that melts into a plea for him.

"pussy's so sweet for me. i remember tasting it once. you were so tired, but you were still oh so wet. you were dripping on my tongue like honey. buried my face between these gorgeous thighs until you were creaming all around me. even after you came, pussy pulsing around my tongue, you still didn't wake up."

"mmm, dad, please."

"just like this. still asleep. but your body knew what it wanted. you know how sexy it is for me to know that i'm taking advantage of my own kid. my own flesh and blood. your mother doesn't have to know how much i love you, how much i give you."

you can feel the threads of slumber begin to tease apart at the seams. the darkness of your room a blurry image before you.

but it's too soon. if you wake now, he'll stop.

"do you want to wake up, baby?" bucky coos, "do you want to see your dad touch you like this while you're awake?"

"d-don't stop," you mutter through your sleep-addled brain.

"i won't, don't worry. i've got you. you can wake up, sweetheart. let your old man see those pretty eyes when i make you cum. i wanna see how you melt for me."

and you're nothing if not obedient so you listen.

your eyes flutter open. you don't know if all this has been a dream, or some sick nightmare that your mind has decided to conjure up for you, but your chest feels tight, air sucked out of the room when you finally let your hazy eyes focus on the sight of your full-length mirror across from you.

you're on your side in bed, the same way you had positioned yourself when you fell asleep for god knows how long. except this time, your bottom half is bare and you see the hand that has snaked around your waist and is now cupping you between your legs.

"look at how beautiful you look, sweetheart," bucky whispers as he peers around you. his eyes are sharp as they look at your reflection in the mirror.

the light sheen of sweat on your skin, stuttered breaths that have your chest rising and falling. one of your legs propped up to expose your glistening pussy in the moonlight.

"my gorgeous girl. you've always been so beautiful, more than your mom. but your pussy has always been better, sweeter. you're always so wet for your dad, even when you didn't know it. all those years, you deep asleep, i think your body's used to me now. it's learned me well. learned me to serve me."

your throat moves as you gulp, lips parting as he begins to ease his fingers inside you.

"look at how you take me in. how your pussy just swallows me up. no resistance. juices all over my fingers because your pretty cunt wants to let me in."

your fingers wrap around his wrist, a fragile attempt to pull him away from you. "this is wrong, dad. you shouldn't be doing this."

"your body seems to think otherwise. can't be wrong if you and i both enjoy it. look at how you're taking me all the way in. this tight cunt was made for me. my fingers, my fat cock. my seed."

your pussy pulses around him.

"oh, you like that, don't you? you want your dad's seed in you? want me to breed you, baby?"

"n-no, you can't," you whine, "i'm not on any protection."

"you don't need protection. if i knock you up, i'll take good care of you, i promise. i'll be around."

you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. "you're lying. you weren't there for mom."

"that's because i don't give a shit about her. always loved you more. always knew i got her only so i could get you. so i could train the perfect pussy for me."

your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

"do you want to be your dad's personal fleshlight? want me to keep you all plugged up and filled with my cum?"

you groan again, the sound is wrenched out of your throat. embarrassingly loud and honest.

"yes, of course, you do. you're so good for me. my good little girl."

his fingers are squelching as they pump in and out of you. the sound is lewd and bounces off your quiet four walls. you wonder if you've always been this loud, if your pussy has always been this earnest with him.

for, in sleep, your inhibitions are lowered. your guard too.

you wonder if your mother has ever heard him sneak into your room, if she's ever heard the sounds the two of you make in the dead of night.

"mom, she—"

"doesn't know a thing," bucky completes firmly, "you don't have to worry your pretty head over her, sweetheart. you're mine now."

"this isn't fair to her," you argue, voice frail.

"what's not fair to her is if i'm not a good dad to you. you always come first. if this is what you want, if you want your dad to touch you like this, then that's how i take care of you."

your desperate, delicate mind can't seem to find it in you to find an opposing argument.

he's not wrong. your dad just happens to love you differently than how other dads love their daughters. he loves you in much more intimate ways, ways that only other girls can dream of.

so you clamp your legs down around his hand, hips grinding up until the balls of his palm are pressed against your clit. bucky smiles against your back.

"atta girl. keep rutting yourself up on your dad's hand. use my hand, sweetheart. like a little bitch in heat," he chuckles. "so fucking desperate for your father. knew your mom gave birth to a slut, but didn't think you'd be a slut for your own dad."

"dad, please, f-feels so good."

"i know. i know. but you want my cum, don't you? you want me to fuck you?"

you nod eagerly. hungrily. it's as if the shackles of your restraint has been loosened, abandoned somewhere on the floor along with any semblance of your moral compass.

bucky drags his fingers out of you, before bringing it up to your lips. his fingertips glide along your bottom lip, a silent request.

you open your mouth and bucky slides his digits over your tongue. the taste is a little sweet, a little sour, a little bitter. evidence of your arousal, your desire towards your own father.

"that's right. lick it clean, sweetheart. clean your dad's fingers."

your tongue laves along the length, licking up and around, circling between his knuckles to make sure he's clean. all the while, bucky is positioning his cock at your entrance. he hikes your knee up again to open up your legs, his fat tip sliding slick along your entrance.

you're too distracted by your own taste, by the way bucky pushes his fingers deeper into your throat until you're gagging around it, to realize bucky is already inching his way inside of you.

his groan reverberates straight through your core as he buries himself inside of you. "so fucking hot and wet. you always have been, but i think you've gotten tighter, baby. you haven't been fucked in a while, have you?"

tears prick your eyes at the humiliation. the first time you're being fucked properly in years and it's your dad's cock that's sinking into you. you shake your head in response and bucky growls.

"good girl. you were waiting for me. you were saving yourself for your dad. you wanted to keep this pussy pristine and tight for me."

"mhmm, w-wanted you. missed you."

"'course you did. when you lived with us, i kept your pussy loose with my cock. your pussy only knows the shape of my cock, could never fit anyone else's. no one else could fill you up right, could they?"

you shake your head again to confirm. he's right. no other cock has ever felt right inside you. like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite squeeze in right. but your dad? he's molded your pussy to the shape of his cock — his length, his girth, the curve of his tip. your walls clamp down around him as he begins to fuck up into you.

his hand drifts towards your tits again, grabbing firmly as he yanks at your nipples. each action draws out another cry from your lips.

"so good for your old man. 'm gonna stay as long as you want, baby. gonna fill you up as much as you want. it's been a while, hasn't it? my poor sweetheart. no cock to keep your dumb pussy plugged up."

"p-please, dad, hnnnng."

"tell me you want this. tell me you've always wanted to be awake to see your dad fuck you. to remember your dad fucking you."

"i-i want this. god, i want this."

"you don't even know how many times i've fucked you. how many times i've had to clean you up the next morning. my sweet girl is such a good pussy for her dad. loved cumming inside you, painting your insides warm. sometimes i don't even clean you up, i watch you wake up confused why you're all sticky. why you've got white. you think you've had a wet dream but you're touching your dad's cum inside you."

your body lurches forward with his words, with the force of his thrusts. you remember those mornings, you think you've just cum enough to have milky white seeping from between your legs. the sensations were real enough in your sleep, surely you could cum this much too on your own.

but you never knew it was your dad. it was always your dad.

"but h-how did i not get p-pregnant?" you whimper as bucky fucks up into you harder, thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his high.

"crushed up some pills in your food. made sure you got plan b each time."

"h-how many times?"

bucky laughs, dark. "lost count. kept a good stock at home to make sure you wouldn't get pregnant while you were under my roof."

another moan rises from your chest at the thought.

"i got my friend to get you birth control pills. you never knew you were taking them everyday with your breakfast. after that, i could cum in you as much as i wanted. didn't bother cleaning you up after that. i wanted to see if it would ever take even with the pills."

"fuck, dad, you're sick."

"and you seem to like it as much as me," he snarls, "you really are my daughter. sick in the head as much as your old man. you knew what you were getting into when you let me in and you still did it anyway. you wanted my dad cock in you. you wanted your dad to fuck you stupid. pretend like you don't want it, pretend like your dad's raping you. but you love it."

fuck. the realization slams into you like a truck. you do. you like this. you like the idea that you're resisting, that your dad's taking what he wants from you.

but deep down, you've always liked it. you've always liked being a toy for him. easy access. you started sleeping with no pants on, flimsy underwear that he can rip. you've always wanted this.

"is that it, kid?" bucky laughs. "you wanted your dad to rape you? you wanted me to fuck all those thoughts out of your pretty, dumb head?"

"y-yes, i want t-that."

"good girl. i can do that. i'll keep fucking you while you're asleep. wake you up with my cock. maybe next time i'll get my friends to join. you'll never know whose cum is inside you. do you want that?"

"please, please, please, i want that. oh god, yes."

"you're not on the pill anymore. i could knock you up right now, sweetheart. put a baby inside my baby."

your stomach twists, your heart burns. a conflicting series of emotions as you wrestle with the idea — it shouldn't arouse you, but it does. it really does.

"oh you want that, i can feel it. i can feel you squeezing around me. don't worry, baby. i'll fuck my cum into you. you'll sleep with my cum inside you, my cock keeping it all in. i'll fuck it back into you in the morning, maybe fuck more cum into you too."

"we s-shouldn't. i can't get p-pregnant. w-what would i tell mom?"

"you can tell your mom that you've got a good man who's taking care of you. but you can't see her anymore. you can't tell her that your own dad fucked you, that he got you pregnant, baby."

"and y-you won't leave? you p-promise?"

bucky groans, mouthing at your neck as he bites down on your shoulder. a territorial mark. "i promise. i'll be so good to you. i'll be your dad, i'll be your baby daddy, i'll be anything you need. no one has to know."

"w-wanna cum, dad. please. please cum inside me."

"that's my girl. fucking slut. 'm gonna get you pregnant, gonna get you all full with my cum. you can walk to work with my cum still inside you. your coworkers thinking you're some good girl but they don't know that you've got your dad's rape cum inside you."

your stomach somersaults, pleasure coiling tight inside you. every nerve inside of you is on fire. you can feel your desire crest, climbing so hard and fast that your orgasm collides into you in harsh waves.

your back arches, your pussy convulses. gasps spill from your lips as your hips stutter with every thrust.

then you feel the warmth, followed by bucky's delicious groans in your ear. he's painting your insides. warm cum flowing straight into you, into your womb. he's muttering again and again about how good you are for him, what an obedient daughter you are for taking your dad's cock.

you slump back against him, chest heaving with breaths.

before you can think about what you've just done, bucky's hand clamps around your jaw as he twists you around to face him. his mouth slants over yours, licking along your lips and dragging across your tongue.

"i'll take care of you, sweetheart, i promise."

you know he'll leave again.

come morning, he will be gone.

but you also know that the next time he knocks on your door, you won't hesitate before letting him in.

because he's your dad and family always comes first.

requested by anon: i’m thinking you’ve always been a heavy sleeper, and you’re estranged from your father (Bucky) because he would take advantage of that, but years after all that he shows up at your door looking desperate and begging for a place to stay just for the night, but your couch is out being reupholstered so you let him sleep in your bed and… old habits die hard, huh requested by @hatewhooaaamisssoftwr8: Would predator dad!bucky "accidentally" press up against his daughter as they pass each other in the house, breathing in her scent, rubbing his face and lips against her cheek and neck, & gently but firmly rutting his groin against her soft, perky ass, relishing every sinful slide & hump against his lil girl's fertile all-woman body? ;3

a/n: combined these two requests because i could see them being part of the story. i seem to have a trend of adding breeding kink into these things. also more mentions of rape in the dialogue because i really do enjoy the threat of it. if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/suupersonic

[flyhighlittledove]

- dad rape cum

- friends joining

Yummy

[ddarlinggirl]

𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊'𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗, 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: welcome to the abyss, please enjoy.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: INCEST, this dove is extremely dead, noncon, dubcon, manipulating, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, drugging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex

15.8k | summary |

there'd always been something a little off about your uncle. you didn't know just how off until the year your parents hosted christmas. but it didn't stop there.

You had never taken it upon yourself to get to know your uncle well.

James, or as everyone called him, Bucky, had always been sort of strange, or at least that was the feeling you were left with every time you encountered him. He was all at once shy and loud, huddling in corners or sitting quietly at the dinner table, and then suddenly sharing an anecdote and being the only one who found it funny. You got the impression that nobody cared to be the one stuck beside him at family events. He just didn't seem to get the social cues that the rest of you had learned to navigate.

He laughed too hard at things you said that weren't meant to be jokes. Sometimes, you'd feel like you were being watched, that pinprick of awareness, and he would be openly staring at you, his eyes not flickering away with the shame of being caught gawking. Once when he'd stayed over for a few weeks in the summer, you'd woken up and found that he was just standing in your doorway. His company was off-putting, to say the least, though no one had mentioned it, at least not to you. It was just a privately known fact.

You remembered Thanksgiving a few weeks ago. You hadn't been listening to him when he talked, because he was at the other end of the table. You'd been more focused on your cousins trying to snatch food from your plate. But every time he finished saying something, he would call your name and say, "You agree, don't you?" and you would furrow your brow and nod, though you had no idea what you were supposedly agreeing with or to.

There was a family photo you had taken last year, all of you clustered together around your grandmother's tartan couch. No one had noticed immediately, not when observing to just make sure that everyone's eyes were open and no one was sneezing or yawning, but your uncle had definitely been leering at you. Looking at you with a secret smile, his head tilted just so, rather than looking directly into the camera like everyone else.

Every time you got tagged in something on social media, he would be in the comments, leaving messages like, "My niece grew up to be such a gorgeous young lady!" or, "She's my favourite! What a darling girl!"

Maybe your uncle, a man who had been single ever since you could remember, was just one of those guys. He couldn't speak or interact with the fairer sex without giving off a particular vibe, even when it came to family. There was just something about him that missed the mark of charming completely, and landed somewhere further afield. He was family, so you would never outwardly say there was something wrong with him, but you couldn't exactly say that there was something right, either.

Your parents wanted to be the ones to host Christmas and New Year's this time around. It was a rotating responsibility, and this time it had fallen on your immediate family's shoulders. You were home from college for a few weeks, and with no siblings to share the burden with and an extra room at the house, Bucky was to be staying with you and helping out.

You'd had to be the one to pick him up at the airport, your parents still working right up until the holidays started. It was your beat up old Suburban, a car you'd had since you were seventeen, but he'd insisted on driving back because you'd "come all this way just for me!"

He'd hugged you at the airport, before you'd ushered him back to the parking lot. You hadn't intended on the gesture, but suddenly he'd been in your space, and your arms had been stuck limply at your sides. The hinge of his Tortoiseshell glasses had scraped the side of your temple as he'd brought his face close to yours. Though you'd gone rigid at the proximity, you'd noticed he smelled good, at least, something earthy and rugged, though looking at him, you didn't get the impression that he went on fishing trips or cut firewood as much as some of your other uncles did. At least, he didn't go on any of their yearly excursions.

You'd done your best to forget the awkwardness of the interaction once you'd made it to the car, but that memory had been almost immediately replaced by a more uncomfortable one, his hand finding your knee as he drove. It was weird—there was no other way to explain it. But he'd looked over and smiled during the first red light, murmuring, "I'm so glad to be spending the holidays with you, sweetie."

"You mean our whole family, right…?"

He didn't answer your quiet inquiry, but you knew he'd heard you because he'd still been wearing a faint half-smile on his face as he'd turned back to the road ahead.

Your uncle was staying in the room next to yours. Your mother had considered turning it into a crafting room, but she'd never gotten around to it. Your own room was still sort of childish, since no redecorating had taken place and probably wouldn't until you moved out for good. Your bed still had frilly, lace bed skirts. Your coverlet and pillows were a patchwork of florals, your curtains gauzy and light.

The bathroom across the hall was all yours, unless there were guests. You hated that fact. You were used to not having to share, and suddenly having to double check that the door was locked or that you weren't about to barge in was one of the cons of having a tight-knit family.

The morning after your uncle had arrived, you'd all had a hasty breakfast together, him, you, and your parents, before they sped off to work. He'd announced that he'd be taking a shower, but you hadn't heard the water in a while, no shudder of the pipes or whisper of the overhead fan. It must be unoccupied by now, right?

When you twisted the handle, to confirm your suspicion that the room was empty… or so you thought. Upon opening the door, your uncle was just standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist. His glasses sat on the sink's counter top, the lenses fogged with steam. The silver in his hair was muted by its dampness. You'd never noticed before, how blue his eyes were, obscured as they were by his glasses. And you'd certainly never known that he wasn't as lanky as you'd previously assumed. His bare, muscled abdomen was highlighted by the stray droplets of water trailing from his shoulders. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry!" You said, backing out meekly and darting to your room, closing the door behind you and leaning heavily against it.

You felt embarrassed, plain and simple. You'd always been very careful to not walk in on anyone. It was mortifying on both sides. But he hadn't said a word at your apology. He hadn't even blinked an eye. He'd just smiled at you, that strange, private smile that seemed to have become one held in reserve for you and you alone.

You stayed in your room for the rest of the day, unnerved.

Your parents still had some last minute shopping to do. Your other relatives were supposed to be flying in, and since they were going to be out and about already, your parents would be picking them up as they arrived. You cursed the fact that you'd done all of your own shopping weeks ago.

That morning at the breakfast table, it had been mostly quiet aside from the scraping of forks and clink of glasses and cups. Your mother had been absorbed in her phone, your father reading through news articles on his tablet. Only you had heard your uncle say, "Looks like it's just you and me today, huh?"

You hadn't replied.

When your parents left in a flurry of mittens and coats and hats, you were unsure as to what you should do. You couldn't just up and leave, not really. That was rude, and you'd already done it yesterday. There was also nowhere for you to go. A storm would be rolling in at some point, and none of your friends lived close by. Lingering in the foyer with him was awkward, the both of you having been there to usher your parents out the door. He looked at you curiously. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Begrudgingly, you mentioned that you still had gifts to wrap, and the offer of help wasn't one you could refuse without making it obvious that you wanted to be away from him. Every time he passed you the tape, his hand kept lingering on yours, your fingertips brushing. He kept getting in your space when it wasn't strictly necessary. At one point, you thought he'd done it to sniff your hair or something equally insane, but why would he do that? Sure, he was a little bit creepy, but he wasn't that kind of creepy… right?

You spent much of the time after that arranging things under the tree and cleaning, trying to make sure the house was up to your mother's standards. You knew she'd be too tired to straighten up when she returned later. Your thoughts were interrupted, a tea towel half folded in your hands, by your uncle's voice. "Hey, do you want some hot chocolate? It just started snowing. It'll be so festive!"

You were glad you weren't facing him—you couldn't stop the quirk of your brow and the incredulous expression you wore. He sounded so… excited. Childishly so, the statement having ended with a peculiar little guffaw. But, what was the harm in saying yes to something as simple as some cocoa?

It turned out that he didn't appear to make it very often. The powder was still grainy, lingering at the bottom of your cup and coating your tongue, but the whipped cream and marshmallows made up for it, you supposed. You'd both stood by the big window at the front of the house and watched the driveway slowly get covered with snowflakes as the street lights came on. It was perhaps the most normal occurrence you'd ever had with him.

Something about the warmth from your drink, the lights of the Christmas tree, and the soft build up of snow had your eyelids drooping, sleepiness taking hold. It was late afternoon, the sun gone and the world outside taking on hues of blue. A hand rubbed at your back, a comfort. "Do you want to go and take a nap? You look like you're going to drop at any minute, sweetie."

With a tired nod, you agreed, your feet dragging as you handed him your empty mug and moved down the hall to your room. You all but face planted into the pillow. You didn't even remember the seconds between wakefulness and rest.

You were in dreamland, you were certain.

The lights were dim in your room, the faintest of holiday glows. It was snowing outside, you briefly remembered. Everything seemed quiet and suspended, like you were living in your own little snowglobe. You felt incredibly warm, as if you'd sunk into a bath or buried yourself in furs.

You didn't remember taking your jeans off. You would have thought you'd be shivering without your flannel pajama pants on, the ones with polar bears all over them. Your comforter wasn't that thick—it was one of those all-year ones, and you usually had to grab a couple of spare blankets from the hall closet. But you were about a degree away from feeling like you were burning up. For the moment, you still settled in the territory of pleasantly warm, caught between just right and too hot. You honestly felt a little floaty. You settled deeper into the mattress.

Your brain felt like it was walking uphill in a storm, struggling to clear a path into rational thought. Maybe you shouldn't fight the sleepiness that still clung to you. Your consciousness shuffled around a moment longer, before something, some sort of recognition, clicked into place. You were warm, yes, but the heat was concentrated on your back. It felt like you were laying against a radiator.

Oh. There was a body behind yours. There were arms around your waist. You could feel breath on the back of your neck, soft moans in your ear. You frowned, puzzled. You didn't have a boyfriend that could have snuck in for a sweet snuggle. So who was in your bed?

Who was rutting up against you like that?

Why was it making you feel so lightheaded, all these sensations warring with your mind's want to sleep?

