I've been an AO3 writer since around 2020. I write Reader inserts for Marvel, Supernatural, Peaky Blinders, and I've dabbled with some DC. All my works are explicit and for 18+. Definitely NSFW! Follow me on AO3 - Tania885 https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tania885
See all my works on AO3. Guests can read my works too! Click the link here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
All of my works are on AO3. Most are too long to transfer over. So, I put a list below of my fic pairings. I have managed to transfer a few shorter ones, also listed below.
All my fics are female reader inserts (non-descriptive). They are all Explicit and NSFW. All are tagged accordingly.
Marvel
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Steve Rogers x Reader
Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Reader
Clint Barton x Reader
Thor x Reader
Loki x Reader
Frank Castle x Reader
Supernatural
Dean Winchester x Reader
Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader (My personal fav 😉)
Dean Winchester x Castiel x Reader
Castiel x Reader
Peaky Blinders
Tommy Shelby x Reader
Alfie Solomons x Reader
DC
Bane × Reader
Jonathan Crane x Reader
Added to Tumblr
Marvel
Sergeant Trouble Maker - Part 1 - Part 2 - Bucky Barnes x Reader
Fire and Ice - Steve Rogers x Reader
Lie to Me - Chapter List - Steve Rogers x Reader and Bucky Barnes x Reader
Sucker For You - Chapter List - Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader
Mission Accomplished -Master List Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader
Loki Fics - Master List - Loki x Asgardian Reader
Watching The Sky - Master List - Thor x Avenger Reader
Unbreak My Heart - Part 1 - Part 2 - Frank Castle x Reader
One Night - (One Shot) - Frank Castle x Reader
Supernatural
Forbidden Desires - Chapter List - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader
Queen of Hell - Chapter List - Dean Winchester x Reader and Castiel x Reader
Don't Deny Me - Chapter List - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader
Months after disappearing, your ex shows up again like nothing ever happened. You hate his guts, but you can’t stop clenching your thighs as you read his drunk texts in the middle of the night.
One stupid night. One stupid mistake that changes everything.
Coming soon…
Soo, I wanted to share a little glimpse of the new project I’m working on, just so you know I’m not being lazy and I am actually writing hahaha.
Venom will be making appearances, but he won’t be a major focus, so don’t expect any wild threesomes (you’ve got other fics for that hehe). Oh, and a big part of the first chapter will be written in text-message format.
I don’t know how many parts this will be yet. I’m guessing at least two, but I’m focusing on the first one for now, so we’ll see. I don’t want to give an ETA so I don’t end up disappointing anyone, but maybe before January is over.
Pairing: Castiel x F!Reader (Reader is Jimmy's, Castiel’s Vessel, Eldest and Adult Daughter)
Words: 2k Rating: Explicit!! / 18+ only
Tags: Incest, Technically it's Father/Daughter Incest, Virgin!Castiel, Oblivious Winchester’s, Mention’s of Canon Typical Gruesome Deaths, Kissing, and Dry Humping.
Summary: Castiel is in the midst of helping Sam and Dean hunt down the horseman, Famine. When out of the blue you show up. His vessel, Jimmy's, beautiful eldest daughter. He can't tell where Jimmy's feelings end and his begin. But it's anything but familial and he's starving in a way he's never felt before.
A/N: Credit and big thanks to my anon that requested this fic and the key plot points. You know who you are. 😉
Storyline takes part during Season 5 Episode 14 My Bloody Valentine
Part 1 - A New Hunger
Castiel POV
Dust swirls around in the air of the musty and old motel room. The room itself is silent save for the occasional heavy sigh from Dean as he does monotonous research on his laptop. Cas is quietly reading a case file he was asked to review. His eyebrows are furrowed and knitted together as he reads the documents with an unnecessary intensity.
First there was a young couple out on a first date that literally ate each other to death. Then a man that rammed twinkies down his gullet like he was ramrodding a cannon until his stomach burst and he died. The strange deaths just keep coming.