You were muddled, your mind a swirling current, each thought a silver fish darting out of your grasp. If you couldn't feel the softness of your sheets, your pillow, you might have thought you were at sea, the gentle rock of the bed much like the low, rolling waves of the water.

You didn't have the wherewithal to go stiff, your body still loose and relaxed. Something was off, but you couldn't summon the fear; it wouldn't, or couldn't come to you. "So perfect. Little angel. Always knew you were special. Just for me."

The words were groaned against your neck, and with the faintest hint of startled surprise, you realized who it was.

You tried to turn around, mumbling, "What are you—" but a hand snaked it's way up your body and clamped loosely over your mouth, stifling the question.

"Shhh. Shhh, angel. It's okay, it's just me. Don't worry. I was having such a good time with you earlier, I didn't want it to end. Let's just stay like this, okay?"

But what did 'stay like this' mean, exactly?

Oh.

It meant that you knew what had happened to your jeans. They'd been tugged off of you while you'd slept, and your panties were now hooked to the side. Your uncle was rubbing his cock against your folds and bumping against your clit every time he moved.

You knew that you should be fighting him off, using every ounce of strength you still had to get away. He was you uncle, for God's sake. The one that would send you birthday cards with fifty dollars in them. The one that always made your dad give you the phone when he called, so that he could say hello and ask how you were. But now he was making your toes curl involuntarily, and he was pressing kisses to your shoulder, and his hand was still over your mouth, the skin of his palm hot, a burning touch.

"It's good for you, yeah? Just want to spend time with you. Want us to have a nice day together. This is nice, right? Tell me you like it." He had been rambling, but now he moved his hand away from your mouth to wait for the words he wanted to hear.

You couldn't speak. You were too stunned and caught between the wrongness of it all, coupled with the bizarre rightness of the feeling.

"Hey." His voice was sharp all of a sudden. His hand moved to your throat, pressing hard, feeling you swallow. "Tell me you like it."

It was a demand. He sounded scary. But he also sounded desperate.

"Y-yeah. It's nice…" The words were slurred, but you felt him smile against your skin.

"I knew you were special. I knew we had a connection, you and me."

All you heard for a few long seconds was his laboured breathing, and then your own, the air rushing back to you in a dizzying rush as he stopped gripping your throat so tightly. "You'll give me a little more, won't you? You'll let me in. Come on, I've always been kind to you. Give me a little something back?"

What does that even mean, you thought. You were just trying to deny what you already knew. He was still squeezing your throat, a tiny bit, but you didn't think it was on purpose. It was a reflex—he was excited. He couldn't help it, you didn't think. He might just cum on the spot.

Your silence was frustrating. His other hand was tight on your hip. "Tell me. Say yes. I don't want to be angry with you. I don't want to tell your parents you've done something bad. Let me."

And so you found yourself nodding. His switch between pleading, almost sweet, and controlling, bitter, was too much for you to process. You panties were so wet that they felt sticky.

It was just the tip at first. You thought that he'd intended for it to stay that way. But it made you gasp, and the way you'd clenched had him groaning into the back of your neck. He mumbled something you thought translated to, "I can't help it," and before you knew it, he was all the way in.

You didn't even register it happening, your reaction delayed by a few slow seconds. You sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. How was it possible to feel so full? He was squeezing at your throat again and muttering into your hair.

You only got a small warning, a graze of teeth against your skin, before he was biting at the side of your neck. He wasn't even moving all that much, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pin you down and go at you relentlessly, or to keep it shallow, just to focus on the way your body was responding. "I knew you liked me, honey. You always acted like you didn't, playing hard to get. But you liked me the whole time, didn't you? Bet you used to dream about this."

He was wrong. You definitely never had. Ever. But he sounded delighted, like it was some great revelation, his voice all breathy as he stroked his hand up and down your hip. He'd created a whole narrative in his head, mistaking your politeness for interest.

When you came, you were shocked.

Maybe you were more turned on than you'd ever felt in your life… But that was surely just biology, no? You were getting fucked; this was just your body responding. That was all. You were also half-loopy, still fighting for full consciousness. But he was nuzzling against your neck and sucking hickeys into your skin. "My little angel. There you go." He was cooing in your ear. He sounded so proud of you for understanding just how much you needed this. "You love me, don't you? If you love me, you'll let me cum inside. That's what people do when they love each other. Tell me you love me, sweet girl. I wanna hear you say it."

You were coming down from the high, still sluggish, still slow on the uptake. Too slow for his liking. He was getting a little mean, a little more desperate, with every second that passed. He was groping at your chest, pinning you closer to him. Grinding into you like an animal, and you began to register the sensitivity you felt. "Say it." He practically spat the words at you. "Say it!"

"I, um, oh—"

The second orgasm hit in a wave, and you felt distinctly that he was angry about this. It was his turn now. Not yours. Why were you being so greedy when he was trying to make love to you? He'd been so chivalrous. "Say it."

"I love you." You managed to gasp the words out.

You couldn't tell if you meant them or not. Family said that sort of thing automatically, didn't they? But he sighed as soon as he heard it, like it had triggered him to cum on command. He was suddenly filling you up even though you already felt too full for words.

He didn't leave your body even after he'd emptied himself out inside you. He stayed there. He was panting and scattering wet, messy kisses against your neck, your jaw, your shoulder. "I knew you loved me. I knew you did. I love you too, princess. My perfect girl. You can rest now, go to sleep. I'm gonna stay right here and keep you safe from any nightmares."

You couldn't decidedly say whether you wanted him to stay or not, but he kept talking. "Remember when you were little and I put stars up on the ceiling for you to keep the bad dreams away? You don't need those anymore. You have me."

Oh, no…

You'd just let a devil in through the gate, it seemed, signed on the dotted line to get out of a bind, not realizing you'd just sold your soul.

"No one else will understand our love, sweetpea, so we've gotta keep it between us, okay? You don't tell anyone. Our love is special. It's just for us."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was so soft and gentle, but his grip on you was utterly possessive. He was holding you so tightly that you felt claustrophobic. "Next time we make love, you're gonna face me so that I can see it in your eyes. Doesn't that sound nice?" He nipped at your earlobe. "It sure does." He answered his own question.

He didn't notice that you hadn't said a word. "And one day, you'll come and live with me. And we won't have to hide anymore."

Between Christmas and New Year's, your uncle was trying his best to be nonchalant after that day you'd shared together.

He'd had to lie through his teeth when your parents had come home and asked where you were. "She's just taking a nap. I'm sure she's fine," he'd said.

But all through that week, he couldn't stop looking at you in complete adoration. Every time you made eye contact, you were quick to look away, because God, what the hell had you done that day? You were disgusted with yourself.

And he was so… careful. His hand on the back of your chair, but only when no one was looking. His palm would slide up to the back of your neck, or he'd tug at the ends of your hair. He kept making you snacks and drinks, though now you felt wary and distrusting after what had definitely been a sleeping pill or two crushed into your hot chocolate. But he kept doing it in a way that would bring you closer to him. You'd have to go over to his side to take the glass, or bowl, or plate. He wouldn't just drop it on the side table for you. You'd have to come and take it from him.

You were beginning to learn that he liked the little bits of control. In fact, he ate it up like candy.

He'd left you alone otherwise. There had been no going into your room, no sitting too close.

Except for once, when you had been in the kitchen. Everyone from your parents and cousins, to aunts and uncles were in the living room. It had been a Christmas movie marathon. You'd been alone, getting the last couple bowls of popcorn ready, when you flinched, hearing his voice say, "She probably needs some help! Not enough hands!" along with a laugh, called over his shoulder to the rest of your relatives.

You didn't even have time to brace yourself before your hips were digging into the edge of the counter, because he'd boxed you in, hands on either side of you on the marble, breath hot on your neck. You could feel him against your ass. His teeth scraped against the shell of your ear. '"I like this game we're playing, where you pretend to be disgusted with me. I know you're just trying to hide how much you wish we could be together. We can't let them know, honey. They don't get it. They won't get it. Gotta be real careful with you. You're so precious."

You were frozen stiff. You didn't turn around, because you were scared to see the look in his eyes, probably half-wild. You heard movement in the hall. "Hey, hey," he crooned, a hand running over your ribs. "It's okay. No one's comin' in. Don't be nervous, it's just me."

But you were nervous. Why the hell wouldn't you be? He was too close to explain it away as innocence, should someone enter the room. Somebody called his name, then yours, and he pressed a kiss to the spot where your shoulder and neck met before stepping away, grabbing the popcorn bowls. "We got it, comin'!"

And then you were alone in the kitchen again, but his voice was still echoing in your ears.

You were on edge the entire night. That was good, he thought. He wanted you to feel anticipation. He wanted to wind you up. He wanted you overloaded with want. He wanted you needy, wanted you to cling to him next time, to cry and hold him close and tell him that you loved him, and to mean it.

Meanwhile, you had been unable to sleep, after everyone started to drop off for the evening. You were worried he'd come to your room, invite himself in.

He didn't.

You looked like hell in the morning. He was playing mind games with you, you knew that. But you couldn't say anything because someone else was always there. The blessing and the curse of family, you supposed. What would you even say, anyway? That he was wrong? Crazy? Well, he was crazy, that was for sure. You'd never given any indication that you felt anything for him in that particular way. He was family. But he was crazy enough to think that you were just being coy, not honest.

You couldn't even shower without wincing every time you heard noise in the hallway. You were scared he'd open the door, scared he'd come through the curtain and you'd have to face him, just like he said. And you'd be fully aware, no sleeping pills in sight. You turned the water on hotter, used the pain of the heat to ignore the ache in your belly. It was your fear, the bitter tang of it, not anything else, surely... Right? Bringing up the memory of that night was traumatic. Not... not a Polaroid of a moment that made you feel damp. Water was the only wetness you should have been feeling. That was all, right?

When the New Year's party came around, you thought that maybe he was all talk. That he'd used up all his nerve by drugging you, and then the pseudo threat in the kitchen. In fact, the whole night he seemed borderline disinterested. He only passed by you once, a hand on the small of your back as he squeezed between you and the wall, but the touch was more perfunctory than lecherous. He was intent on getting to the table with the drinks and platters all laid out. Half of your family was gathered around the TV, watching the New Year's show, waiting for the ball drop. The others were in the basement, karaoke and games galore down there. And you felt like you could finally breathe.

Well, that was your first mistake.

Bucky was quietly fuming because he knew he couldn't kiss you at midnight. He couldn't even try to get away with it, because your family was not one that did overt affection. He couldn't pretend to explain it away. But he'd noticed that your guard had dropped. Maybe you would even leave your desk chair where it was supposed to be, tucked in front of your computer, instead of up under the doorknob.

Yes, he knew about that little trick. He arranged his features into a pleasant smile as he talked with your cousins, acting like he was interested in their little stories. But his eyes would always find your frame, your quiet anxiety slowly leaving you as the night wore on. And that only meant that he'd be able to get what he wanted, soon. He just couldn't bear to hold himself back for much longer.

Midnight was announced with silver streamers and gold confetti popped from little crackers. The younger kids had all cheered, high on sugar and excitement, while everyone over the age of eighteen celebrated with a chorus of, "Cheers!" and "Happy New Year!", with smiles and hugs shared.

Some of your relatives made the tired walk to their cars, parked in the driveway and out on the street, while others made their way down to the basement, where cots and sleeping bags had been set up. You streaked off to your room quickly and quietly, scrubbing your makeup away with a wipe and changing into your pajamas. You weren't ready to go to sleep, not yet, but you were ready to relax, alone, for a while. Maybe you'd catch up on social media until you fell asleep holding your phone. It sounded like a fine idea.

Your bedside lamp and the glow of stars stuck to your ceiling were the only illumination, other than your phone's screen. You busied yourself with liking friends' pictures and wishing a good year to anyone you could remember to contact. You were half propped up on your pillows, enjoying the solitude, listening to the faint voices of your extended family as the living room continued to empty.

You forgot about the lingering threat, the one that was supposed to be sleeping in the room next to yours.

You were reminded when the radiance of the hallway light momentarily blinded you, an outline standing in your now open doorway. All at once, you sat up, your phone falling away when you should have gripped it more tightly, threatened to record him if he didn't go away. You uncle closed the door behind him with the softest of clicks. Your eyes adjusted; he was already unbuttoning his green plaid shirt, and the pattern looked more garish to you than it had surrounded by the rest of your family. "You look so cute, waiting here for me. I knew you wanted me to come in. I could tell by the look you gave me before you left."

What look? You hadn't given him any sort of wanting gaze, not sultry tilt of your head, of that you were sure. You hadn't even glanced in his direction, too afraid to chance it, to catch him already staring at you. "I—I didn't—"

The plaid slid from his shoulders, and then he yanked the white t-shirt that had been underneath off, too, his glasses a soft clatter on your nightstand.

"Stop," you found your voice, though your body still cowered, paralyzed with fear, "Please—please stop. You don't have to do this."

You wondered if he had any mercy in him, or if there had ever been any at all. Maybe he'd been born without it. "Baby, I want to learn what you like the best. Why would I stop?" The words were a gentle hush, wild grass ruffled by a strong breeze.

Panic rattled through you, threatening to shake your bones. You scrambled upright as he got closer, your palms pushing down flat against the mattress, your shoulders knocking into the headboard. The feeling was a heavy weight in your gut, an anvil, crushingly heavy. But there was something else—you noticed it, the barest whisper in the back of your head. His eyes tracked the movement of your tongue swiping across your lips. Panic, your heartbeat as fast as a rabbit's, yes. But the other thing… was it? It couldn't be… anticipation?

It was gone almost as quickly as you'd realized it, like a winking star in the night sky. You pressed yourself against the headboard as if you could melt into it, through to the wall, and safety beyond. The mattress dipped under Bucky's knees as he crawled over you, bracketing your legs. It was a tactic to pin you, and it was successful. As your eyes darted left and right, seeking an escape route, they flashed once down his form, like someone else had taken control of your sight. Taut muscle, tanned skin. His belt buckle was shaped like a star. Would it leave a mark on your thigh? Would it be forgotten under your bed, collected when the sun rose over a fresh, new year?

His hands slid over your shoulders, resting for a minute. They felt heavy, heavier than they should. It felt like he was going to push and push until your head was underwater, until you'd drown, bubbles escaping your mouth in place of screams. One of his hands moved up, cradling the side of your neck. The heat was blistering. "You did so good for me the last time, darling girl. I know you're gonna be that way again, aren't you?"

Blue, blue, there was the blue, the twin lakes you'd drown in, caught between their tides, whirlpools of cobalt. Blue engulfed your vision, his eyes looking into yours. Determination was set in stone—you could see it in his jaw, the shape of his brow. He blinked once, like he was sending the right answer through the air and into you. Be good. It will be okay. It'll be over before you know it! But still, the animal instinct in you told you to buck, to wriggle away, anywhere that you could go on the floral island that was your bed. But there were no life rafts, not here. No sticks to form a message, S.O.S., across the beach of your blankets.

Bucky let out a displeased huff as you weakly kicked at him, but he remained relaxed, perfectly poised. "Now, I'm not gonna tie you up, honey. That's not what happy couples do. Just be a good girl for me, yeah? So that I don't have to."

You imagined it for a moment. Your wrists, chafed red and raw, the sting from the brown leather of his belt. He'd probably kiss the marks, stare into your eyes as he did it. It made you feel sick, the wetness that gathered between your thighs. Wrong, wrong, so wrong. Happy couples. What you knew of happy couples were courting, romance. Flowers at the door, dinner by candlelight. Grand gestures, for the sake of showing the world that you were in love, and that love was beautiful, and that it should be celebrated. It was not an imposter under your covers at night, vermin with no exterminator to call. But if you needed to play act, to get this over with, so be it. Your body was already doing its part, a subtle hum in your blood. If you pretended he was a normal man, a stranger you'd met at a bar, it would be okay. You gritted your teeth as you admitted to yourself that he'd seemed to have known what he was doing, the last time.

You nodded diplomatically, as if you were only agreeing to do the dishes, to do the laundry, something so mundane, so simple. Not this, not offering your body up, not letting him in, a second time.

It started with a kiss, satisfaction on your uncle's face, the smoothing of his brow, the quirk of his lips, mission accomplished. You willed yourself to play make believe, to conjure up the idea of another person before you, another man's hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so, drinking breath from your mouth, and blood too, when you bit on his lip hard enough to draw it. It was your one act of defiance, all you could manage. It only served to please him. You heard the growl, a claiming of territory, could taste it on your tongue. You couldn't—wouldn't—allow yourself to get lost in the feeling. Your hands, still firm on the mattress, itched to move, but you kept them still as statues. You didn't want to know what his chest felt like under your palms. You didn't want to know if your nails would leave scratches, pink lines to mark your place.

It was a slow slide, not an avalanche. You didn't know between which breath and the next, when your head had reunited with your pillow, your back against the sheets. Did you look like you were laying on a field of daisies, bluebells, and violets? Was your hair fanned out around you, an angel's halo? Your stomach was all aflutter, a toss up between curdled milk and a molten river.

You were doing your best to relax, given the circumstance. Tense muscles might make it hurt. A path was drawn, one you imagined to be tattooed in black ink. Jaw to ear to throat. Collarbones to the neckline of your camisole, the lace trim pulled down. Your breasts were a rest stop. He stayed there awhile, and again you fought, your mind at war with your body. This was wrong.

This is wrong! You screamed, but it only came out as a sigh, stirring the wisps of his hair. The travel resumed, your camisole gone. You were now a barren, naked expanse of ground to cover. Sternum, straight south, navel. He veered right, a scrape of teeth against your hipbone. You said a silent goodbye to your shorts, flimsy cotton with bunnies printed on them.

Then—startling clarity, you'd come up for air, when he reached his final destination. "Stop, stop. Please. Please stop…"

Did you say it out loud? You thought so, but the shudder you felt at the base of your spine at the first lick of his tongue, undeterred and unhurried, made you think that you hadn't. No hesitation, not from him. Your eyes burned with unshed tears. Did you cry because you were scared, or did you cry because of the sensation? The hum of contentment against your clit, the brush of fingers against your folds. The first intrusion, the second.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Unlawful, corrupt, felonious.

"Delicious, sweet, mine."

A shockwave tore through you, and you gasped like a fish on land. He travelled back the way he came; hipbone, navel, sternum. Collarbone, throat, ear, jaw.

Bucky looked at you then, saw your lashes, the tears that seemed to glitter on them in the soft amber glow. Such a gorgeous swell of emotion, his eyes seemed to say, choosing to believe they conveyed your fidelity.

You'd asked him to stop, begged, even. But your baser instincts willed your muscles to go slack, to twine your limbs around his, to give in with a satisfied purr, after the clink and hiss of the belt buckle, his jeans, his boxers. Then your brain would shriek, the sound jarring, echoing around your skull, the mantra of "stop, stop, stop!" singing through your blood.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in your ear.

You felt like a balloon, filled with air. Like you couldn't get any fuller, or else you would pop. Your arms had moved of their own accord—you didn't remember when your wrists had locked around the back of his neck, nor did you know when your nails had started to bite into his skin. Bucky seemed to like it, though. He stayed gentle with you, but gentle didn't mean shallow. It didn't mean quick, or thoughtless. Vast, infinite, unfathomable, were more fitting.

It turned out, you had not been at your capacity. Your detonation begot his, a collide of natural disasters. Devastation, you thought, painted white from the inside out. Damnation.

But the soft touches on your face, lips to your forehead, fingers stroking your hair back, didn't suit that description. Dedication. Devotion. That was what they felt like, as you fell into the bottomless dark.

"Dearly beloved…"

He would be leaving tomorrow. You would be safe in your home, though you didn't think you'd ever feel safe in your skin again. How could you? You stumbled out of bed groggily. There had been no drugs in your system this time, but your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, weariness the taste of ash. The bed was cold—he'd left sometime after you'd passed out. Left you there alone, naked, but at least he'd covered you up with your blankets afterward, had tucked you in, even. Listen to you, making an excuse for him, for finding the good in a bad situation. Your shoulders were hunched as you dressed back into your pajamas. You held your shorts for a moment, before putting them on. You felt the soft fabric between your fingers. You had half a mind to burn them, to see them blacken and disintegrate.

The pajamas didn't feel like enough, so you found your fluffy, pink bathrobe and swaddled yourself in it, tying its belt tightly at your waist, fluffing up its collar to hide your neck. You didn't know if he'd been careful about marks, or not. You couldn't bring yourself to make a pit stop to the bathroom, not yet. You didn't want to look into your own eyes. You didn't want to remember the explosion of stars in your head, after the second wave had taken you under, or over, or through. You remembered anyway. The memory tingled like you'd electrocuted yourself. You examined your hands. You remembered digging your nails into his nape. Your knees bumped together as you thought of them locked around his waist.

To the dining room, then. You could handle him for one more day, even if time was as slow as molasses. It would still pass.