The silence is broken when the motel room door opens revealing the other Winchester. Sam makes it inside just in time before the weather turns and begins pouring like a monsoon outside.
Dean stretches seemingly happy for a distraction. “How’d it go?”
“Um…” Sam mumbles, taking his coat off. He just finished interviewing one of the victim's roommates. “No EMF. No Sulfur. Ghost possession and demonic possession are both probably out.”
“Huh. That’s where I was putting my money.” Dean grunts.
“Nope.”
Dean rubs his tired eyes and closes the laptop. “Well, then what? Dude, at the coroner’s– you didn’t see these bodies. I mean, these two started eating a-and they just kept going. I mean their stomachs were full. Like thanksgiving dinner full.”
Sam shrugs, taking a seat and opening his laptop. “Well, I mean, we got our feelers out.” He pauses gesturing to the silent angel. “Not much more we can do tonight. So I'm just going to go through some files. You can go ahead and get going.”
The other hunter’s face skews. “Sorry? Where am I going?”
While Sam stares at his brother with a dumbfounded look on his face the angel answers for him without looking up from the files. “It’s Valentine's Day Dean. Your favorite holiday I believe.”
“Ya, unattached drifter Christmas. You like to call it.” Sam adds, just as some thunder cracks ominously outside.
“Oh, right.” Dean shrugs. “Guess I’m not feeling it this year.”
“When a dog doesn’t eat– that’s when you know something’s really wrong.” Sam starts, but there’s a couple heavy knocks on the door. The hunters immediately switch modes and draw their guns.
The angel still unbothered flips to the next page in the file. More thunder cracks and lightning lights up the evening sky. It isn’t until a familiar voice reaches his ears. “Dad!” That he tears his eyes away from the file and looks toward the door.
“(Y/N)?” He frowns, jumping to his feet. It's the eldest daughter of his vessel, Jimmy. He feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t quite understand as he lays eyes upon you. “I’m not–”
“I know, you’re not my father.” You interrupt having been told that exact sentence by him before. “I-I just…I need to see you–him, and you keep avoiding me.”
He made a promise to Jimmy to keep his family safe. The only way he can see to keep that promise is to keep the Novak family away from himself and the Winchesters. Fore wherever they go trouble surely follows.
“Cas, she can’t be here, man. It’s not safe.” Dean starts.
The angel ignores the hunters, and can't explain why he does it, but he reaches for your hand to guide you inside the motel room. He should be sending you away, not bringing you closer.
Then when he feels the cold, dampness of your hand he realizes how drenched you are. You must have gotten caught up in the downpour of the storm outside.
He walks you to the nearest bed, gently pushing on your shoulders to silently ask you to have a seat. Then he goes to the bathroom and grabs a clean towel. “How did you find me?” He asks, his gravelly voice is full of concern.
“Um…” You sniffle, taking the towel to dry your face. “I’ve been tracking your phone. You finally stayed in one place long enough, and were close enough for me to catch up.”
“Cas!” Dean growls. “She shouldn’t be here!”
Cas throws Dean a heated glare for his rudeness. “I’m aware Dean.” He says tersely, taking a seat beside you, again doing the exact opposite of what he should be doing. “Why don’t you and Sam go get dinner while I tend to her.”
Sam, being the kinder hearted one, nods in understanding and remembers he was worried about his brother’s behavior before this interruption. So he easily agrees. “Just call us if you need anything alright?” The hunter says as he guides his gruff brother out of the room with him.
Once the Winchester’s are gone it’s just you and the angel…the angel inhabiting your father’s body. He looks at you with his blue eyes. These blue eyes are familiar yet different at the same time. “I’m sorry about Dean. But he’s not wrong. It’s not safe for you to be here.”
“I-I know, but you don’t answer my prayers– and I just needed to see my dad. To know he’s okay, and–” Your voice cracks and your eyes begin to water, but you push on swallowing against the lump building in your throat. “Is he, you know, okay?”