Only, of course, you were the last one up. You trudged out into daylight, stark and gray through the windows. There were your parents, crowded around one end of the table, and there was your uncle, sitting there too. Bright smiles were exchanged at the sight of your unruly bedhead. "There you are," your mother said. At the sight of you, she stood and bustled to the kitchen to fix you a plate.

You sank into the empty seat beside hers, and across the table, Bucky demurely sipped from his coffee mug. As if he hadn't been inside your room, inside you mere hours ago. It seemed that it was much later than you'd thought; your extended family seemed to have all gone. How had you managed to sleep through the ruckus?

When your mother came back, a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in her grasp, your father said, "I think it's a great idea, by the way."

He said this to Bucky, not to you, as you woodenly shovelled food into your mouth. The conversation at the table turned to a buzzing drone, until you zeroed back in, who knows how long later. "She'll love that, won't you, Pumpkin?"

Pumpkin was your father's nickname for you. Your eyes slowly cast from the plate, the ring of roses printed on its edge, and up to your father. Your expression must have portrayed puzzlement, because your mother patted your shoulder good-naturedly. "Your uncle was saying that you'll be staying with him after your exams are over. You're going to help him fix up his house?"

She said it like this was a reminder about a topic that you'd already been aware of. All you could think was, no. But you couldn't summon the adrenaline, the fear, the horror at the idea. You had gone numb. So that was how he'd do it. He'd trap you up there all summer. And why would you say no? Your parents knew you had no plans after April—you'd thought maybe you'd get a job at the ice cream parlor, save up some money, but that hadn't been set in stone. It appeared that your future had been planned for you.

Your mouth opened, but before you could even think of an appropriate protest, you caught the hard, sharp gleam in your uncle's eyes. It was there and gone in a flash, like a trick of the light against his glasses, before he grinned at your father, your mother. "The old place need's a woman's decorative touch. I know I can trust our girl to do right by me."

He said 'our' but you heard 'my' anyway. You knew that was what he'd meant. And he knew that you knew, if the touch of his shoe against your foot, under the table, was any indication. A warning, a reminder, a promise, a threat, all rolled into one.

You thought back to the barbecue, last year. It had been at your aunt's house, and while the rest of your extended family had been bathed in sunlight, dotted around the lawn in folding chairs or laid out on the grass, your uncle had been hidden in the shade of the covered patio, a polite smile on his face as he sipped at his beer. It had struck you as odd, at the time, because one of the things you knew best about him was that he was an outdoorsman. Your dad and his many brothers, your uncles, including Bucky, had grown up camping and fishing. He might not have done much of that stuff anymore, but you were sure that that day's weather should have seen Bucky standing by the grill, turning over the burgers, or perched by the pool.

The realization felt like a bucket of icy water poured over your head. The only other person hiding out on the porch that day had been… you. Too engrossed in a summer romance you'd picked up from the library, only willing to go as far as the patio furniture and not one step more into the loud, lively family affair. He'd been there with you in mind. He hadn't done anything then, just stayed close. He'd asked if your book was any good, if reading was a new favourite hobby of yours. It had been a set of questions proposed in his usual, awkward manner, head ducking as he ran a hand over his hair, then glancing up with a shyness that would have been more at home on a teenager's smitten face.

You remembered this exchange as you watched your father pull out of the driveway, Bucky beside him in the passenger seat. He was gone, for now. But it was with a sinking certainty, for you, that he'd been a much more thorough planner than you'd thought, and you were sure that these months apart would only make the game that much more fun, for him.

Manipulation was a subtle game, as delicate as a silkworm's thread. Bucky was very, very good at it, he thought. Or he should have been. He had just been too overcome with lust over Christmas, something he chastised himself for. He was supposed to use that trip to lay the groundwork, to convince you to come to him this summer, of your own volition. But seeing you that day at the airport, feeling the warmth of your embrace, your soft body in his arms, the smell of your shampoo… He'd forgotten himself. He'd slipped.

Never mind, plans could change. And he'd managed it, anyway. His old house was in a rural area, a build from the 70s, in dire need of renovation. Of course, he could do much of it himself. But it was the perfect excuse to have you around. You were a helpful young lady, of course. You would probably have all sorts of ideas. After all, it would be your home someday, too.

He stood in the kitchen, the cracked linoleum peeling and yellow under his feet. Would you want tile, or wood? He could picture your silhouette, the shape of you, in front of the sink. You'd like the picture window, overlooking the backyard, the way it dipped off into the forest. He'd get you state-of-the-art everything, if you wanted. You'd pick it all out. He didn't think the walls would be green, anymore. Maybe you'd choose blue.

He'd rip up the old carpet in the living room. Refit the fireplace, so that it matched the mantelpiece. Install bookshelves on either side. You liked books.

The only thing he wouldn't compromise on would be the bedroom. Oh, you could decorate it however you liked, of course. But there would be no California king sized bed. Cozy nights together could only be achieved in something smaller. Closeness to you was a gift, and it was one he would cling to with everything he had. Someday soon, you would be falling asleep in his arms. He just didn't know how long that would take.

Spring began to mature into summer in a blink of an eye. You'd already felt that winter had slipped from your grasp, the snow melting into blossoms right when they were supposed to, though it had felt too fast, to you. And try as you might, you'd been fruitless in your attempts to find a way out of going to Uncle Bucky's house. You had willed your last exam to stretch and bend time like taffy, but you still found yourself blinking into the sunlight of your school's parking lot, other students talking about internships and backpacking trips instead of agonizing about the hottest months, the most hellish ones.

How fitting, to experience the devil's flame, the heat licking up your back in the shape of a tongue.

All too soon, your car was loaded up with a duffel bag and two suitcases. Your ticket and passport were safe in your mother's manicured hands, and you sat in the back, feeling like a kid again, as your parents drove you to the airport. They were all smiles, believing their baby girl to be having a gorgeous summer in a rural area, to see greenery and smell flowers and fresh air. To see wildlife and blue skies and rolling fields. They didn't know that those things would all take on shades of gray, for you.

The flight took no time at all, and as the plane descended, so did your mood. You hadn't thought it could get any lower, but you had discovered a rock bottom underneath the false floor in your head. The crowds of other travellers passed by you in a blur, a smudge of backpacks and crying babies, a smattering of languages and squeaky wheels. Your name in a scratchy scrawl, written across white card stock, jumped out at you from the crush of loved ones waiting to welcome their family members home.

There he was, no shame at all. A smile on his face, the calling card in one hand, a lopsided bundle of wildflowers in the other. You planned to roll your suitcases right past him, to force him to walk with you, or to lose you entirely, but your feet had stopped short, a few feet away. His eyes lit up, sapphire blue, pinning you in place.

Your uncle seemed more relaxed than you'd ever seen him, shoulders straight, posture loose. He tucked the card stock under his arm, and pulled you into him. You stumbled forward, brought into a hug that squeezed the air from your lungs. How was he so strong, only hugging you with one of his arms? His forearm, at that? It made you realize how gentle he really had been with you. How much worse it could have gone. "I'm so glad that you're finally here, sweetpea. We're going to have an amazing summer together, you and I."

It was murmured against your hair, and you could have sworn a horde of ants had crawled down your spine, making you itch. You no longer knew if it was a promise that held a double meaning, though you could guess.

You were mildly surprised by his car, a tan coloured Chevy, and an old one at that. Its interior was all brown leather, worn but clean. You wondered if he's restored it himself, but you didn't care to ask. You didn't want to humanize him. He'd taken your bags, spilled them into the backseat and the trunk, and switched on a cassette tape. You didn't hear the music, not really, too focused on the bluest sky you'd ever seen, through the windshield. The airport had been a tiny one, and there was nothing for miles around. You believed you'd be in the car with no one but him, for at least an hour. Probably more. You wanted to watch the speedometer, to see if he drove extra slow, to draw the moment out. Instead, you closed your eyes and feigned sleep, and prayed that he'd leave you be.

You did fall asleep, for a little while. The smoothness of the road giving way to gravel had roused you from your rest, and all at once it came crashing back to you, where you were. Blue sky, still, though the sun looked like a ripe orange, beginning its descent. Trees in varying shades of green. The gravel belonged to a long, winding driveway, amidst tall grass. They flung themselves against the sides of the car, ping! ping! ping!, greeting you as you drew closer to the house.

It was bigger than you'd thought—you'd assumed it was to be a bungalow. It was one story, but it was longer, a great big rectangle made of faded, sickly sage panelling. The shutters looked like they had been white once. The flowerbeds weren't overgrown, at least. It looked like your uncle had started on that, already. But as for the rest…?

The screen door, when you got to it, squealed like a piglet. The foyer, a box of a room, was dingy, but at least it was clean. Disrepair more than neglect, truth be told. You knew that your uncle was a bit of a neat freak. His glasses were always spotless, shoes polished, shirts neatly tucked into trousers. His footwear, you noticed, was lined up neatly against one of the walls. Bile rose in your throat as your own joined them.

You thought you would retch, when he opened one of the doors down the hall with flourish. It couldn't be, but… it was.

It looked like your room, at home. Ruffled bed skirt. Coverlet of quilted floral. You cast your eyes up, and… there. Glow in the dark stars. Nothing was a perfect match, but it was scarily close. The desk chair was painted white wood, and you were sure if you looked closer, you would see flowers across its back. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that Bucky almost looked bashful. "I wanted you to feel at home here," he said, shyly. "How did I do?"

He wanted your approval?

His earnestness made your stomach hurt. "It's certainly close," was all you could muster, but it seemed to do the trick, for a beaming smile was shot your way.

"I'll give you some time to unpack, and then we can have some dinner, alright?"

Unpack. Right. Because you were staying here for the foreseeable future. Was this how a spirit felt, watching as their corpse was lowered into the ground, covered by earth, sealed in a wooden tomb? You were choking on worms, feeling them crawl down your throat. If Bucky saw the glassy sheen over your eyes, he didn't comment.

The door closed with the quietest of clicks, and your sobs were muffled into the neckline of your sweatshirt.

Your first few nights made you feel like you were laying on a bed of nails. Every shift of the house settling made you wonder if tonight would be the night that he came into your room. You couldn't understand, when the sun broke over the hills in the morning, why he'd let you be.

In fact, since you'd gotten here, Bucky had been perfectly cordial. The first day had been his worst. But after that…? Maybe… Maybe it had all been a terrible mistake. Maybe something was wrong with him, and he needed help. Maybe that had been a break in a pattern, what he'd done to you. Sometimes you still felt the ghost of his breath on your mouth. But awake, standing in the same room as you, he stayed a respectful distance away. If he did touch you, it was to pat you on the back, or to help you down from the ladder, as you switched out light bulbs.

You were distracted, maybe, waiting and watching for signs, not allowing yourself to get lost in re-imagining his house. All that you had done so far was choose the light fixtures. He hadn't argued against a single choice that you'd made, so far. Had approved, complimented, smiled. Stood next to you, head tilted to the side, eyes closed, like he was trying to see what you did, the potential that could be fostered and grown. You could almost believe that everything was normal.

There was one blip in the system, so far, but it had been you more than him. You'd been standing at the sink. The sun had gone down, and the trees of the forest down the hill had looked taller, darker. Shadowy. You could envision all sorts of creatures of the night that could dwell in there. You hadn't noticed Bucky sidling over to you, your hands submerged in soapy water, fingers loose around a spoon.

When he ducked in your direction, you'd flinched and turned your head. Your brain told you that he'd been attempting something, though you didn't know what. But his gaze didn’t cloud over or darken when you recoiled. He just apologetically slid an empty glass into the water, skimming your hand, and then grabbed a dishtowel. "I'll dry," he said, and you wondered if you had been making him out as worse than he was.

"I'll go to the hardware store tomorrow and pick up some paint swatches, unless you want to come with me? That's probably a better idea—you'll know exactly what you want, I'm sure. Better than I will."

You didn't hear yourself mumble a faint agreement, but you must have, for your lips moved, and his eyes twinkled behind their frames.

Privately, Bucky smiled. He had infinite patience, unlike the first time. You were on his turf, a lost little lamb separated from the herd, after all.

Town was miles away, but the weather was nice, and so, then, was the drive there. Bucky had rolled the windows down and you'd gulped in the air, saw the fuzz of dandelions dancing in the breeze. Four-way stops were aplenty, here. There was a slightly bigger city, beyond, but most things that Bucky left home for were here, in a centralized zone with no more than ten streets.

The workers at the store, in their red polo shirts, knew him by name. They greeted him with smiles, and he did the same, pressing a light hand to your shoulder blades to steer you to the wall of swatches.

A riot of colour stared back at you. You stared blankly, before turning to him. "What colour schemes do you like?" Your voice sounded robotic, even to you.

"Oh, I'm easy, sweet girl. Whatever you like, we'll get." His hands rested in his back pockets.

"Really? What if I want to paint the whole house pink?" You hadn't meant to make a joke, but it had come out anyway, and he laughed.

Your heart did a cartwheel, unexpectedly. You'd never heard him sound so comfortable before. It was unlike the laughs you had heard from him in the past, surrounded by the rest of your family. It was unlike anything you'd heard at all. Rich, deep, smooth, like a first sip of coffee in the morning. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle, behind his glasses. You wondered if he laughed a lot, here in the town he called home. If happiness was the cause of the barest beginnings of crow's feet.

"Well, I'm sure we'll have the prettiest pink house for miles around," was his response.

You faltered, then. We'll instead of I'll, like you had a stake in this house, too. Like you'd stay to see the finished product. Like you'd stand in the renovated kitchen and toast to your success. You realized then, that you'd leaned towards him. You could feel his body heat through your shirt. You put deliberate space between you, then, picked up the closest handful of swatches, and pretended to ruminate over the different shades. You hoped that your shaking hands weren't obvious.

The days bled together.

The heat should have been sweltering, but Bucky kept you cool with a steady supply of water, chock full of ice, condensation dripping from the glass. It seemed like as soon as you'd finished one, he'd be standing next to you with another, holding it up to your mouth so that you wouldn't get lilac paint on anything but the shutters. He'd brush hair from your face, the touch casual, intimate, like he'd done it a hundred times before. Part of you wanted to shrink back, but the softness of his fingertips was pleasant. You almost wanted to tilt into it.

It was nice, for a time. Touches like that, you learned that you could handle. They were not a grope or a squeeze, a summoning to hold you closer. His hand would fall away and you'd track his movement, watch him swipe the back of it over his forehead. You heard yourself clicking your tongue. "Don't—you'll cover yourself in paint."

Your hands did not seem to be your own, as you lifted the white cloth you'd kept safe in your pocket, and dabbed at his face to wipe away the sweat. They seemed to be a stranger's, but they were your nails and your fingers and your knuckles. The sun couldn't overshadow the brightness of his teeth, the way they formed a perfect, satisfied smile.

The flowerbeds had you knee deep in dirt, as you pulled at stray weeds, keeping the chrysanthemums and dahlias free and clear. And your uncle would be right there with you, scratching your initials into the soil, then smoothing them over with a spade, like he was etching it into the very ground, letting it sink into the earth, an unfounded truth. It was boyish. You pretended not to see, and your feelings muddled, two street cats slinking into their respective corners after tangling together. Your steadfast trepidation was starting to crumble.

He plucked one of the flowers free and turned to you. It was slightly withered, not as strong as its siblings. He looked like a dork, a sparkle in his eyes as he tucked the stem into the front pocket of your overalls and fixed your sun hat. "A daisy for my daisy."

You held up a thistle. "This is all I can offer you."

Your voice was decidedly deadpan, and his laugh could be heard across the hills. "Whatever you give, I'll take, honey."

Slowly, new clothes began to appear in your wardrobe. One dress became two, became three, four… With each step of renovation completed, it seemed another was placed with care, tucked behind your other clothes. They were pretty, with skirts that would fan out if you spun. You didn't try them on. You didn't acknowledge them, either, but you searched Bucky's face every time you stepped out of your room in jeans and a t-shirt, instead of a dress, to look for anger, to look for spite. It was never there. Only a brightening of his features, like when you walked in, the lights had turned on.

Bucky had not kept many things from his childhood. You knew this, because there hadn't been much to go through when sorting through his belongings to 'donate, keep, sell, trash'. The bins you'd picked up with him at the store were only half-full. You felt like you'd brought more with you from home than he had in the whole house. You did find yourself cross-legged on the floor, however, on the area rug he'd put down over the spots where he'd ripped up the carpet.

The photo album was big, leather bound. James Barnes was etched into its cover. When you flipped through it, there were a few photos from childhood, a couple wherein you spotted your own father. Then there were a series of blank pages. Thinking that to be it, you resolved to close it and tuck it away, back in its place. The glossy plastic revealed one last photo, to your surprise.

Bucky, around your age. He was looking away from the camera, with what you believed to be a Walkman in one of his hands. Headphones covered his ears. He had a mustache. He didn't have one now. What struck you, though, was the way your heart had kicked into high gear. Handsome, if a little awkward, had popped into your brain. You traced his outline, the navy blue of his shirt. He was still handsome now, you thought, before banishing the idea. But if he'd looked this attractive back then, why had he never gotten married?

You wondered how old he had been when he had needed to start wearing glasses. The number of years it took before he had started to go gray at the temples, uneven streaks of it through the dark brown. You wondered, if you took him to a department store and got him new clothes, a haircut, and different glasses, how much younger he would look. Would he be angry, if you asked that of him? Would you finally see that switch, that part of him that you knew was lurking below the surface, a sleeping bear, waiting to be awakened?

You closed the album, and put it back in the cabinet.

The picture found a new home at the bottom of your sock drawer.

Bucky was not angry with you, when you'd casually asked about his attire. He'd looked down at his shirt, another plaid one, buttoned to the top, and chuckled. "I guess I am a few years behind. Are you going to give me a makeover?"

You acquiesced, because there was no way out of it now. You'd rolled the dice; it was time to play the game. "On one condition," he said, holding up a finger. "You can do whatever you want, but you have to wear one of the dresses I got you."

It seemed an easy enough trade. You picked the one that looked the least like a housewife's uniform, something that wasn't so form fitting, before leaving the half-finished house with him in tow.

It turned out to be easier than you thought. You stuck to neutral colours—no more plaid for him—and started weighing yourself down with shirts, jackets, jeans. You were eyeballing the sizes, but you knew that under all of that green checker, there was a chiselled body. You were reminded of this fact again when Bucky stepped out from one of the dressing room in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. The sleeves hugged his biceps. He seemed painfully self-conscious, eyes darting between you, the floor, and the long mirror stuck to the wall. "Do I look okay?"

It was a fight to keep your jaw hinged closed. You stepped forward and carefully took his glasses from his face, stood on your toes to mess up his hair. He should really stop with the gel, you thought. He looked better when it was wilder. He looked younger, too. "Put this on." You passed him a jacket, made of sturdy leather.

The effect was instantaneous. You half-expected women to come out of the woodwork, the second it settled over his shoulders. You stood side by side in the mirror. You noticed, belatedly, too busy staring at him, that you were both smiling.

A lady stopped on her walk past you, a baby in the shopping cart. She smiled, too. "How cute. Are you letting your girlfriend play dress-up?" She asked, like it was an inside joke.

Bucky slipped his arm around your waist, and to your shock, you let him. "Just a little bit. Anything to make her happy, right?"

The stranger and Bucky exchanged a laugh. Your face was still frozen in a rare state of happiness. A split second of contact had felt like a steel bar, holding you down, but it melted away into something else. Something like… security. Safety.

When the woman moved along, Bucky unfurled from you. He looked you right in the eye. And you said nothing except: "These glasses are outdated. We're getting you new ones. Maybe contacts, too."

You hated thunderstorms. The rain lashed down. It felt like the foundations of the house were going to come loose, that you and it were going to wash away down the hill. It was so dark, you could hardly see the silver needles falling from the sky, but you could hear them. The roof was tin, about the only thing that wasn't going to be replaced during this renovation, and it was a consistent rumble above your head.

Bucky should have been back already. He'd gone to the bigger city, the one further away, to look for a specific style of doorknobs that you'd had your heart set on. You huddled on the floor, a shiny hardwood that you'd picked out. The fire was lit, turning everything shades of orange and yellow and red. The new TV still hadn't been connected yet. There was no comforting lilt of a sitcom to soothe your nerves, and you didn't feel like perusing his music collection in his absence.

Thump, thump. You barely heard the sounds over the noise of the rain. They still made you jump, skittish. You hoped it was your uncle. It seemed an alien notion, to long for his company. But despite your complicated thoughts about him, you'd do anything for the feeling of safety. Company was better than loneliness.

When you undid the latch, pulling the heavy wooden door in, and pushing the screen door out, he stood before you, slicked with rain, despite the coat. His hands were full of bags of takeout, along with what you were sure were the doorknobs. He smiled at you, like he wasn't soaked to the bone. "I'm sorry I took so long, lovebug. Thought it would be nice to take a break from cooking tonight, hm? Help me bring these in?"

You noticed the other bag at his feet, and when you lifted it, you heard the clank of soda cans rattling around. Obedient to a fault, you obeyed his request, only alone while he shucked off his coat and boots. The low coffee table was to be your destination. Chinese food was laid out across the scratched surface, no worry about water rings from the Coke, because it was still a refurbishing project. Before you could pluck up a spring roll, however, Bucky leaned closer to you, brought a hand to your cheek. Was it a burn, or a balm? You were beginning to confuse the two. "You doin' okay? I remembered on my way home that you don't like storms."

"I'm fine. It's not so bad when I'm not alone." When you're with me.

"That's good. But hey, if you get scared when you're trying to sleep later, just come and get me, alright? I'll look after you."

Like you did over Christmas? The question in your head almost took on a longing quality. You shoved a roll into your mouth, trying to ignore the burn in your blood, the zing of electricity you felt in your skin. "Okay."

You thought of the way that animals showed their fear. How a horse's eyes would roll about their skull, showing the whites, the huff of nervous breaths from their soft snouts, the uneasy swish of their tails. Was that how you looked, trapped here? Or were you more similar to a fox, its dainty foot caught in a trap, shredding through skin, muscle, bone, terror seeping from its russet fur?

The nearest neighbour was a ten minute drive away. The nearest store, double that. Walking would take a while, and you had a feeling that you wouldn't be left alone long enough to make the trek. Your only chance at that would have been the night of the storm. And besides, Bucky could always spot you on his return. You shuddered to imagine him steering the Chevy onto the shoulder, the tires spraying up gravel. The way he'd be so eerily calm, you thought. His rage had only showed in intimacy, in your bed. He'd roll down the window, and say, "Get in," the passenger door cracked open when he'd lean across to push at the handle. And you would, because he had a car, a great, heaving machine with which to mow you down, and you only had your hands and your mind, and those were not nearly sharp enough to get you out of danger. So you'd get in that car. And you wouldn't know how bad the punishment would be, or when it would come. If it would. You had a feeling he would deliver justice on his own terms, not yours.

But your bigger fear was not about him. It was about you. Because what scared you more than that, than any of those runaway thoughts, was the bottom line: you found yourself not wanting to search for freedom. It scared you that you did not feel more scared of this realization. Fear of lack of fear. Why hadn't you escaped with his car keys on the first night? Put your foot on the gas and sped down the twist of the road, back to that airport? Gotten on the first flight to anywhere?

Instead, you picked up the feather duster again, ran the plumes through your hand. You tickled the mahogany mantelpiece with it, too spotless to really accrue dust, and touched your fingers to the edge of the gilded gold frame above it. The frame was empty, no pretty picture in its depths. It looked new, the glint of the floor lamp making it shine. That same lamp would turn the silver in his hair to strands of the gold, a perfect match. It had been engraved carefully, with swirls that reminded you of the sea. You could fit the curve of your fingernail into its grooves. You wondered how much it had cost him, if it would be too heavy for you to lift and steal, something to pawn if you crept out in the dead of night. Would the dew show the shape of your footprints?

You looked at its empty center. In a blink, you imagined a picture there. Horrifying, that your mind had conjured up the idea of one with both of you together. A family portrait, in more ways than one. The thought was a maggot, eating at your brain. And you were nurturing it, not expelling it. You were allowing it to burrow.

You heard the creak of the screen door. It made you jump, your shoulders hinging up near your ears, chin tucking down to your chest. The clunk, scrape! of the woodblock he used as a door stopper. Then a hum, a familiar tune. You remembered it, from the record he had played the first night you'd been here. The one he'd made you dance with him to, your hand clasped in his, your head against his shoulder. If anyone had seen your silhouettes through the threadbare curtains in the window, they would have thought you were a married couple, keeping your romance alive. But all you could focus on, at the time, were the lyrics of the song, crooned in a woman's voice, and then the echo of Bucky's, a whisper in your hair, a breath against your skin. You heard it now, "and we'll be together, forever and ever," as he came to stand in the archway. You spun towards him, the skirts of your dress whirling along with you. "Help me with the groceries, sweet girl? I'll give you a treat if you do. I picked it special for you."

He was wearing the new clothes you'd picked for him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather. His hair wasn't gelled back, his old glasses replaced with contacts. He looked like somebody's boyfriend.

Sweet girl. You'd come to like that name. No one else was called that, just you. Like pulling the stopper on a drain, your thoughts dispelled, and you moved to help, letting him tell you what he'd picked up. The raspberries went into the new fridge. The cabinets had been refinished, and everything fit tidily inside.

The treat turned out to be a caramel apple, one he unwrapped carefully and handed to you. "How is it?" He asked, on the first bite.

"It's sweet."

"Not as sweet as you."

You no longer liked your bedroom. Well, you'd never loved it. Nor the one back at your parents' house. It had been designed by your mother, and this one was a near-perfect copy. But it wasn't you. Bucky's bedroom, however, was almost finished. The walls had been painted a colour that was a bit more blue than gray. The bed was made of oak. The dresser, too. The rug was soft underfoot, because you'd thought about the bite of cold hardwood on a winter's morning, and decided that something should dull the ice. There were perhaps too many throw blankets, but Bucky hadn't minded. The lighting was gentle, warm, and you had insisted that he needed a tall plant in one of the empty corners, to "give life to the room".

But you studied your own, ruffles and pink and yellow. White wood and floral everything. It wasn't you, and it never had been. The only thing you'd ever picked for yourself had been… the stars.

When Bucky was out in town, you laid across his bed, arms stretched wide, as you looked at his starless ceiling. One of the blankets was faux fur, dotted like a fawn's coat. His pillows were so fluffed, you were surprised that they hadn't burst. Calm, this room said. Safe. Maybe you had designed it with yourself in mind.

You didn't doze, but you did get lost somewhere in your head, because you didn't hear the front door, only the slight creak of the floor by the room's entrance. From your periphery, you could tell he was watching you. "What are you doing in here?" It was posed playfully—he didn't actually have a problem with it.

"I wish this was my room."

Silence, for a minute. Then a couple of footsteps. He was still far away. "Do you?"

"I think I made it for me. Sorry." It wasn't a real apology, flat on your tongue. It was more an admission than anything else.

"You can have it. Anything I have is yours." The words were followed by the dip of the mattress, Bucky sitting on its edge. You would have to stretch your arm, your fingers, to brush the curve of his knee.

Silly thing was, you believed it. He would give you this room. He hadn't done anything, not really. What had happened over the winter had happened months ago, and miles away. It couldn't be explained. Honestly, you could have been treated worse. If you thought hard enough, you could think of guys that you knew who had been far less kind than he had been. If anything, once you had relinquished any shred of power you may have held, he'd treated you like gold. "Will you sit with me?"

He already was. He said as much, a hand resting on the fawn blanket. You flopped your arm over the bed, limp as a noodle. "Sit with me?" You asked again, and this time your wish was granted, because it hadn't really been sit. It had been forget the world, lay down beside me. And he did.

His shoulder brushed yours, after your folded your hands over your ribs. Now you both stared at the empty ceiling. "Would you like stars in here?" He whispered.

"I don't think I need them. Not when I have you."

Tentative and delicate, it felt like a first date, or a dance at the prom. The sheets were pale gray, a shade darker than a dove's wing. They felt cold. The A/C was on high. If you hadn't been outside cleaning the windows today, you would have never believed that it was the height of summer. One side of the sheets flipped down, then the other. A mirror image, you on the left, and Bucky on the right, climbing into the bed, pulling the blankets up. All the throw blankets were on your side. Your side. His contacts were gone, replaced by his new frames. Black, stylish. He propped himself against the headboard and picked up the book on his nightstand. The lamps were twin suns, dialed down to their gentlest setting.

A list ran through your head—the physical one had been left in the living room. Tiles for the bathroom. A new sink and counter top. What about a vanity? Towels. Shower curtain, unless you installed a glass door. His closet needed more shelving. You wanted to showcase his vinyl collection in the living room, the cassettes too. So many things to do, still…

"You're thinking very loudly, over there."

Bucky's voice interrupted you, working hard in your ideas factory. "I left the list on the coffee table."

He was already sliding his bookmark into place. "Do you want me to get it for you?"

"No, it's okay. We're already here. It can wait for tomorrow." You snuggled deeper under the covers, pulling them high, up to your chin. You fumbled one hand out from under them to tap blindly at the nightstand, before you grabbed and pulled at your lamp's chain. Darkness swallowed your side of the room.

We're already here. How quickly you had gotten used to we, and our. Our home, our living room, our bed…

You heard Bucky slide his book across his own nightstand, the rattle of his own lamp's chain. Complete blackness. No stars in sight. You rolled onto your side; he did the same. Your pinkie brushed his. You thought was an accident, until it happened again. Shy, a question.

Less shy, your answer, inching closer.

The closing statement, a hand slipping through the dark to land at your waist, to pull you into orbit. Earth and sun, a steady stratosphere.

Lips on the crown of your head.

And finally, sleep.

The stars were taken down. The bed frame, desk, chair, given to a family in town that needed them. Your room, or rather, your old room, was to be whatever you wanted. A library, a music room, a guest room, with your own vision in mind… the world was your oyster.

The barrier had toppled over. It wasn't with some great sweeping storm, a hurricane ripping it away by its nuts and bolts. It wasn't some bloody, knock-down fight. It was a biodegradable decomposition, instead. You were waking up in Bucky's arms every morning. Sometimes he would kiss you, and you would let him, your lips molding to his, your fingers running through his hair. He'd whisper things into your skin. They sounded like oaths, to you.

You were never alone. Trips to town were made together. Sometimes, hand-in-hand. You'd wash dishes, he'd dry. He'd twirl you around the living room while a record played. The house wasn't finished quite yet, but it didn't matter.

Sometimes you heard a buzz in your head, like a fly. A quiet, weak warning. But what about… You shouldn't… This is…

But you'd bat it away, and it would fade.

This house was cozy, lived in, and yours. You tasted the air when it started to change, when the breeze would carry a chill. College was calling, and so were your parents. But you'd begun to think… What if you did your schooling online, this year? What if you found one closer?

What if you stayed?

Explanations were ready on your tongue: the house wasn't finished yet, it was more than Bucky could manage. You liked the area, you weren't ready to leave. The change of scenery was refreshing, and no one else in your family lived on this side of the country. He was by himself here. He needed you.

Your fingertips tapped on the kitchen table. It was round, dark wood. The vase at its center was full of dahlias, the ones from the flowerbed by the front door. Your laptop lay closed in front of you. Your lip was caught between your teeth, a nervous hum in your body.

"Lonnie said he could get us a quote at a discounted rate for the plumbing in the bathroom," you heard from down the hall. He was back.

You didn't answer, your back to the open arch. You only turned when Bucky padded into the room, stopping short. "What's the matter?"

Did you looked worried? You didn't know. You must have. "It's about… It's about school."

He stood straight, like an arrow. It made him look taller. You saw his throat move when he swallowed, like you'd handed him a bitter pill.

"I want to defer for a year."

"I—you—what?"

"The bathroom reno is gonna take longer than we planned—"

"You're gonna—"

"—If I want to get that marble tile, it's not going to be finished until October—"

"—put off school—"

"—And then we really should talk about the basement—"

"Angel."

You stopped your explanation. Looked up into azure flames. "I want to stay."

"You want to stay." Bucky echoed the sentiment.

"I want to stay. Is that okay?" Now you looked down, at your hands. Your fingers twisted in your lap. What if he… didn't want you to?

An obscure worry slammed into you like a train. Had every single interaction been read completely wrong? You no longer knew which way was up, or which way was down. Everything was water. Above your head, below your feet, no matter which direction you swam.

"You want to stay. With me?"

You nodded, foolish tears pricking your eyes. Had you made a mistake? Fingers on your chin—you didn't know when he'd gotten closer. Crying was embarrassing. You sniffed, not meeting his eyes, even as he tilted your face up. His thumb wiped stray salt water away. "My darling girl. This is your home. Of course you're staying."

You saw it then, when you looked at him: certainty. Like there had been no other answer. Like you'd both swiped a knife over your palms and scattered blood over this land, signed it as yours together, and so it would stay that way, and you would stay too. Stay with him. You'd be with him. You'd be together… forever and ever.

The kiss was sweet—you tasted like raspberries. It dissolved into laughter, breathless and nonsensical.

Staying.

Staying.

You were staying.

But not in this room, not at this table. As soon as you stood, Bucky lifted you, strong hands under your thighs. They locked around his hips like you'd done it before, muscle memory you didn't know you had. Unsteady kisses and unsteady breaths were the road map to his bedroom—your bedroom.

The blankets were soft under your body. The sunlight cast you in gold. "Bucky," said like a prayer.

"I'm here," said like a vow. "I'm with you," said like a promise. "You're mine," pressed into your skin with a sinner's mouth.

Your dress had buttons down the front, a tie at the waist. It was as easy to unwrap you as it would be a gift. It rippled off the bed like a cascade of water, a pool of blue over the rug. Blue everywhere. Blue on the floor, on the walls, in his eyes. Blue, blue, blue.

But you felt all shades of red, burning hot from head to toe. A kiss like a bruise, and then a caress. A bite at your neck, followed by the slide of Bucky's tongue. "My sweet girl, mine. Knew it all along. Knew you loved me." He pulled away from you, hovered above you. "Say it. Say you love me?"

Another time and place, worlds away, those words demanded from you as you fought for consciousness. Snow had been falling, then. Now, it was all sunbeams and the twittering of birds. "I love you."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

The most blinding smile you'd ever seen, followed by a pledge. "I love you, too, my darling girl."

Now it was your turn to unwrap your gift. Off came the shirt. You didn't know where it went—it could have grown wings and flew, for all you cared. The same belt with the star buckle. The metal was warm in your hands. Warmed by the friction of your bodies. A successful tug had it sliding from the belt loops with a sigh. Button, zip, pull.

Bare, both of you, and you remembered fear, but it had faded like a photograph left to the elements. Try as you might, you couldn't summon it, now. All you felt was want. All you wanted was completion, belonging. Your thighs were slick, and it was painfully obvious. About as obvious as Bucky's own want. Suddenly the fire was gone, replaced by a timid, mousy reach of your hand, closing around him.

The sharp intake of breath made you pause. Had you done it wrong? But when you focused on Bucky's face, his eyes had fallen shut, his jaw slack. You moved experimentally, then paused, waiting for…

"Good girl. You're makin' me so happy. Just like that."

You got the rhythm down, the twist of your wrist, your hand. The words poured over you like summer rain. But you kept looking at Bucky's face, kept listening to the sounds that kept falling from his mouth like music notes. Whatever had happened in the winter was not the same as what was happening now. You wanted to hear more.

Just when you thought you would see his great undoing, his hand closed over yours, and you stilled. "I don't want to… not yet. Not now."

Bucky put your hand in his, and brought it up to his mouth. He kissed your knuckles, his eyes on yours. "It'll be different this time. You know what you want now, huh?"

A submissive nod, your hair loose about your face. A kiss to your palm, next. "Just took you some time. That's okay, I'm patient. I knew this day would come eventually."

He liked to talk during this carnal act, you remembered. But it would be different now. He was right; you had only needed to come around to his way of thinking. He laid you back, and your head hit the pillow. Your legs jolted after he spread them, running his fingers across your folds like he was playing an instrument. You'd be making some sort of noise, soon. His fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. It made you quiver, the electric current that seemed to shock you as he coated himself in your wetness. "Better than last time. You want me."

"Please."

"All you gotta do is ask nice, baby. I'll give you the world." A serene smile, a brush against your clit.

"Please, I want you," your voice sounded thin, "please."

He was all the way in before the last word had entered the air, and you were hip to hip, chest to chest, your shriek swallowed by his mouth. He laced your fingers together. "Good? Or do you need time?"

You could only respond by squeezing his hand, a low whimper caught in your throat. He answered aloud for you. "Good. Fuck, I've been waiting for months to feel you again."

One roll of his hips, then stillness. "Knew from the first time that you were for me."

Roll, pause. "Knew you were special."

Roll, pause. "You're my girl. So special."

Slow as a wave at sunset, and as deep as the ocean. Bucky kept you in the tide, far from the sand. This was your real first time together, you decided. The others didn't count. He'd had problems with control, and that was fixed, now. You were the only girl in the world, the only one that mattered. He only stopped murmuring praise to kiss you, and your free hand tugged at his hair with each particularly deep stroke, one that made your heels dig into the plush of the bed. You could feel the fur of the fawn blanket tickling the soles of your feet.

Everything had narrowed to him. What was he to you? There was a definition that the rest of the world knew, but you forgot what it was. All you knew was yours and mine.

"We're gonna go together, sweet girl. Wanna feel you with me. Got it?"

"Yes." The word was broken in half.

His hand untangled from yours to smooth your hair back from your face. "Good girl," he cooed, "let go for me."

Like a one-two punch, milliseconds apart, your body spasmed around his. A groan by your ear, teeth on your lobe, and a burning spill. Liquid metal, red hot, poured into a mold. You were floating away on a cloud. Your stomach lurched, but you didn't feel sick. You felt full of butterflies, full of him, full of possibility.

You were staying.

You were staying, and so you wouldn't have to try to capture this feeling, to bottle it up, because you'd get to experience it again, in your bed, in your home. The rest of your thoughts were whisked away a kiss that was so wet, you weren't sure if one or both of you were drooling.

Then Bucky laid beside you, and you stared at the ceiling again, your skin sticky, arm pressed against his.

"You've never needed the stars. You've always been the brightest one."

The fear you'd felt, or thought you felt, when you'd wake up at night, the worry that you'd turn over, towards the door, and see a shadow in its arch, had banked like embers in a cold fireplace. Your terrors had become less. You didn't know when it had happened, when it had crossed to another feeling. What was it? It felt like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't place it. Was it… safety? Now a darkened doorway meant you weren't alone. When had that become a comfort?

It meant that someone had arrived, that somebody had walked down the wood panelled hall, turned the brass knob. That they'd mimicked you, followed your path. And that they—he—would keep following it, taking the same proverbial fork in the road. He'd round the bed. He'd climb under the covers, dove gray. He'd find you there, in the black night, as if you'd been lit from the inside out, a flame in a glass jar. Once, that had felt like the blade of a guillotine balanced across your neck, the hands of death grasping at your wrists, your ankles.

Now, you tucked yourself into the warm touch, grasped for it like an alcoholic would with a bottle. Now, those arms meant shelter. That heartbeat was a song on a station tuned to you, and you alone. You would feel hands in your hair, lips at your jaw, your shoulder, your temple, and you'd be whisked to the land of dreams. Fear didn't exist there. Maybe it never had.

You scanned the copse of trees beyond the window. The wind blew, and you could see the rustle of the leaves, could imagine the whistle of the cool air. Fall was coming. Those leaves would be turning yellow, soon. Confusion, a fleeting panic, like a startled deer running through the forest, galloped across your brain. The dishes were put away, and you moved into the living room, all warm browns and handcrafted furniture. And then… an almost pleasant numbness, a radio's static gone silent. You fixed the picture above the mantelpiece, and you smiled.

Why had you ever been so afraid?

[charliesinbox]

dirtbag older brother! bucky x innocent!reader cw: incest, corruption kink, handjob, blowjob

your dirtbag older brother!bucky has always been the bane of your existence. it's bad enough that nobody wanted to touch you with a ten-foot pole in high school, that same reputation follows you to your freshman year at the same university where he's a senior.

it's not as if you have any problem catching the attention of cute boys you're interested in; in fact, you draw eyes wherever you go with how you always look saccharine sweet. a purity to corrupt.

no, the problem lies in the fact that, once a boy catches wind that dirtbag bucky barnes is your brother, they hightail it out of there. they don't want to end up with a loser's sister or risk catching bucky's fist. as much of a misfit as he is, bucky also has a temper and a protective streak when it comes to his sister who can barely give him the time of day.

some may say he has a bit of a sister complex. you just think he's an asshole.

unfortunately for you, being in the same university means you can't avoid bucky entirely. not when your mom sends you on errands to keep bucky alive.

take today for example. you stand in front of the gross house where he and his friends live. your sharp, pristine heels and your pretty pink mini skirt a direct contrast against the run-down structure with peeling paint, creaky floors, and the unmistakable scent of weed.

you crinkle your nose as you take careful steps up the front porch and knock. there's loud music playing from the inside. god, you hope none of his loser friends are in there too. they always look at you with too much attention. not the kind of attention you want.

when nobody answers, you decide to twist the knob and — of course these dumbasses don't even lock their door. you sigh and walk in. the stench of junk food immediately infiltrates your senses, the banging music is ridiculously deafening.

"bucky!" you try to call out. no answer. nobody even comes to the door. your skin itches with irritation — or perhaps the dirty air, you can't tell.

you want to get out of here. stat. so you stomp your pedicured feet up the stairs to the room with the sign that says BARNES. KEEP OUT! you roll your eyes. is he still in grade school with this immature sign? you bang your fist against the door.

"bucky!"

no response. you're going to murder him. you push open the door, once again unlocked, to find bucky there.

only it isn't just bucky. he's alone, yes, but it's bucky wearing practically nothing. it's bucky with his fist around his cock, the tip peeking out from between his fingers, and his pants shoved down to his ankles.