Cas nods his head. “He is. I keep him in happy memories. So he’s not aware of what’s happening in the outside world.”
“Many of his happiest are with you to be honest.” Cas says with a fond smile. “That’s also why I don’t answer your prayers. I promised Jimmy to keep his family safe. You’re safest being away from me.”
“Really?” You sniffle again. “What kind of happy memories?”
You sigh at his words, knowing the angel is right. “Things are just really hard right now. Especially between me and mom. She’s a living nightmare these days. I was always closer to dad to begin with, but it’s only gotten worse since he’s been gone. I know my family problems are miniscule in comparison to saving the world. But can I– can I just talk to you for a little bit? Get some things off my chest and then I’ll go?”
“Of course.” He nods. “It's the least I can do considering…” Then he is suddenly distracted by some water droplets falling from your hair and landing onto your neck. His mouth goes dry as he watches the droplets travel down your neckline and disappear down your cleavage. “You’re still soaked.” He murmurs, taking the towel from your hands.
He follows the trail of the water droplets with a corner of the towel. Swiping along your neckline and to the top of your cleavage. Then proceeds to coax your jacket off your shoulders so that he can continue rubbing the fabric across your skin. Internally he’s wondering why he didn’t just use his grace to dry you off from the start? Odd reactions on his part that he cannot explain.
You don’t seem to mind, or you simply don’t say anything. You just let the angel go on fussing about you while you start venting about your home life with your mother, and dropping out of college.
Once he’s done drying you off he raises his eyes to your face. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and noticing how beautiful you are. Your bright eyes, your plump lips, your beautiful face…your perky bust. Wait, when did his eyes drop down there?
His eyes drop even lower when he feels a sensation he’s never felt before. His normally flaccid phallus begins to tighten against his slacks. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with new feelings and sensations that he can’t understand where they are coming from. So he decides to do some digging in Jimmy’s memories.
Castiel has to dive deep but he eventually finds the feelings Jimmy tried to bury. Jimmy Novak, is a devout Christian. That’s why he was chosen as Castiel’s vessel. Jimmy’s been hiding an even deeper devotion. He has devout love and sexual desires for his eldest daughter, (Y/N). A love and lust that developed as she got older. Her beauty and her body become more delicious each passing year. His affections for her eventually became stronger than his faith or even those he once held for his wife…
“Thank you for listening.”
Your voice cuts through his thoughts and inner turmoil like butter. Cas’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling Jimmy’s feelings so strongly all of a sudden. But he also doesn’t know what to do to keep them at bay either.
He reaches out tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have to agree with your father. You have grown into a very beautiful young woman.”
You bite on your bottom lip feeling your cheeks heat up at the compliment. “He used to call me his pretty baby.”
Castiel cups your cheek in his hand. He uses his thumb to free your bottom lip. Then rubs his thumb along your lips. So soft. I wonder what they taste like. Wait– Where did that thought come from? The angel shakes his head in confusion and clears his throat awkwardly. “Did you like it? The term of endearment your father used, I mean.”
“I'd always argue that I wasn't a baby anymore.” You shrug. “But, ya, I miss hearing him say it.” You say as you lean into his touch, his hand still caressing your cheek.
Cas's eyes start wandering again. This time taking in your attire. You're wearing a tight and low cut tank top that Jimmy surely would have disapproved of you wearing outside the house. But he can see your perfect shape and the outline of your pert nipples from the cool air. Oh how he wants to wrap his lips around those while you stroke his cock. Your skirt is so short that he’s sure he can see your sweet round ass if you bent over. Naughty girl needs a spanking. Wait, what?
As if attracted like magnets he realizes both of you have leaned in closer to each other. Or maybe he pulled you closer, he can’t really be sure. Nothing makes sense right now. Nothing except your lips are only mere inches away and he desperately needs to taste and feel them against his.
He watches as your innocent eyes search his, but you do nothing to pull away. “Kiss me daddy.” You whimper.