"jesus christ, buck!" you cry out, slamming the door shut again.

"shit—" you hear from inside. then there's scrambling and stumbling before the door opens again and bucky opens the door with his jeans pulled up, still unbuttoned and his hipbones peeking from above. only a loser like him still hangs his jeans that low. "what the fuck? don't you knock?"

"i did," you grit out, cheeks still warm from what you just saw, and shove the plastic bag in your hands into his. "mom wanted me to pass you medicine."

your mom can't have her poor baby boy sick after bucky mentioned a light sniffle so she armed you with a bagful of meds to pass to your brother.

"great," he spits out. "is that all?"

"a thanks would be nice, dick."

"you interrupted my jack-off, princess. i'm not thanking you for shit."

"you didn't answer!"

"i had my dick in my hands, in case you didn't notice."

"i fucking noticed."

that seems to pique his interest. his ears perk up, a slow smirk curling on your lips when he finally documents the abashed expression on your face.

"yeah? noticed my dick, did you?"

"oh fuck off."

"it's not like it's the first time you've seen a dick, grow up," bucky snaps and that only makes your chest tighten in embarrassment. your lips press together stubbornly as you look away. bucky seems to delight in that further. "or is it? you've never seen a dick before, little sis?"

you throw him a glare. "grow up."

"i have. clearly you haven't. my cute virgin little sister."

"you're so gross."

"you know, if you wanted to see it, you could just ask," bucky smirks, leaning against the doorway.

your lips part. for a second, you almost say yes. it's not because it's bucky, it's pure curiosity. you've never seen it and at the rate you're going with bucky around, you're going to be the only virgin freshman around. all your friends have lost theirs within the first week and — here you are, two months in and not any closer.

"over my dead body."

bucky licks his lips, eyes trailing over you in your tight white tank top that accentuates your waist and your tits, a tantalizing cleavage that peeks from the top hem. your bare legs exposed from where your skirt ends at a dangerously low length.

"quit looking at me like that. you're disgusting."

"well, you're the one who wants to see my dick."

"i never said that!"

"didn't have to, princess. c'mere." before you can protest, bucky's fingers wrap around your wrist to tug you into his room, the door closing fast behind him.

heat spreads all through your neck. "bucky, i don't— no, this isn't right."

"and you're all about what's right, aren't you, baby sis? aren't you just a little bit curious? you don't want to see what a real man's dick look like? not just a peek like earlier, see my full, fat cock."

"a real man? yeah right," you snort.

you're about to argue again, but bucky doesn't give you a chance because then he's shoving his pants down. his cock stands proudly, thick and long, bouncing against his stomach. it's almost... pretty. you hate to say it but it's clean, it's long. the veins run along it in an intricate pattern that almost tempts you to run your tongue along it—

you snap out of it quickly, slapping a hand over your eyes. "bucky!"

his chuckle rumbles through his chest and his hand grabs your hand again to peel it off. "don't be scared. go on. take a look. i can't have people thinking my baby sis is a virgin. what kind of big brother would i be?"

"you're such a pig!"

"yeah, you're telling me you don't like it?"

the words catch in your throat. you can't tell him that, because you'd be lying. and you're anything but a liar. so you swallow thickly and clamp your glossed lips shut.

"that's what i thought," bucky says smugly. "you can look you know. i won't bite. you can even touch it if you want."

"you're so sick. you're my brother."

"and you're a princess," he snips right back with a roll of his eyes. "who better to try this out with than your big brother?"

you wince when bucky begins to direct your hand over to his cock. your hands are warm, palms sweaty from your nervous, beating heart. bucky guides your fingers to wrap around his length and you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the weight of his cock on your hand. as you do so, bucky releases a guttural groan.

"that's it, sis. touch your brother's cock."

it should stop you. that icky feeling inside of you only festers. it should gross you out, holding your own brother's cock. and it does, but you can't seem to stop yourself. not when bucky starts moving your delicate hand along his length, not when he starts fucking up into your balled fist.

"ah, fuck, sis, that feels so good. your hand's so tiny. so fucking small compared to my cock."

"s'not that small," you mumble, looking away.

bucky's free hand catches your chin, turning you to look at his dick in your hand again. "don't look away, princess. watch me fuck your hand. watch me take your handjob, virginity, hm? never seen a cock before right? look at you now, already jerking one off."

"you're so sick," you say weakly.

"you're just as sick for enjoying this. like brother, like sister."

bucky doesn't relent, his fingers moving on top of your own as more moans spill from his lips. he mutters about how good your soft fingers feel, how he should use your hand from now on to jerk off. because you'd do that for him, wouldn't you? you're his sweet little sister. the good one. you'd take real good care of him.

"bucky," you whine, legs pressing together.

"now that you've had one of these in your hands, want to try it in your mouth?"

you freeze, eyes flaring in panic. "n-no, i don't think i'm ready for that."

"course you are, baby sis. come on." bucky pulls you along to his bed. he seats himself on the edge. "on your knees."

you balk. "are you kidding me? i'm not hurting my knees for you."

"sis, if you don't stop your yapping, i'm gonna fuck your mouth so hard, you're going home with mascara down your face and a bruised throat. pick your poison."

at that, you blanch. bucky yanks you to your knees, your hands landing on his thighs as you come face to face with his cock. it's a lot more intimidating up close. the length of it — "i don't know if i can fit that in my mouth, buck," you whimper.

"yeah, you can, baby. slowly." bucky cups your jaw, his thumb slipping in between your lips to open them. your gloss is sticky on his fingers, but he's more focused on pressing his thumb down on your tongue to open up your jaw further. "fuck, look at this little mouth pussy. bet it's so tight. maybe you can't fit it all in your mouth, but you can try. that's what you're good at, isn't it? good at doing your best."

bucky licks his teeth as he uses one hand to keep your mouth pried open and the other to position his cock at your lips. the sight of his bulbous tip tapping your lips is enough to have him groaning. he resists the urge to thrust into your mouth, instead easing it in gently.

"relax your lips, baby sis. don't need to be so tense. just relax." you slacken your jaw as bucky pushes in slowly. the slow glide of your tongue under his cock has him muttering a quiet fuck. "your mouth feels so good, baby. so fucking hot, so sweet."

his words coax you slowly. "just keep your mouth open. your older brother will do all the work, yeah? tongue down, want it on the underside of my cock. relax your jaw. no teeth." he hisses when he feels the graze of it.

your gaze shoots up to meet his in apology. bucky nearly cums from that look alone. your pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, stretching around his girth.

"that's it, you're doing so well," he coos, "you can take more." he starts pushing in deeper and deeper. each time he slides in, he goes a little further. until he touches the back of your throat and he's buried to the hilt.

you choke a little but you're stubborn so you steel your nerve and straighten your back with a mouthful of your brother's cock.

fuck. "shit, you look so good, princess. on your knees for me. lips around my fat dick. look at you taking your loser older brother. mouth pussy virginity's gone for me," he chuckles low.

bucky rises to his feet and tangles his fingers in your hair, shoving you down on his cock again and again. this time, you do scramble for purchase. tears prick your eyes as bucky's cock reaches deep into your throat. he likes the sight of it — your tears, your gagged whines, pretty pink nails scratching his thigh.

"that's right. take it like the good girl you are. suck your brother's cock. you're doing so well, baby sis. training you real good for whoever fucks your mouth next. bet you they can't fuck your throat as good as me. next time you want your mouthful, next time you want to taste cock, you come right back here."

you try to shake your head but bucky doesn't let you. he's relentless in his thrusts. his hips stutter when he sees your thighs squeezing together, like your poor pussy's lacking attention and chasing some form of friction. god, bucky imagines spreading those pretty legs on his sheets, burying his nose in between your legs. he'll smell your perfume and taste the sweetness in your cunt.

"f-fuck, little sis, i'm gonna cum. your mouth feels so fucking good. sucking dick like a champ. first time doing this and you've got your big brother cumming in your mouth. you want it, don't you? want me to fill this pretty mouth with my cum?"

once again, you try to deny him but bucky doesn't care. not when he's so close. he can feel his balls full, his dick stiff with need. your mouth is fucking warm, a tight enclosure around his cock. and you with your tears running down your face.

"buck, you in there?"

bucky jerks his hips a little too hard and you choke, gasping a little bit. he shushes you, burying his cock deeper in your mouth.

"yeah, what's up, stevie?"

"we're gonna head to the basement to practice. you ready?"

almost. so fucking close. "gimme a few minutes."

"a few— buck, we got that gig tonight. we have to—"

"i fucking know," he snarls, "just... give me a few. i'll meet you guys downstairs." bucky looks down at you and your panicked eyes. god forbid your princess self gets caught with your brother's cock in your mouth. your reputation surely wouldn't survive that.

maybe it's not such a bad idea. it would alienate you from everyone else. no one else to turn to except for your good older brother bucky. he'll keep you in here, have you practice everything on him. all your first times. bucky wants all of them.

steve mutters his agreement and bucky hears his footsteps disappear down the hall.

bucky groans low and begins earnestly fucking your mouth again. "stevie doesn't even now, he has no idea it's my perfect little sister sucking my cock. my baby sister taking her brother's filthy cock in her pretty mouth. i'm so close, little sis. so fucking close. i'm gonna cum. gonna cum down my sister's throat." his words are the last straw before he's spilling ropes and ropes of cum down your throat.

you whine as the taste hits your tongue. a little bitter, a little sweet, a little bucky. you try to push him off but bucky keeps his hand on the back of your head to make sure you take every last drop of his cum.

"swallow it."

you shake your head, mouth still full.

"fucking swallow it, baby sis. ain't gonna let you go until you do. learn how to pleasure a man properly. you always gotta swallow."

another whine. but you know he means it based on the look in his eyes. so your throat moves as you swallow around his cock, the cum sliding down your throat and into your gut.

that icky feeling returns. the shame settles in fast. bucky smirks.

"good job, little sis. let's do that again sometime."

a/n: requested by anon for "Can u write older college brother!bucky who’s a dirtbag, he shows innocent reader how to suck his cock <3 💖" + similar request from @bucksbunne i enjoyed writing this way too much! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/cursed-carmine

[flyhighlittledove]

ohhh my goddd 🥴🥴

[flyhighlittledove]

AGAIN!

[charliesinbox]

older brother!bucky x female!reader cw: 18+ mdni, incest, noncon (mentions of rape), drugging, creampie, almost caught

coming back home from a day at college and smelling something in the kitchen. you think it's your mom, but it's actually your older brother bucky at the stove.

"mom and dad's not going to be back until later. dinner's almost ready so just get settled in," he smiles.

"thanks, buck."

then bucky serves dinner and he asks you about your day, and you ask him about his. and you're talking and eating and at some point, it all goes black.

you don't know exactly when you fall asleep. all you know is when your eyes slowly blink open, you feel warm. and full. and tingly all over. your nerves are spiking but you can't exactly move. your limbs feel so, so heavy.

your head lolls back from where you're seated up but then you jolt when you get bounced. hard.

"oh, you're waking up already, little sis?"

bucky's voice. it's bucky. it sounds like him. but it's not his usual softness. not the usual calm. he sounds a little breathless, but more than that, he sounds... mean?

"b-buck?" your words are slurred, letters stringing together messily. clinging to each other but not glued. your tongue feels like lead in your mouth.

"yeah, baby? what's wrong?"

"i—" the words die in your throat when you realize bucky is underneath you. your body is slumped on top of his where the two of you are seated in what you recognize is the couch.

the living room is a blurry image, bucky's face an unclear visage. your body is still a little numb but that's also when you realize the persistent ache between your legs.

he's— oh— "buck, what're you doing?" at least you think that's what you ask, you're not sure. it comes out garbled.

bucky chuckles low, leaning forward to press his lips warm against your neck. "baby's too fucked up to talk huh? can't tell if it was the drugs or the fact that i'm fucking you stupid."

your heart jumps against your ribs. did he just say— "buck, w-what—"

"'w-what' god, you're such a fucking baby, sis. thought i put in a good dose in there but clearly isn't enough. doesn't matter, i like that you're awake now. your pussy's been soaking me for an hour already. even when you're not conscious, your body knows what it wants. you're such a fucking slut, little sis."

the protests spill from your lips automatically. an instinct. because you're not. you're not! you've slept with one boy your entire life. you don't do hookup culture on campus. you're good.

"now look at you, leaking all over your older brother's cock," he hisses. "you this wet with everyone? or did you body just know it was me? was your body craving your brother's cock? is that it?"

"n-no. wasn't meeee."

"maybe it's finally learned to recognize me from all the nights i've fucked you while you're out cold, hm? your body finally knows who i am. finally remembers me."

that jerks you slightly more awake, but not quite. you're still draped over him and the pain between your legs persist. you can't move. it's frustrating and all you can do is groan.

"oh now you like it? like that your big bro's fucking you like this? my cock's so fucking hard watching you leave today. you and that tiny little skirt. i can't imagine what you do in school all day, all the boys you talk to. ya let any of them touch you?"

you shake your head weakly. "nooo. never."

"good, good girl," he murmurs, too sweet aside from the fact that his fat cock's splitting your pussy open. "only your big brother can have you like this, yeah? promise me. won't let anyone else in there."

"b-buck, please."

"please what?"

"please let me go," you manage to wring out of your throat.

bucky laughs. his fingers are bruising on your hips. your clothes are still fully on, he's merely flipped your skirt up, pushed your panties to the side, and sank you down on his cock. "why would i do that, baby? you feel so good warming my cock. i usually only get you at night but god, seeing you in the light. your mouth open and drooling all cute. your pussy's squeezing me tight."

"this is wrong, buck. so wrong," you moan out, but you can no longer tell if the sounds you're making are a complaint or an expression of how his words ring true.

he feels good. so, so good inside you. his cock is warm and thick. you feel so full. the friction that's left sparks fires inside of you.

"y'keep saying it's wrong but your pussy won't let me go. cute cunt of yours is squeezing me tight, swallowing my brother cock up. so tell me, does it feel good?" you can only whine and his hand lifts to slap your cheek, waking you up further. "answer me."

"f-feels good," you admit, your drug-addled brain can't seem to find it in you to formulate a lie.

"that's right. it feels good to have your brother's cock inside. so it can't be wrong. why would something that feels so good be wrong?"

he's right. right? why would it be wrong? it's just your brother.

bucky starts fucking up into you in earnest and cries spill from your lips as he does so. when you start to feel your fingers again, they crawl up his neck to tug at the hair at the base of his head. bucky groans when you do so.

"look at you, my little sister's a fucking slut. you're a whore for your brother's cock. even if i've been raping you all this time, you don't care, do you? you like me raping your little cunt?"

fuck. there's something in the way he explicitly lays it out.

"oh, you like that. you like hearing that your brother's raping your tight, wet pussy? i can tell you that all day, baby. i can tell you about all the nights i put a little something into your dinner. i can tell you how many times i've licked the cream from your cunt. i can tell you the first time i stretched this pussy wide open. you bled on the bed you know. tight cunt. you thought it was your period but it was me tearing your pussy open."

"how long? how m-many times?"

bucky laughs, the sound vile. but the icky feeling doesn't deter you from him, instead it makes you lean into his touch as your lips brush over his.

"i've lost count. been months," he smirks as he finally kisses you. his tongue slips into your mouth, pressing against yours, as he holds you tighter, fucks up into you harder.

in the distance, you can hear a car rumble. an engine that comes closer and closer until it pulls to a stop.

"b-buck, mom and dad—"

"i know so you better cum fast, sis. you don't want them seeing you like this do you? bouncing on your brother's cock like a whore."

"n-no. we have to stop."

of course, bucky doesn't listen to you. he continues to pound into you, pace working a fever. his moans begin to stutter, syllables fraying as he grinds up into you. he can feel the telltale signs of your orgasm too, even if you can't.

because he's done this. he knows what you sound like, the whimpers, the whines, when you're about to cum. he knows what you feel like, how your pussy clenches twice around him, pulsing around his cock.

"that's right, sis. come on."

you hear the key turn. your heart jumps, your pussy squeezes, and then you're coming apart around him. bucky's own hips jerk as he spills and paints your insides white.

it's warm. everything is so warm. his cum inside you feels hot, your skin feels sticky.

"we're home!"

that's the last thing you need to fully wake up. you try to scramble off his lap but bucky keeps you there with a low groan, fingertips pressing down in warning into your hips.

"stay fuckin' still. my cum's inside you. gonna make sure it stays there."

from this angle, they only get the back of the couch. they can only see you on top of bucky but nothing else. they can't see how your pussy is still tightening and loosening around his cock, the last of your orgasm wracking through you. they can't see your brother's cum starting to leak out of you.

"they're—" you try again.

"aw look at them," your mom coos. "you know, i thought that once you were off to college, you wouldn't want to spend time with your brother anymore. never had to worry, did i?"

you raise your head weakly and nod. "don't worry, mom. i love spending time with my big brother."

a/n: woke up wet and horny and tada. unproofed. hope you enjoyed. if you do, don't forget to like/comment/reblog. everything is appreciated ୨ৎ — divider by @/enchanthings

[flyhighlittledove]

Monthssss??? How is she not pregnant ??? Soooo hotttttt

[charliesinbox]

dad!bucky x female!reader - jacking off on facetime cw: incest, virtual masturbation, dubcon voyeurism

weekly calls with your dad!bucky are not out of the ordinary. he likes to hear about your week so you dedicate a good hour of your sunday usually to give him a quick update of how college life is going.

it's only been you and your dad for so long, you know how much it pained him to let you go to school out of state, but you never fail to remind him that you're still his baby girl.

"tell me about your week, honey."

he doesn't ask for much. he just likes hearing your voice. most of the time he sits there all quiet, shifting in his seat a little bit, but ultimately his entire focus is solely on you. you're telling him about some of your classes for the week, some of the parties you've been going to.

bucky freezes when he hears that. "parties? are you being safe? are you drinking?"

"dad," you groan, "i'm fine. i drink a little bit but i always get home safely."

"you're not... dating yet, are you?"

another groan. "dad! no."

"and you'd tell me if you are?"

"yes, dad."

"good girl. you're my little girl, you know. i can't have random boys i don't know putting their hands on you."

heat rises to your cheeks. good girl. you don't know when that phrase went from an innocent praise to one that has warmth blooming between your legs. your dad says it all the time, but for some reason, when he says it lately, you can't help but press your legs together.

seeing your dad age from a distance has been tough. the grey streaks in his hair, salt and pepper dusting his beard. he's still unfairly handsome, all the neighbor ladies think so, but his attention and focus is always on you.

your dad is protective, a little too overprotective sometimes, but you know he means well. "i'm in college now, you know. i can do things."

"i know, honey. sometimes i wish i could just keep you all to myself at home."

your heart splinters. sure your dad has his friends and his work to keep him busy, but he has also always had you. all your life. now that you're gone, the distance feels like an unbridgeable chasm.

"i'm still your little girl, dad." you watch his pixelated figure lean slightly, his shoulder rolling as his arm moves. he closes his eyes and his lips part in an exhale. oh no, is he going to cry? "dad, come on. don't be upset. i'll be home for the holidays and we can watch those terrible christmas movies again. i'll bake your favorite cookies."

"yeah? you'd do all that for me, honey?" he rasps.

"of course. we can spend all day on the couch like we used to."

"too old to cuddle with your old man?"

"never."

bucky licks his lips, his eyes still focused on you on the screen. "good girl."

there's that feeling again. your pussy clenches around nothing but you swallow the lump in your throat. you really shouldn't be feeling this way about your dad. he's your dad for god's sake. you have to actively resist the urge to slide your fingers into your panties when you're talking to him, when his intense gaze weighs down on you even through the screen.

there are times when he calls you late at night when he just misses you and you're already in the middle of taking care of yourself. his gravely, sleep-addled voice crackles through the speaker of your phone as you continue to lazily touch yourself. he's just talking about his day and you — well, you just keep stroking yourself. fingers slowly dragging up and down your wet folds, letting your dad's low rumble lull you to this comfortable pleasure.

you have to muffle your moan into your pillow when you cum.

back to the present, bucky reaches for something behind his laptop, which tips his screen down a bit. you don't think much of it until you see it.

oh god. oh god.

his large hand is wrapped around his cock, engulfing the length as he strokes himself. he leans back again and you can see it even better, how comfortable he looks just watching you while his fist runs along his length.

what are you even supposed to say? dad, i can see you jerking off, please put it away? but it'll only make things awkward. what if you just pretend like you don't see it?

or you should end this call right now and save both of you the embarrassment.

"dad, i should get going," you clear your throat. "homework."

"aw, come on, honey. stay on a little longer with me. keep telling me about your week."

this is a terrible idea, but you also can't look away. to your dad, you're probably just paying close attention to him. however, your eyes are locked in on how his fat cock disappears into his fist, how the tip sticks out blushed red and angry.

so you keep going. every time you pull your eyes away to the wall, bucky grunts and your gaze ends up back on him. back on his dick.

"why do you keep looking away? is there someone there?"

"n-no, just—" you swallow, "nothing."

"keep talking, baby."

fuck. you squeeze your legs together, your pussy clenching around nothing as you prattle off some things that happened this week. you don't even know if you're being coherent anymore, it doesn't seem like it matters to your dad either.

he's stroking his cock faster. the more you talk, the more he jerks his cock. fingers squeezing around his length, his other hand cupping his balls. you can see his eyes glaze over, lips parting as if he's fascinated by your story.

all this time. the look on his face. could it be that he's just been jerking off to your voice whenever you call? the same way you have done countless times with him too?

"are you in your pajamas, sweetheart?" he suddenly interrupts.

you look down at your lace cami and your tiny sleeping shorts. "y-yeah."

"show dad how you look."

you swallow. "why?"

"miss you, honey. just want to see all of you."

your dad sometimes makes you show off your little fits before you go out to dinner or even before you go out to class. it's not surprising that he asks this of you. but knowing what you know now, and what he's doing — you can't help the way your heart hammers against your ribs as you rise to your feet.

your knees feel weak, frail like they're about to cave any second now. you can feel your pussy drool onto your panties with how ridiculously taboo, ridiculously hot this whole situation is.

bucky is touching himself to you. bucky is jacking off his cock to you. his own daughter.

you take a step back and see him see all of it. see how your bare legs extend from your shorts. how the straps of your tank hangs loose, how your nipples poke up against the thin fabric.

"look so good, baby," bucky practically whimpers. "do a turn for me."

your eyes squeeze shut. these shorts are so small that you know they dig up your ass, that you can see the curves of your ass underneath.

which means bucky would see.

but you do it anyway because you're getting addicted to the weight of his gaze on you, how predatory he looks as he leers you up and down through the screen. your breath hitches in your throat as you turn slowly. you can hear the moment bucky sees your ass, the sharp intake of his breath.

he whispers a curse that you would miss if you weren't paying close attention. by the time you turn back around timidly, bucky's cock is spurting cum, his palm covering his tip to stop himself from making too big of a mess. but you can imagine the white droplets on your blue carpets at home, on his desk.

bucky looks strained, vein in his neck pulsing like he's trying to resist reacting so strongly to his orgasm. after all, he is still on call with his daughter.

"that's nice, honey," he says, breath shaky. "i'll talk to you again next week?"

"yeah, dad, next week."

"good girl. have a good night."

a/n: something quick inspired by a video of seb on a video call on twitter (link here but please don't be weird about it) that made me feral. sorry it's been a while. i'm a slow writer + i've been uninspired lately — divider by @/strangergraphics

[flyhighlittledove]

Gooned

[charliesinbox]

dad!lee bodecker - electra complex cw: incest, cheating, fingering, finger sucking, groping, dubcon creampie

sheriff lee bodecker is not noble by any means. in fact, he is quite literally the opposite. regardless of who he is as a person, he is still your father and you unconditionally adore him — as one does with a parent.

at least that's what you think until you notice that your dear dad isn't being taken care of in the manner he should be.

it's not entirely your mother's fault. you were raised in this bumfuck small town where everyone says that women should take care of men, so that's the teaching that has been instilled in you. when you see how your mother doesn't do that, you can't help but think: "i can do better."

with your mother taking on the graveyard shifts as a nurse two towns over, you're the only one home when lee leaves his shift for the day. you start feeling a little competitive almost, wanting to prove yourself as a good woman of the family.

as the woman of the family.

so you begin to take over the chores around the house. you're the one throwing together ingredients you purchased over the weekend into a delicious, warm dinner to greet lee when he comes home. he was caught off guard the first time; he hasn't returned to a home-cooked meal in a long time. you tell him to get used to it because you're going to start taking care of him. you tell him that you're going to keep that soft belly of his round and full at all times.

you're the one looking up ways to clean the bloodstains off his white shirts, ironing them until crisp and making sure they're hung ready for him the next day. you hem his pants, patch up his clothes, and make sure all he needs to do to leave for work in the morning is put on his clothes and kiss you goodbye.

it doesn't stop there. once lee thanks you, once lee begins to appreciate your efforts, you only become increasingly greedy.

you start to do your hair, curling them gently until they fall in gentle waves. you do your makeup to hide the weary shadows under your eyes and line your lips cherry red to make sure lee notices, because he adores the color on you.

you do what you can to be the perfect daughter for him.

the perfect woman for him.

but it simply isn't enough. apparently not for lee. your greed seems to be inherited because lee still wants more. unfortunately, he doesn't want it from you. no, he goes back to your mother.

it's the first time your mother has ever taken a day off and so the two of them are home when you come back from classes. the two are in the kitchen, completely unaware that you're standing in the doorway. you watch as lee's thick hands slide up her dress, raking up the fabric to grab a handful of your mother's ass. he's kissing her neck, whispering words you can't hear in her ear.

what does she do? she brushes him off, tells him she's tired and would rather catch up on some much-needed sleep. once again, he's left cold in the dust.

and you don't feel disgusted from seeing that. no, you feel... jealous.

you've done all the work. you're the one who's taken care of him. why don't you get to reap the rewards? what's going to make him look at you?

when your mother is gone, you enter the kitchen and sidle up next to him. your arms wrap around his, soft breasts pressing up against his broad arm. "anything i can do to help, daddy?"

lee only looks at you. eyes almost pitiful. "no, sugar. this isn't something you can help with." it's his turn to brush you off and disappear down the hall.

all you feel is irritation. how dare he? you're his daughter. you can do anything to help your dad. you can be a woman too. you can be his woman too.

instead of giving up, you improve your tactics. you start wearing riskier clothes; really scraps of fabric that barely cover your tits and your stomach, shorts that ride so high you could see the under curve of your ass and your bare legs. you start listening to when he comes home, pretending to stumble out in only your towel like you've forgotten your pajamas.

you watch his eyes roam your body. you watch his eyes widen in surprise, how his pupils darken the rest of his gaze. but he only pinches his lips and lets you go on your way.

it doesn't matter how much you brush up against him, how much you curl up into him on the couch when he's watching the television. he doesn't do a damn thing.

despite the many lines he is apparently willing to cross for work, to cross to support this family, he doesn't seem inclined to do it with you.

however, all your little efforts seem to culminate into this grand finale. the event that takes the cake. it's one of lee's monthly poker nights. you usually hide out in your room and let him and his friends take over the living room with booze and cigars and cards.

not this time. this time, you want to show him what he's missing out on, especially when he's got enough liquor in him to sway his sense of judgment.

after lee brings them all to the setup, you come prancing in. a little babydoll dress. it's not terribly indecent, but it's not exactly proper attire either. lee seems to think so judging by the scowl on his face.

"sugar, what are you doin' down here?"

"just wanted to help you and your friends, daddy. shall i prepare some snacks?"

before lee can reject your proposal, his deputy across the table is already leering at you. his gaze drags up your thighs like the ghost of a touch. "i could use a snack, honey."

"fuck off, phil. this is my daughter. she ain't your wife."

"well, she ain't yours either," phil smirks then shifts his eyes back to you. "you got any pretzels?"

you spend the night doting on them. putting together bowls of snacks, refilling their drinks, even lighting their cigars. they absolutely delight in your presence but lee is none too pleased.

"lighten up, sheriff," another one of his friends smirk. "it's nice to have a woman in the room for once. brightens up the place, don'tcha think?"

"you fuck right off to hell, gary. this ain't no ordinary woman. this is my girl. you better keep your grubby hands to yourself."

but men aren't very good at listening, are they? as you're pouring phil another glass, he skates his hands up your thighs, fingers skimming the edge of your panties. you don't say anything but you make sure lee notices.

"hands, phil," lee snaps.

when you swap out the bowl of chips in front of gary, he openly looks at your tits practically spilling out of your dress, even licking his lips.

"eyes on the game, gary."

it doesn't take too long before lee's patience snaps and his hands shoot out to drag you onto his lap. "daddy!" you gasp.

"you sit right here and behave while i play. be my good luck charm."

"but the drinks—"

"they can serve themselves," lee grunts and his determined tone has a finality to it. with a beefy arm trapped around your waist, he keeps you firmly on his lap.

his breath ghosts your skin as he hooks his chin on your shoulder to peer at his cards. the way he's holding you presses your arms and tits together to create a gorgeous cleavage for everyone else to see. everyone's clearly distracted and lee hates the way they keep trawling their eyes all over you.

"wanna try, sweetheart?" his last friend offers up his lit cigar to you with a smile.

your hand rises only for lee to snatch it back down, keeping it trapped in his. "don't even think about it, smokes. my baby girl ain't touchin' that. especially not when your filthy mouth's been on it."

"lee is testy tonight," smokes chuckles, taking another drag.

"can't imagine why," phil smirks, gaze flicking over to you. he nods. "you ever been with a boy, honey?"

both you and lee freeze where you are. you instinctively begin to squirm, wondering if there is a right answer to this question.

lee's hand slides onto your bare thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. "well? answer the man."

his liquor-laced breath tickles your nose and you turn to find his face in such close proximity to yours. his eyes are glossed over, darker in this light. lips glistening with the sheen of whiskey on his lips. you resist the urge to lean over and kiss that flavor clean off his mouth.

"maybe," you giggle, shifting back against lee's soft wide frame.

"never brought that boy around to your dear old daddy, did you?" gary chortles.

"which boy?" lee's voice is quiet but gruff in your ears.

your pulse skips in your throat. your body is warm all over as lee's grip tightens on your thigh. you can feel yourself begin to leak between your legs. a whimper slipping past your lips at the look on his face, at the stern cadence of his voice.

"alright, pack it up, boys. time to call it a night. if we stay any longer, lee's going to pull out his rifle," gary chuckles as he scrapes his chair back.

the two of you barely pay them any mind as they awkwardly make their exit, quietly thanking you for your hospitality on the way out.

you try to get up to clean but lee keeps you still on his lap. his arm tightens around your waist.

"tell me which boy, sugar."

you laugh almost nervously. "there's no boy, daddy. i was just playing with you."

"you lyin' to me?"

"no, 'course not."

"you like playin' games?" lee asks, but the underlying warning is clear.

you played a little too close to the fire tonight. you may have just gotten burnt.

"let me rephrase, you like playin' with me?"

and your answer is honest. "i love playing with you."

lee's lips curl into a devilish grin on his handsome face. your dad is just so thick everywhere. his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. his stomach that fits into the curve of your back when you arch.

"wanna play a game with me?" he murmurs as he tugs your hair to one side.

the flimsy strap of your dress slips down your shoulder. neither of you bother to fix it.

the air is wrought with tension. you can barely breathe. lee brushes his lips along the back of your shoulder and up your neck. he breathes in that sweet perfume you've sprayed on, one that belongs to your mother that lee gifted her one year. one that she hasn't touched in so very long.

"smell so pretty," lee mumbles. "look so pretty too. you dress up for the boys?"

"dressed up for you, daddy."

a groan wrenches out of his chest. "you like callin' me daddy, sugar?"

"that's what you are," you try to innocently say.

lee tugs at the other strap of your dress, letting it fall down your shoulders. with that gone, the lace falls down to your waist, leaving you bare.

"i could feel your ass on my cock the entire night," lee mutters. "could feel this gorgeous thing rubbing up against my chub."

you bite on your bottom lip, looking straight ahead. lee's hands slide up your sides until he's going under your arms to cup your breasts. you let out a small gasp as his fingers begin to toy with your nipples, pinching and pulling until you're writhing on his lap.

"you do this on purpose? is this what you want? you just want your daddy to touch you?"

"oh god," you moan.

"don't use the lord's name in vain. we're already going to hell for this, i don't need another reason for him to punish us," lee taunts. his fingers are skilled as they grope your tits, pushing them together, fingers digging into the pliant flesh. "look at these pretty tits. made 'em myself."

"daddy," you stop him with warmth creeping up your cheeks.

"me and your mom made this pretty girl right here. only right if i get to use her, right?"

you nod eagerly, "yes, use me. i'm just here to help you. here to make you feel good."

"such a good, obedient girl. you're too good to me."

"i wanna be good just for you."

lee sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck as he keeps one hand on your breast and the other falling between your legs. he spreads his knees, parting your legs along with him. when he cups your core, he lets out a surprised sound.

"you've been bare all night?"

"no, i slipped off my panties earlier," you confess, biting your bottom lip. "when i went to refill the pretzels."

"fuckin' hell. did you enjoy phil copping a feel? bet those guys haven't seen a body like this in ages."

"mhmm, but i like your hands more," you admit sweetly.

with a proud grin, he tweaks your nipple again. "where'd you learn to sweet talk me like this? always knew you were sweet, but not this sweet."

"i'm just telling the truth, daddy."

lee prods a finger in. it's almost too easy. how wet you are. how greedily your cunt swallows up his finger. your folds are slick as he pushes one fat finger in, your pussy clenching around him. then he adds another because it doesn't seem to fill you up.

"pussy's kind of loose, sugar. you been lettin' anyone else in here?"

your heart spikes. "no, daddy. i told you."

"then why is your pussy takin' me so easily? fit two fingers like it's nothing."

"i-i don't know. maybe it's just because i'm so wet."

"or maybe i made you with the pussy of a fuckin' whore. a pussy made to be fucked by fat cocks. i was worried you wouldn't be able to take mine but guess i never had a reason to," he chuckles. "this pussy's going to stretch around my cock just fine."

you moan as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the drag of his thick digits sparking a delicious sort of lightning throughout your body. his one hand is still playing with your tit, tugging and squeezing until it's sore and sensitive. lee laps at your neck like a dog, tasting your smooth skin with the rough graze of his tongue.

when you open your eyes, you find lee's fingers dripping with your juice in front of you. he presses the tips against your bottom lip first, then orders you.

"suck."

"daddy—mmph—" he pushes the fingers in, touching the back of your throat as you gag around the length and the flavor. every complaint that rests in your throat gets shoved back down.

it's icky. it's sloppy.

"clean my fingers, sugar, or i won't fuck you."

you whine but, once again, you're an obedient girl. you lick around his fingers, your delicate hands wrapping around his wrists to keep his hand steady while you suck on his fingers like a good girl. lee groans behind you, forehead against your back.

"good girl," he rasps.

then he lifts you up all too easily, pushing aside everything on the table so he can press your face down. your cheek is against the velvet surface and you hear the clink of his belt before you peek at him shoving his trousers down.

you yelp when his fingers grab your hips to drag you back towards him. the tip of his cock pokes at your entrance and you can feel how big he is. how thick he is.

"you asked for this, sugar. temptin' me all fuckin' month for me to stick my cock in this pretty pussy, now you've got it."

lee sheathes himself all the way in. cock buried to the hilt. the force of impact, the sheer thickness of him that stretches you out with a burn has you gasping for air. your fingers scratch at the table and lee quickly grabs your hands and pins it on your lower back.

"don't fuck up my table. just take it like a good girl."

he begins pistoning relentlessly, cock bullying your insides like he's trying to scramble every inch of you. the burn sears heat into your skin, but is quick to melt away to a delicious kind of stinging that has your mind buzzing alive.

lee grunts with every thrust, like he's putting all of himself into every jerk of his hips.

"fuckin' tight ass cunt. greedy pussy's takin' me so well. this cunt's better than your mother's, is that what you wanted to hear?"

you whine with his words, clamping down around his cock even tighter.

"i asked you a question, girl," lee growls, pushing your hands down harder against your back until you mewl in pain.

"y-yes," you stutter.

"pert tits so much better than your mother's. young, tight pussy for me to defile. god, i can't get enough of this pussy now that i've had a taste. i'm gonna make you cockwarm me every night, sugar. once your mother leaves for work, you're sittin' on my cock all night."

you gurgle incoherently, babbling an agreement in your stupor that you probably won't remember tomorrow.

lee fucks deep inside of you, every drag of his cock is the spark of a match that sets off another round of fire inside your gut. his thick belly presses against your back as he leans forward, knocking the air straight out of your lungs.

"my sweet daughter's pussy. i can't wait to fill this up. i can't wait to cream inside you."

"n-no, please. i'm not on any protection," you groan.

"now you wanna complain? after pushin' me to the edge. no, you're going to take it like a girl. if it takes, then it takes. gonna tell your mom how you've been whorin' yourself out so we have to keep you home. i ain't lettin' you go anywhere. you're stayin' right here with me."

"daddy, no. please."

but your protests fall on deaf ears. even worse, it seems to egg lee on. every cry from your lips has him fucking you harder, faster, deeper. the pain is numbing, the pleasure is blinding. your vision is blurry from the tears that have welled in your eyes from both the pain and pleasure.

"fuck you so good every night, sugar. i'm going to keep this spoiled little pussy filled. if you wanna act like a brat, i'll treat you like one too. you're gonna be my good little wife, aren't you?"

your heart slams against your ribcage. "mhmm."

"gonna be so good to me. take care of me. feed me. my perfect little girl becoming my perfect little wife. nobody else has to know. just you and me."

"daddy," you whine as your stomach tightens. you can feel the climax chasing after you, a sensation that has your legs tensing and back arching further.

"my dirty little secret. my sweet, sweet girl."

"w-wanna cum, please. please let me cum, daddy."

"yeah, that's it," lee rolls his hips intentionally slower, drawing out your climb.

you squirm against him, nudging your ass back until you're practically fucking yourself on his cock. "please, daddy, please please." drool's rolling down your chin. messy girl spilling everywhere. cunt leaking, mouth dripping.

lee tightens his hold around your wrists, strong enough to bruise, and grabs your hips as he fucks into you. he goes fast and hard and mean. so deliciously mean.

the orgasm crashes over you and drags you under like a tidal wave. you're left gasping for air as your pussy clenches around him and his own orgasm rocks through his body. his thick frame shudders as he spills warmth inside of you, painting every inch of your insides your shade of pure.

"that's good, that's my good girl," lee groans. "my perfect baby girl."

a whimpered whine leaves your lips again as you shake through the last of your pleasure. lee pushes in a little deeper, silently praying that some of it is going to stick. he may be old but he's hoping those little suckers still have some strength to them.

"i'm gonna carry you upstairs with me still plugging my cum inside your cunt. then i'm going to fuck you again in the shower and then again in my bed until your mom comes home. when she does, i want you to smile at her and ask her what she wants for breakfast. got it?"

"yes, daddy."

requested by anon: dad!lee bodecker with spoiled reader pls!! where she lowk has Electra complex lol a/n: after i finished writing this, i realized you said spoiled reader which i completely missed. i do apologize but i hope you enjoy this regardless, especially with the sprinkling of the electra complex! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses!

[flyhighlittledove]

soft belly

[brotherbarnes]

warnings: sexting, incest.. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! MDNI 18++++

brother!bucky who is the first to teach you how to play online games.

brother!bucky who sets up your online account, with your library of cute, cozy games, and helps you get the hang of it.

brother!bucky who knows the addictive nature of video games, so he doesn't really hold it against you when you spend way too much time with your online friends, and not enough with him.

brother!bucky who makes an alt account, just to play with you and not be your "annoying older brother"

brother!bucky who in no time, gets you to have a crush on him, and gaming texts turn into talking at all hours of the day, about anything and everything.

brother!bucky who doesn't have a single ounce of guilt when he texts you late at night one day from his account, "what are u doing?" and beams when you say you're just mindlessly watching a movie. "what are u wearing?"

brother!bucky who doesn't see the blush across your cheeks when you bite your lip and respond, "just an old band tee that doesn't fit brother anymore lol"

brother!bucky who pokes and prods at that more, and more, and more, until he convinces you to send him a picture of yourself with the shirt bunched up above your tits.

brother!bucky who sends back a picture of his stroking his cock, leaking at the tip, making your eyes widen at the sheer size of him.

brother!bucky who keeps talking to you the entire time, getting more pictures, until he response with a picture of his stomach painted with cum. "fuck, baby, I wish you were here"

brother!bucky who knows you have no idea its him, all the pics he sent not having his face on them, when you respond "I'd lick you clean if I was there."

brother!bucky who wishes he could go to the end of the hall and help you with the slick you showed him on your fingers in the last pic.

brother!bucky who is going to have so much fun with this.

[flyhighlittledove]

brotherrrr stopppppp

[charliesinbox]

older brother!bucky - pies and thighs cw: incest, cheating, breeding kink, creampie, touch of dubcon towards the end

your big brother, bucky, has always been a family man. growing up, the two of you were thick as thieves. any time you would screw something up, he would take the fall for it, winking at you reassuringly. any time he would fuck something up, he would also take the fall for it — as good big brothers are supposed to do.

then again, there are things that big brothers aren't supposed to do that bucky does — but your parents don't need to know about that.

the two of you drifted apart only slightly when he went off to dorm in his first-year of college. he would still come home every weekend, he would still sneak you treats every time he came home late at night. your first sip of alcohol at sixteen was thanks to bucky's fake.

then you went off to college — across the country. you thought that that would be it, that you and bucky would finally be like those siblings who would text every christmas or birthday and never in between.

but bucky wouldn't let that happen. his job allowed him to work remotely so, when he wasn't home, he would be flying hours just to come see you.

your friends would never mind bucky coming to visit. he isn't the weird, annoying sibling that people would fear. bucky was cool and chill, hovering without breathing down your neck. it also helps that he's terribly handsome. you can't count on two hands the number of girls who have come up to be your friend just so they could talk to him.

bucky never paid them any mind.

as time went on, bucky would have girlfriends here and there. none of them really stuck, but the ones that lasted even more than a month left a strange bitter taste on your tongue. you know why, you just didn't want to put a label on it.

it isn't as if you're completely blame-free. you met a man, good and strong, your first year of college and then went on to marry him when you graduated. the two of you got a house where you lived.

once again, you thought this would be the end of your relationship with bucky.

but bucky is nothing if not devoted. with all the money he's saved living at home, he actually moved across the country and settled into a new job that would pay him even more.

and he bought the house right across the street from you.

"you don't think it's weird?" your husband, aaron, asked once.

"what's weird?"

"that your brother is this attached to you?"

you had blinked at him. "he's not attached. he just had a good job opportunity come up and you know housing prices here aren't too bad."

aaron didn't seem convinced but he let it slide.

bucky comes by for dinner every thursday. you would whip up a home-cooked meal of his favorite dishes that you used to make for him back home. bucky would come bearing your favorite desserts in return.

there are days that bucky pops in after work earlier in the week, unannounced and unplanned. aaron isn’t a big fan of these visits.

"again?" he cocks an eyebrow after the doorbell rings.

"he doesn’t have a lot of friends here," you say sheepishly as you move towards the door. you’re not even sure that’s true; bucky’s always been the bigger social butterfly out of the two of you.

when you swing the door open, there he is.

"hey, baby," he smiles softly at you, tucking you into the crook of his elbow as he presses a kiss on your forehead.

your heart warms. "hey, buck."

bucky hands you a package. "got some pies on my way home from work. chocolate cream, your favorite."

he watches your eyes light up. "oh, thank you!"

then his gaze shifts behind you. "aaron."

"bucky," your husband grunts in return. you can feel the tension weigh heavy in the air but instead of acknowledging it, you tug bucky inside.

you come back up to aaron and squeeze his hand, urging him to be patient.

he only sighs, nodding. "i have an early day tomorrow so you two enjoy the treats. i'm heading to bed." he leans down and kisses you, deep. deeper than usual. like he's trying to make a point.

you reciprocate only for a brief moment until you hear bucky clear his throat. then you're drawing away, biting your lip as you look up at your husband. "bucky's here," you whisper.

he doesn't seem too pleased but releases you anyway. "goodnight." he nods at the two of you then disappears into your shared bedroom.

you and bucky settle on the couch with a pair of forks, metal prongs digging into the decadent morsels before you. bucky gets a forkful of the apple pie, lifting it towards your mouth.

slightly embarrassed, you let your lips part to wrap around his fork, taking the sweet fruit on your tongue.

when a drop of brown sugar clings to the corner of your mouth, bucky wordlessly stretches his hand and this thumb swipes up the stain. then he brings it to his mouth, sucking on it with a delicious groan.

all the while he keeps his eyes on you.

"good?" he murmurs, eyes wandering down to your mouth where you're chewing. you nod slowly, still distracted by the sound of his groan rattling inside your brain. bucky sighs as he leans back, giving you a once-over of your nightslip. "he doesn't like me very much."

you lick your lips, bucky's gaze once again falling to your tongue poking out. "who? aaron? he doesn't have any siblings so he doesn't get it."

bucky hums, his hand reaching across the back of the couch to run over your bare shoulder. you tense. "i suppose. i just don't want him to come between us."

you know what he means. guilt sinks heavy like an anchor in your gut. bucky inches closer. his hand lifting to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

swallowing, you pull your face away from him. "buck, we shouldn't—"

"this because of him?" his voice is cold, distant. there's a sharpness to his words that makes you freeze. "come on, baby. you know me. you know how good we are together."

before you can respond again, bucky is swiping at the whipped cream on the chocolate cream pie — your favorite pie — and dragging it across your lips.

you open your mouth to question it but bucky quickly covers it with his own. his lips are hungry as they chase after yours, licking at the sweetness until the two of you are sharing it on your tongues.

"buck, mmph—" he shushes you again, kissing you over and over and over until you're dizzy, until you can't even tell where you are.

his cologne is intoxicating and the taste of his mouth is a drug you haven't tasted in so long. you find yourself pursuing him, leaning towards him. encouraged by this, bucky gently tugs you onto his lap, your legs spread on either side of him.

"that's my girl," bucky murmurs. "there she is. you missed your big brother's hands on you, don't you?"

you whine in unconscious agreement as he coaxes you to slowly melt into his hands. "missed you," you find yourself echoing.

"it's only been a week since i touched you and look at you, so desperate already, grinding on my lap. poor baby hasn't been satisfied, hm?"

you bite down on a whimper when one of his hands slides down your back and the other sneaks between your legs. his wrist pushes up the silk of your gown, fingertips insistent against your panties.

"soaking your underwear, baby," bucky chuckles, "you're already so wet and i just put my hands on you. have you been thinking about this? were you thinking of me before i came?"

you were. it had been a week — seven whole days — since bucky last touched you. you had visited him across the street, accompanied him for dinner when aaron worked late, and he ended up having you for dessert on his dining table.

and you were thinking about it all day, wishing that he would come by, just for a little bit. just for you to get a taste.

and, as always, bucky knows exactly what you need, when you need it.

"mhmm," you confirm, eyes squeezing shut. if you can't see him, maybe the remorse will go away. maybe you'll want him less. maybe you won't picture your husband fast asleep in your bedroom while you're straddling your brother.

"my sweet, needy girl," bucky sighs against your lips. "that's it, use me. rut your hips down on my cock, baby."

his bulge feels so thick, so heavy underneath you, pressing up against your clothed slit. you’re probably leaking through your own underwear and onto his sweats, staining them a darker shade of gray.

bucky lets the flimsy straps of your dress fall, exposing your bare breasts to him. bucky dips his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. your stomach swoops with the heat, your back arching as a moan slips past your lips.

"bucky, please," you protest, weakly pushing at his shoulder, "i c-can't keep quiet."

"i wanna hear your moans, baby. let me hear how good i make my little sister feel. he sleeps like a log, remember christmas?"

how can you forget? the three of you in the same room because bucky’s had been turned into a home office. bucky fucking you from behind on the floor, hand slapped over your mouth to muffle your whines while your husband continued his deep slumber on the bed.

he didn’t even move.

"come on now," he coos, "let me hear you, baby. wanna hear you beg for your big brother's cock."

"y-you're mean," you groan as bucky rubs at your clit. his fingers dip in and out of your underwear, letting your juices seep into the fabric to make it a sticky mess.

bucky huffs a laugh. "'m teaching you to ask for what you want."

"please," you rasp, "please let me have your cock, buck."

"no, no, i want to hear you say that you want your big brother's cock, baby."

you whine again when his fingers slip between your slick folds, sliding all the way up to your sensitive clit. your hips are chasing after his hand, rubbing yourself against his coarse palm.

"you can do it. come on."

"i w-want your cock," you whine, hesitating for a second before you finally relent, "your big brother cock."

“good girl,” bucky murmurs. he bounces you slightly on his lap as he shrugs his pants down low enough to pull his cock out.

the sight of the leaking red tip makes you salivate. you remember the bitter taste of on your tongue, the winding texture of the veins.

"take it for yourself. go on, it’s all yours."

on your trembling knees, you hover right above him, positioning him at your entrance. bucky leans back to watch you — hands on your hips as his icy blue eyes trace over your half-naked body.

you must look right a mess — dress bunched up around your middle, tits bouncing as you move yourself, your fingers quaking as you pull apart your pussy lips to let his tip rest in between your dripping folds.

the first time you sink all the way down, bucky hisses through his teeth at the same time you clamp your teeth down on his shoulders to swallow your groan.

the burn persists no matter how many times he fucks you. that's why bucky adores your pussy — always so tight, always stretching around his cock.

"ride me, baby. fuck yourself on my cock."

it's easy to follow his instructions when all it leads you to is your pleasure. you slowly lift and lower your hips, sinking yourself down deeper each time. you bury him to the hilt, the length of his cock stretching out every inch of your insides as he lets out a groan, head thumping back against the couch.

"just like that. feels so good. lean back for me, wanna feel you more."

your hands settle on his thick thighs that clench every time you grind yourself down on him. your hips swivel to ease him deeper inside of you, your slick sliding slippery between your legs.

the feeling is familiar yet no less divine. you've grown used to bucky's cock, the shape of it has stayed consistent since the first time you felt it inside you.

"remember that summer? when you begged me to take your virginity," bucky chuckles, lips morphing into a pleased hiss when your hips stutter on top of him.

of course, you remember.

"told me you didn't want to go to college a virgin. told me you wanted to know what it's like to feel good, so you know what actually is good."

heat floods your cheeks at the thought. it seeps warm to the back of your neck and crawls up to the tips of your ears.

"but then you got hooked on your big brother's cock. you couldn't have anyone else's. took aaron's forever and yet you keep coming back to me."

your parents always said you settled too fast, too soon. going for the first boy you dated. but you had known then what you know now — nobody was going to ever satisfy you the way your brother did, why bother trying to look for more?

aaron is safe. aaron is kind. he's a good man.

he's also a deep sleeper.

bucky grabs your hips and begins to fuck up into you in earnest. there's a desperation to his movement. despite what he says about you, he's just as gone for you as you are for him.

he craves your pussy like an addict. he's texted you at work, telling you how he can't stop thinking about your wet cunt wrapped around his dick. about how you fit like a fucking sleeve around him. how he wishes you were there to keep his cock warm while he worked.

you're lucky you don't have coworkers around to see how you get absolutely, shamefully turned on, legs squeezing together, in the middle of the work day. you end up sliding on your mattress with your hand between your legs and bucky texting you filthy promises that he plans to fulfill once he's finished at the office.

every time he drives deep inside of you, you feel another part of your self-control, your dignity chip away. in the moment, you can't care less. all you want is his cock inside you, all you want is for him.

"tell me who’s better."

your brain is doped up on the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, the tip reaching that mind-numbing spongy part to spark a flame in your belly. your mind is a foggy haze as you try to decipher his question.

he digs his fingers deeper into your hips as he drives up. you jolt forward, tits pressed against his firm chest. "tell me."

"w-what do you mean?" you slur slightly. your body sways with the force of his thrusts.

"me or your husband."

you gasp, breath knocked out of your lungs as embarrassment sinks into you. "i'm not gonna answer that."

his lips curl into a knowing smirk. "you know the answer to this, baby. tell your big brother, come on. you can’t lie to me."

gritting your teeth, you throw a glare his way. "that's fucked up, buck."

"only because you know the truth."

you swallow and don't say a word. the corners of his lips lift even higher in smug acknowledgment.

"tell me or i won't let you cum."

your heart drops to your gut. "buck..."

"come on, it's not so hard. he won't hear. it's just me, baby."

you give him a petulant look again, praying that he drops the matter, but he slows down his thrusts. enough that he almost stills. it drives you up the wall when he's like this.

there's a certain charm to his ego, but you already feel guilty enough as it is doing this; you're just making it worse by verbalizing your sins.

"buck, please."

"you can even whisper it in my ear," he smiles.

your face is marred by a wince. he means this threat. he's left you high and dry before. when bucky wants something, he gets it — and this time, he wants you to admit the honest truth to him.

so you swallow your pride, choosing your pleasure over your affections for your husband. what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"you."

"didn't catch that."

"you," you snap again, "you're better, okay."

"who's better?"

you know what he wants to hear.

with your cheeks heated, you shift your gaze away to a blank wall. you don't need to look at him when you say this.

"my big brother."

"mhmm, your big brother's cock is better. you fucking love big brother cock filling you up, don't you? stretching out this pretty, perfect little cunt."

your pussy beats like a second heart, squeezing around his cock in confirmation. bucky drinks in your little whimpers as he begins to lift his hips again. he maneuvers your body to rise and drop on his cock at the same time

you can feel that heat swirling inside your chest, drifting to your gut where warmth builds between your legs. you're already a wet mess down there, dripping all over bucky as he fucks himself into you.

it's so close, you can almost taste it.

that crest that you so crave.

as bucky picks up his pace and your breathing falters to the rhythm of his thrusts, you're suddenly awash with a cold dose of reality.

"wait, buck, don't—" you tighten your fingers around his wrist. "i'm— i'm off the pill. we've— aaron and i have been trying."

bucky looks puzzled for a second before the realization dawns on him.

you've been trying for a child.

you're trying to get pregnant.

you're off the pill.

"you're telling me you can get pregnant if i cum inside you right now?"

"yes," you cry out, scrambling to try and get yourself off him. bucky's grasp tightens on your hips. your entire body goes taut. he couldn't. he wouldn't. "bucky, no."

"fuck, baby, now that you've told me, i can't get the idea out of my head."

you whimper quietly. "please."

"he looks like me. you looked for someone who looked so much like your brother. he'll never know, not unless he does a test. he can fuck you all he wants but you know it's blood over water. i'm the one who's going to knock you up, baby."

"no, that's a terrible idea!" you whisper-yell.

"he won't know," bucky grits out as his hips begin to chase after yours again, cock sinking back inside your delicious pussy.

bucky's much stronger than you, you've always known that. you just never thought he would use it against you.

he slams you down on his cock again and his resounding moan is loud enough to echo across your living room. in panic, you look over your shoulder towards the bedroom, checking to see if your husband has woken up.

but he hasn't and, for the first time, you almost wished he did.

you beg and you plead for bucky to stop. it's too risky. he can't possibly consider this.

"our parents," you start, breath hitching, "they can't know."

"they won't know that their only son got their little girl pregnant, don't worry. they'll also think it's your husband's. no one will know that your big brother's seed is inside of you."

"bucky, please."

he grunts in annoyance this time, blue eyes flashing with ice. "i'll get you plan b tomorrow. don't worry. but if that's the case, i'm going to cum inside you again and again and again tonight. i'm going to fill you up, you're going to be dripping for days. you can try to clean yourself all you want but you'll never wash me off. just when you think you're starting to rid yourself of me, i'm going to cum inside you again. and i'll keep coming back until you know that you belong to me."

your heart stutters in your chest. you should be disgusted. you should be worried. but you hate yourself because all you feel is desired. you're sick to your stomach thinking that you're actually enjoying his words. the filthy, repulsive things that he promises you.

"need you to know that, baby. you're my little sister. you're mine. i'm going to keep fucking you. i don't care about anyone else. i'm not letting anyone come between us."

bucky moves you like a doll, fucking your worn cunt on his cock like a fleshlight. you're pliant, giving into the force of his movements as you let yourself relish in the pleasure that builds inside your stomach.

a fire has been lit and nothing you do can extinguish it. not when bucky is this determined.

"gonna cum, baby. my baby sister. my sweet girl. i'm gonna fill you up," bucky groans as his hips jerk one last time and you feel warmth spurt inside, painting your walls until you're coming apart above him too.

your pussy pulses around his dick, milking him dry as he continues to pump inside of you. moans tumble from both your lips, mingling in the quiet of your house as you bury your face in his neck.

bucky rubs your back gently as you work through your orgasm, body jerking against him. "good girl."

you moan quietly. "you need to pick up plan b for me tomorrow."

"i will, baby. but tonight, i'm going to need you to lie back. gonna see how many times i can cum inside you before your husband wakes up."

a/n: belated apologies that this wasn't a request. i have admittedly been in a little bit of a slump. this was triggered by a tiktok video i watched this morning and my messy little mind twisted it into this. hope you still enjoy it regardless! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/batsydividers

[flyhighlittledove]

off the pill, he doesn’t have siblings so he doesn’t know what it’s like

oh my godddddd🤤🤤🤤

[vamphillia]

dad who makes sure his daughter knows how much better she is compared to her mom

"you're so much tighter than your mother"

"your mom never lets me fuck her like this"

"you look better in her lingerie than she ever could"

"you give a better blowjob than your mom did at your age"

[sugurrk]

⋆˚꩜｡ men with a breeding kink make my brain go fuzzy…

°❀.࿔ men who have to be inside you 25/8. And I mean twenty five fucking eight. They need to make sure you’re pregnant before the sun sets

°❀.࿔ in the early morning when sun only slipping through the cracks of the curtain— “mmm” your stir in your sleep, the feeling of warm hands kneading at your breast awaken you slowly. This is how you’ve been waking up for a week now, your man pampering your neck with kiss and kiss, hands massaging up and down your body until they meet your now dripping cunt. “Shhh, its me baby, let me make you feel good” are the words whispered in your ear before your knees are touching your chest, toes pointed to the ceiling. His thick cock splitting your hole open with each needy thrust, a creamy coat of cum cover his base as his balls slap against your ass. “M’gonna cum deeeep inside you, give this pretty pussy a baby” he says pressing deep into you hold you still as he cums deep against your cervix.

°❀.࿔ in the shower before you slip away to work for the rest of the day— not even 30 minutes after he just fucked you awake, he has you bent over the shower wall, his cum still fresh running down your thighs. One leg stalled over his shoulder while he fucks you standing. His seed flowing out of you every time his tip hits your gooey spot. “Ohfuck—baby p-please!” You try your hardest to press on his chest, stomach, hips anywhere that would get him to stop his abuse on your poor cunt, but it’s no use. No no no, when your man wants something he’s determined to get it, and if that means stuffing your hole until it’s overflowing with his cum then so be it. “I know baby, I knowww, but i gotta make sure it takes”

°❀.࿔ as soon as he gets home from work, even though your cooking dinner— getting off work before your man was a blessing in disguise, a few moments of peace was needed, you love him dearly you do, but your poor cunt can’t take anymore of this. But unfortunately your small moments of peace were ruined when he returns home, stalking his way into the kitchen to see you preparing his favorite meal. “Mmm all these for me honey?” He tucks his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck leaving sweet kisses. Those sweet kisses turn into harsh suckles, which turn into you shutting the stove off so he can bend you over the counter. Your back formed a dangerous arch that he forces you to keep. One hand on your back to keep you steady as he pulls you back down on his cock. His other with your hair wrapped around it so he can pull your hair back to whisper the nastiest things. “C’mon you can take it, you always do baby” “I need this, need to fill you up until your round with my baby” “breed your pretty pussy”

°❀.࿔ and right before you two go to bed, both tired, but he’s determined— he just needs you 25/8, you don’t even have time to put your bonnet on before he has you quivering in his lap. This is the most intimate position he’s had you in all day; the lotus position. He guides you up and down and back and forth on his throbbing dick, you pussy glistening her sweet juices all over him as he holds you like you’re gonna float away. Pampering kisses all over your face and lips, your brows knitting together, lips forming a ‘o’ everytime he hits your sweet spot. “I love you s-so much baby” he whispers into your skin, your fingers tangle in his soft hair, tugging at it with every buck of his hips. He starts to loose it, lunging forward putting you on your back, in a mean mating press. The room is filled with the slapping of skin together and the both of yours sweet little babbles. “G-gonna make you a—fuck—a mommy, give you all my babies” “y-yess, fill me up with all your—ahgh—cum” “yeah? You want it? W-wanna deep it your ffuuuckking pussy?” “yesyeysyes—giveittomebabyyoooo”

°❀.࿔ and by the time you wake up that morning you find not one, not two, but three different pregnancy test on you nightstand.

a/n — sigh lemme go take my birth control (do we fw the new aesthetic set up?)

[charliesinbox]

dad!bucky - "come to me to cum" cw: incest, cheating, fingering, oral (female receiving), squirting

"ah." you wince when your boyfriend pushes it in a little too deep a little too fast. he mistakes it for pleasure and smiles to himself, fingers driving deeper into your dry pussy.

all you can hope for is for this to end soon.

he kisses up your neck, sloppy in a way that makes you squirm. the sofa cushion sinks beneath him as he edges closer to you. "you're so tight, baby," he mumbles. you want to tell him that it's because you're not even wet yet.

but you don't. you just want this to be over.

your dad is upstairs and this guy is trying his luck in the living room of all places.

when he shoves his fingers back in harder this time, you actually let out a yelp. he still doesn't see you in pain.

"wait, can you just—" he doesn't wait, in fact, he tries again.

"damn, baby, you're too tight."

this isn't working. you're about to tell him to get his hand out from under your skirt when you hear heavy footsteps approach.

shit.

your dad's looking at you with a scowl, which then turns into a withering glare at your boyfriend. "out. now."

"sir—"

"out."

your boyfriend scurries out without another word, front door slamming shut, leaving you to face your father's wrath alone. it's embarrassing enough that your boyfriend doesn't know how to please you. it's even worse when your dad catches you in that humiliating situation.

"dad—"

"this the kind of treatment you take from boys?" he interrupts. "i raised you to be smart and you take the bare minimum — hell, i don't think he even gave you anything."

heat flushes all the way up your neck to your ears. scolding for propriety you can take. but this disappointment in his voice is a sting that lingers.

"answer me."

"i don't know okay!" you snap, "i don't have that much experience with boys. it's my first—" you stop, biting your lip, "he's my first boyfriend and i don't know how it's supposed to feel."

"you don't touch yourself?"

oh god. this line of questioning has your face burning.

"well?"

"i'm not answering that."

bucky reaches out and grabs you by the jaw. "you're still living under my roof. i ask you a question, you answer me."

your lip trembles at the weight of his gaze, the strength of his grip. "i-i do."

"then you know it's not supposed to feel like that."

"i just thought he would learn eventually," you mumble and bucky's hold softens. his thumb brushes over your lips as he slides his hand to cup your cheek.

his eyes are a warm blue, like the sky, when he looks at you this time. "sweetheart, it's not supposed to hurt. he's supposed to prepare you properly."

your lips twist in a sour look. "maybe he's new to this too."

"i want you to be with someone who takes care of you. who knows the difference between when it hurts and when it feels fuckin' good in your pussy."

"dad!" you blurt out, "oh my god. i'm not listening to this from you."

"why not? i've had plenty of experience."

this has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. "dad!"

bucky's jaw clenches. "you might as well let me teach you instead. teach you what it's like to be with a man who knows what he's doing."

"you can't— that would be so— no!"

"why not?"

you gape at him. "how is that even a question? you're my dad."

"i'm also a man. a man who's had his fair share. a man who knows how to do it right. i don't want you to accept any less, sweetheart. let me show you how good it can feel, hm?"

before you can protest further, bucky is sinking down to his knees before you. you open your mouth to argue again but his hands shoot out to drag you to the edge of the couch, your skirt riding up in the process.

you try to shove it down but bucky pries your hands away. "keep your hands to your sides. let me do everything."

for some reason, you listen to him. you've already disappointed your dad once today. you can't do it again. so you ball your hands into fists and let them sit on your lap.

bucky's large hands settle on your knees, opening up your legs. he spots your cotton white panties. cute, but not a single sign of arousal. "you're not wet."

"no," you confirm with heat in your cheeks.

"he tried to finger you while you were dry?"

"dad," you groan. "we've established that he's shit at it."

bucky chuckles. "poor girl. he doesn't even know how to get you turned on, does he? he doesn't know what makes you wet."

"and you do?" the challenge comes out of your mouth before you can think twice.

his lips lift into a smirk. "i've heard you in your room, honey. you're not as quiet as you think." at that, the embarrassment comes back in full force. "hear you playing those videos when you think i'm asleep."

oh shit.

"the ones where the girls go daddy, daddy," bucky murmurs as he slides his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt all the way up to expose you to him.

he hooks a finger on the hem of your panties and slowly inches it down. your hips lift on instinct to help him before he draws it all the way down your legs, letting it pool on the floor.

"is that what you like, sweetheart? your dad?"

"it's not you," you rush to say, "it's just— it's hot, okay? it's a normal thing?"

"to have a daddy kink? sure. but to make it a reality?" he laughs, "that's cute. you can call me that if you want. though, i much prefer when you call me dad. makes it more... real."

"you're sick," you whisper.

"you like it."

you do. your heart is beating fast and rough in your chest, a tempo that makes you question whether you're breathing fine. you can feel your pussy squeezing around nothing, air that doesn't fill you up.

worst of all, you can feel yourself leaking.

bucky hasn't even done anything. your boyfriend had kissed you, touched your tits, even tried to finger you. nothing. dry as a dessert.

and it only took your dad his voice, some strong words, those bright eyes, to rile you up.

bucky bites down a smile when his finger reaches up to drag up your pussy. your legs jerking automatically as you flinch away. his grip on your thigh tightens. "stay still."

"this is wrong, dad. we shouldn't— what about mom?"

"mom doesn't need to know," he mutters, "you gonna tell your mom you got wet to your dad telling you he's gonna take care of you?"

of course not. you could never do that.

"just enjoy this. if you want to get experience with men, you come to me. i'll show you. i'll teach you."

bucky eases a finger into you, finding your pussy moist on the inside. "you're wet, honey. that's good." he hums when he slowly prods at your opening, sliding it in and out.

but when it starts to pinch again, you don't have to say a word. bucky notices how you grimace and immediately draws his hand away.

"not wet enough. what do you like, sweetheart? why don't you tell me?"

"i don't know."

"my voice? you like hearing me talk?"

you do. you've always loved how your dad could sound gruff and soothing at the same time. that protective heaviness to his tone that wraps around you and grabs you between your legs. you never thought much about it. thought it was a natural reaction to men in general.

but no one ever came close to your dad. when he talks, you can feel your legs pressing together, chasing some friction like a bitch in heat. now you have him, right there between your thighs, looking at you like he wants to devour you.

his blue eyes are keen and sharp on you. he pulls you down closer to him. his face closing in and you clamp your legs closed on instinct, except you catch his face between your inner thighs.

bucky lets out a guttural groan, turning so his lips could brush against that smooth skin. his stubble is rough on your sensitive legs and you feel yourself squeezing even tighter.

inhaling deeply, he closes his eyes as he breathes in your scent. that sweet smell of arousal that has his cock stirring in his pants. he was already stiff the moment he dropped in front of you, but he's achingly hard now that he can actually feel you.

"smells so fucking sweet, honey. bet you taste sweet too."

"dad, i don't think— maybe just your finger," you try to argue, but even then your voice sounds weak. argument far from convincing.

"no, i want to taste you. i want my tongue on this pretty pussy of yours."

a moan rises from your chest. "d-dad, please."

"you want that too, don't you? you want to know how it feels to have a man properly eat you out. my tongue in this slick little cunt that keeps leaking for me."

your legs fall apart again with his words. your white flag. bucky grins as he slides his hands under your ass to draw you closer, higher so he can bury his face between. your legs.

his tongue strokes up your folds and he nearly cuts from the flavor alone. his own daughter. he's tasting his baby girl.

"sweet as honey," he mumbles. bucky pulls back slightly only to spit on your pussy.

the action catches you by surprise.

"relax, sweetheart. just making sure you're wet enough here to take my tongue and fingers."

and then he's diving back in.

it's a compounding effect. his proximity, the wet drag of his tongue, his saliva between your legs. you're dripping all over his face. his beard glistens with your juices as he continues to mouth at you, tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you crazy.

your fingers fly up to his head, tangling in his brunette locks and pushing him deeper between your legs. bucky's groan reverberates throughout your entire body from your core. your legs shake in the wake of his ministrations.

"oh god, dad, please."

"that's right, tell me what you want, sweetheart. tell your old man what you like."

bucky's tongue pushes in again, flicking around like he's feeling you up from the inside out. he can feel you squeezing around him. he moans when you hold his hair a little tighter, so you tug at it a little firmer.

his hand joins his mouth then, finger breaching your pussy as he continues to fuck you with his tongue. "good girl. perfect cunt. this sweet pussy that i made. this pussy is mine, sweetheart."

you let out another cry when bucky fucks you with a finger, pulling away to lick his lips. he doesn't bother wiping his mouth or his chin.

"i wanna fucking smell you on me. i don't even want to think about washing my face. i want to taste you, smell you all day. i want to go to work still thinkin' about this perfect pussy. i'll jerk myself off in the office to the sound of my daughter's gorgeous moans."

fuck. you curse and your legs close in around him again. bucky doesn't seem to care. he keeps fingering you, slipping in another one as his tongue circles your clit.

you mewl softly with how sensitive you are. the tides have turned and you're quickly on your way to an orgasm, one that you haven't experienced quite like this before.

bucky's other hand reaches down and palms his own cock. you watch with wide eyes as the imprint becomes more obvious with how fucking hard he is. he strokes it over his pants as he continues to fuck you with his mouth.

he's enjoying this as much as you are. that realization hits you with another wave of arousal.

the feeling climbs faster and faster until it overtakes you and your mind is reeling with white noise. you can't think. you can't speak. all you can focus on is the feeling of your dad's rough beard on your legs, his talented tongue along your folds, and his fingers buried deep in his daughter's cunt.

"because this is all you want. you just want to be daddy's good little girl. you want daddy to take care of you all the time. don't worry, baby. you're mine. i'm not going anywhere."

you nod and babble incoherently. you don't even know what you're saying anymore. all you can do is agree with him.

"you're not going to let anyone else touch you, are you? this pretty pussy belongs to me now."

"y-yes. yours, dad."

"only mine?" he pushes his fingers a little deeper. he keeps nudging at that particular spot, one that has you squirming and wriggling on the couch.

"yes. yours. only yours."

"that's my girl. want you to cum all over me, sweetheart."

except you don't cum. not yet.

you're squirting now, liquid gushing out of your pussy as he finger fucks you into oblivion. you're spilling all over the couch, but you can't bring yourself to care. your chest is tight, your pussy clenches around your dad's fingers.

he keeps watching you, tongue poking at his teeth as he watches you come undone in his hands. your stomach tightens, the heat coils inside you, stringing you up by the throat as your breath is choked out of your lungs.

then you're falling and falling. your stomach tenses, your pussy squeezes tight. you're cumming all over his fingers.

"good girl, look at you. you did so well," bucky murmurs and his words strike you both in your chest and between your legs. that feeling of joy and pride blooming inside you.

you're entirely spent by the time the orgasm finishes rocking through you. your body is pleasantly tingling all over.

"that's what happens when you listen to your dad. if you let me take care of you."

you bite on your bottom lip, gaze falling to his cock still in his pants. "you're still hard. you haven't finished yet."

bucky rises to his feet, leaning over to kiss you on the head. "that's my problem to worry about."

you hesitate only for a moment. "but i want to learn how to please men too."

bucky swallows an expletive. he couldn't have created a more perfect daughter. "alright, why don't we clean this up before your mom gets home? then i'll teach you how to wrap that pretty mouth of yours around my cock."

nodding, you hum in agreement.

"and remember what i told you, sweetheart. next time you want to learn anything, you come to me. you got it?"

"got it, dad."

requested by anon: Can I request dad!bucky telling reader that if she wants to experience the stuff she wants to experience with boys she’ll have to come to him so *he* can teach her. He ends up training her to be a good daughter for him…. a/n: thank you for sending this request. i ended up enjoying writing this more than i thought. hope you like it as well. if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/mikeykuns

[flyhighlittledove]

ughhhh my favorite acct

[charliesinbox]

brother!bucky - teaching you how to cum cw: incest, fingering, initial dubcon

bucky's never been that close to his sister. it's not the age gap, which is minimal, nor is it the gender difference. he doesn't quite know how to put a finger on it but the two of you aren't the dream siblings that many imagine for their family.

he never thought much of his sister, until the two of you are home for winter break at the same time from college.

with the two of you heading off to opposite coasts, bucky barely saw you. the few things he hears about you are from your parents, who mention that you're active on campus, that they hope you have a boyfriend to take care of you.

now, bucky doesn't care. he's never been the overprotective big brother. so he brushes it all off.

it all changes when he arrives home to what he thought was an empty home. his parents had mentioned they would be working at the store today, which meant he's wheeling in his suitcase to a quiet house.

he yanks his things up the stairs to his room and then wanders down the hallway when he hears it.

whining. almost like someone's in pain.

with a frown, he trudges down to the other side of the hallway. the sounds are quiet, almost inaudible coming from your room, but he hears it in the pin-drop silence of the house.

he didn't even realize you were home already.

"hey, you okay in there?"

no response. another whine.

bucky doesn't think twice before twisting the doorknob and pushing it open. lo and behold, the sight that greets him is... unexpected to say the least.

you curled up on the bed with nothing more than an oversized t-shirt — his oversized t-shirt, mind you. your fingers between your legs, pussy peeking from behind, phone in your hand. your face scrunched up in distaste.

this is all before you cast your phone aside and let out a frustrated sigh. that's when your eyes meet.

"jesus christ, buck!" you pull your — his — shirt over your exposed legs.

"i thought you were hurt." bucky should be fazed. this is his sister after all and he just caught a glimpse of your pussy.

but he's too busy wondering when the hell his little sister grew up? she's touching herself now, figuring out how to please herself. sure, she's in college but it's all been conceptual.

until now.

now he sees how your breasts have developed, nipples peaking the fabric. he sees your smooth, supple skin, bare for the taking.

"having trouble?" he asks instead.

"dude, get out!" you snap.

"alright, alright. i was just trying to be helpful."

you crinkle your nose at him but he can see you softening. your eyes melting as they look at him. "gross, you're my brother."

"doesn't change the mechanics." he shrugs.

"i don't need to know about your sexual experience."

"i tried." bucky holds his hands up in surrender and is about to turn when he hears that satisfying wait. he spins back around to face you, biting back his smug smile.

your eyes are on the wall when you pinch your lips together. "what do you know?"

"know that jamming it in like that won't really help you get anywhere."

"that's how—" you stop yourself, flushing. "that's how the girls in the videos do it. or the guys."

"porn isn't real life, sis."

you're looking increasingly frustrated with him. "okay so what do i do?"

"first time touching yourself?"

"no," you snap, "but i can't. every time i try, i just can't."

he doesn't need you to spell it out for him. you can't get off. can't seem to get to that point of no return.

bucky licks his lips. this is wrong. he's older than you. he should know better.

"when's mom and dad coming home?"

"not until late."

"good. we have time then."

you press your lips together. "this isn't right, is it?"

"i'm just an older brother trying to help his sister feel good. is that so wrong? won't even touch you if you don't want it. i'll talk you through it." bucky says as he sits down on the bed next to you.

you don't move an inch. you don't shy away from him. it's both intriguing and sexy.

the corners of his lips lift. "alright, lay back. spread your legs out for me."

"this is so embarrassing."

"what's embarrassing is not knowing how to make this pretty pussy of yours feel good."

your reaction is immediate. a gasp. pupils blown wide. legs squeezing together. "you can't just— ohmygod, do you have no shame?"

"what? i can't call your pussy pretty? or i can't say pussy in general?"

you're sputtering incoherently. bucky pays it no mind, instead he uses his hands to nudge you back onto the pillows. he sits towards the foot of the bed so he can get a good look between your thighs. he can see a slight shimmer where you're wet and the lack of cream where you've failed to accomplish your goal.

"come on, spread those legs for me."

you're hesitant for a moment before your eyes find a point in the distance that isn't bucky to look at. slowly, you shift your knees up and part your legs. your hand covers that glistening mound but bucky still gets a peek from between your fingers.

pretty and clean. you wax. how cute.

"who do you wax for?"

"bucky!"

"just wondering. if you've never gotten yourself off."

before you realize, bucky is already reaching out, his index finger tracing the path of your slick slit. you close your legs on instinct and bite out his name again.

"you said you wouldn't touch me."

"you never said you didn't want it," bucky argues. "plus, i wanted to see how sensitive you are. now come on, open up again."

your parents always taught you to be a good girl. to listen to your big brother. they probably never anticipated for this to happen.

but you do so anyway, you open up your legs again.

bucky pushes your hands away, letting it fall onto your thigh. you try not to be so humiliated as bucky stares at your gaping pussy, your hole clenching around air under the intensity of his gaze.

his hand extends again. this time, you don't move. you've always been a good girl to your parents; unsurprising that you're the same way with your brother.

bucky drags his finger up your wet lips again, feeling the moisture collect on his tip.

"what turns you on, sis?"

your pussy clenches again.

"is it me calling you sis? knowing that we're siblings and that we shouldn't be doing this?"

"bucky," you whine.

bucky chuckles low. "what is it then?"

"i-i don't know."

"what kind of porn do you watch? guess that doesn't really help since you can't even get off to them."

"i like listening to them talk," you mutter shyly. bucky raises an eyebrow in question. "when they're talking dirty. it's the only thing that really gets to me."

his lips curl again. "my little sister likes dirty talk, doesn't she? like it when they're saying all those filthy, embarrassing things? do you imagine them saying it to you?"

bucky still hasn't removed himself from you. his fingers are now lazily stroking your moist folds, going up one side and down the other. around and around. sometimes his finger rubs up against your clit and he feels your legs jerk a little in surprise.

"bucky, don't be mean. you said you'd teach me."

"want to do it yourself? or do you want your big brother to take care of you?"

your lips part in surprise, like the thought hadn't occurred to you.

"i can do it for you and you can try it yourself next time to see if it works. if not, you know where to find me."

you give in so easily. nodding as you open your legs a little wider, shirt hitching up a little higher.

"is this what you were expecting tonight? putting on my shirt and hoping that i would come in to help you?" bucky taunts and you curl into yourself. "or do you just like wearing my shirt because you're imagining it's me saying all those naughty things to you? playing with this pretty pussy of yours until you're leaking all over me."

your breath hitches in your throat when bucky's thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles to stimulate that bundle of nerves. your fingers twist in your sheets, your legs tense like they're actively trying to stay open.

"tell me, sis. is this what you wanted? did you want my hands on you? your big brother to play with your pussy?"

"a-ah, bucky, please."

"use your words, sweetheart."

"i-it wasn't." past tense.

"but it is now?"

you don't answer, which is answer enough. bucky continues thumbing your clit while his other finger slides slowly inside your pussy.

the stretch has you sighing through your teeth. your face scrunches at the intrusion before it melts away into a moan. "that's my pretty girl," bucky coos, "you like your big brother's fingers inside you?"

his name rolls of your tongue in protest again.

"come on, say it. you want to enjoy this, don't you?"

you whine but your eyes flutter shut anyway. "y-yes. i like this."

"you like what?"

"i like my b-big brother's fingers inside me."

bucky's pants tighten. he could pull it out, jerk off to the sight of you right now. use his slick fingers to stroke his own cock, maybe paint your face pretty when he finishes. but he needs to bide his time. needs to train you properly first.

"good girl," he murmurs. "you like me inside or do you like me rubbing outside?"

you look like you're struggling to decipher his question. your brain moving slowly to process it.

"already too fucked out to think? barely have a finger inside you, sis."

"i don't know okay! both feel good."

bucky tests it out again, sliding his fingers along your lips and rubbing slowly — your face relaxes — and then pressing harder — your lips quiver — and then dipping his fingers back in — you tilt your head back with a groan.

"inside it is," bucky confirms. he curls his fingers gently inside you, stroking your walls with intention. he memorizes the way your face shifts with every rub. he adds a second finger and hears the lovely gasp that escapes your mouth. he parts his fingers to stretch you out, pulls them out to push them back in, curls them until he can feel your pussy mold around him.

he learns that you like it when he pumps it slowly, not that eager thrust that you were trying earlier.

he learns that you like it when he slides his wet fingers out to stroke your folds.

he learns that you love it when he talks dirty to you.

"pussy so fucking tight. my sister's virgin cunt is taking my fingers so well. can't imagine how hard you'd squeeze my cock."

"too stupid to respond now? had a mouth on you earlier. look at you babbling b-bucky now."

"a fucking whore for your big brother. spreading your legs like this. imagine if our parents saw you."

it doesn't take you very long until your legs are stiffening, your back arching off the bed. your moans spilling from your lips in broken breaths. bucky can see you're close.

"do you wanna cum, sweetheart?"

"bucky, please," you rasp, "yes. yes."

"you couldn't even cum by yourself. you need your big brother to show you how to use this pussy, didn't you?"

"yes, oh god, yes."

bucky grins as he pumps his fingers in and out of you again, sliding in an excruciating pace before he speeds it up, drawing those delicious groans from your lips. "that's it. i wanna hear you cum, sis. come on. come around your brother's fingers."

then you're clamping around him, his fingers caught in the vice grip of your wet heat, your fingers wrap around his wrist, nudging him in just a little bit deeper.

"k-keep going."

fuck. bucky keeps fucking you with his fingers, dragging out your orgasm until you're overstimulated and screaming and weeping with drool down your chin.

messy, messy girl.

before long, you try to drag him out with a whine. "n-no more. sensitive."

bucky curves his fingers one last time to pull out another pained moan from your lips. he finally releases you with a squelch, looking at his fingers completely drenched in your juices, spots of white from your cream, and a sprinkling of red.

shit, you really are a virgin. how cute.

"good?"

you don't respond. the realization of what you've done sinking in based on that alarmed look on your face.

"relax," bucky chuckles, bringing his fingers to his lips. you watch in sick fascination as he drags it along his bottom lip before sliding both onto his tongue. he leaves his mouth open, letting you see how he licks around his digits.

every single drop of your juice clean.

"not gonna tell anyone," he smiles. "now you know what you like."

"how do i know i can do it again?" you shyly ask.

bucky's lips twitch. "if you can't, you call me up. spread those pretty legs. i'll talk you through it."

requested by anon: Brother Bucky who walks in on his poor sister struggling to get off and so he helps her 🥰 a/n: this came out longer than i intended. for some reason i started rambling a little more and it's not as icky as i usually make it, but it's also icky in its own way. hope you still enjoy! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/fae-and-wolf

[flyhighlittledove]

Oh my god!!! You are my new favorite account 😵‍💫😵‍💫your writing has me so dizzy. the build up was sooo hot 🫶 need my big brother

[gross-dada]

i didnt mean to hurt you so bad kiddo, you just get so tight when youre in pain