A deep groan escapes him as you call him daddy. Then all willpower is lost and he crashes his lips against yours. They are even softer than he, or maybe it was Jimmy, imagined. He forces his tongue into your mouth, coaxing a gasp out of you.
The sweet little sounds you make turn him on even more as his tongue explores your mouth. He wants to know what other sounds you can make for him. Without breaking the kiss he pushes on your shoulder making you lay back on the bed.
Your legs immediately open up for him so that he can position himself between your thighs. His engorged cock presses against your core. Instinctively he grinds against you, earning him a pleased moan from your lips.
Allowing you a moment to take a breath he breaks the kiss looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “I–I’ve never…had the occasion.” He mutters nervously. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing.”
You smile at him sweetly, putting your hand on the back of his neck and pulling him closer. “Just do what feels good.” You say just before connecting your lips with his again. Your hand moves into his hair tangling into his dark locks.
He continues his pursuit of devouring your lips, unable to get enough of your sweet tasting lip gloss. Then almost involuntarily his hips begin rocking. His hard length rubbing at your clothed pussy. He swallows down each moan you make against his lips with each thrust of his cock.
“I want to bring you pleasure in every way possible.” The angel growls against your lips. “Pretty baby.”
“Yes daddy!” You cry reaching for his belt. But before you can even unfasten it bright headlights shine through the motel room curtains along with the tell tale rumblings of the Impala. Signaling the return of Sam and Dean….
Ouch, cockblocking cliffhanger. How rude I know! Don't worry more to come and the next chapter will be the Reader's POV.
Don't forget to comment and reblog! Thanks for reading!
Prompt: During a game of Truth or Dare, your brother Bucky suggests something very filthy. And you accept it.
Pairing: Brother!Bucky Barnes x Sister!Reader
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: DDDNE (dead dove do not eat); siblingcest; brother/sister; oral sex (male receiving); shotgunning (brief); no use of Y/N; both Bucky & reader are 18+
Notes: this came to me in another fit of delusion, as I think all my writing does at this point. please remember to not interact with content you're not comfortable with !!
Two whiskeys and a homemade margarita were all it took for you to accept your brother’s challenge for a few rounds of Truth or Dare. A game you played ever since you were teens and you found the meaning of consequences.
The fire crackles softly in your fireplace, casting golden light across the living room, and empty glasses sit on the coffee table beside a bowl of chips and a couple of candy wrappers. The house is quiet except for the occasional pop from the logs. Your parents won’t be back until Sunday night, and the freedom of that fact hangs perfectly in the air.
You and Bucky are both sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, legs stretched out, barefoot, the kind of comfortable that comes from too many drinks and the closeness of siblings. Bucky is making himself comfortable again after he had just gotten up to show you the very much real pack of cigarettes in his backpack like evidence in a courtroom. You’re staring at him dumbfounded.
“You smoke. You.” You stared at the pack in his hand, then at his face, searching for the joke that had to be there. A discovery made after a “truth” question.
He just shrugs, that lazy half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yep. Since first year of college.”
Your jaw might as well have dropped. “That’s… okay, that’s crazy. And Mom and Dad have no idea? How have you been hiding this all this time?”
He laughs under his breath, reaching for his whiskey and taking a slow sip. “That’s more than one question, kid. My turn.” He grins wide before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Truth or dare, sis?”
You lean back against the armrest, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The margarita left your cheeks warm, your thoughts a little looser than usual. “Truth.”
Bucky’s grin turns a little darker.
“You’ve picked truth for the last two turns. Don’t be a pussy.”
You scoff, kicking lightly at his shin with your foot. “Then why even ask if you’re just gonna call me a pussy for not picking dare?”
“Because if you keep hiding behind truth, we’re basically playing twenty questions. Where’s the fun in that?”
A pause then, eyes narrowed at him trying to look annoyed, but the alcohol and the warmth of the fire and the look in his eyes are nothing but the loudest challenge in the room.
“Okay. Dare.”
Bucky shifts immediately, sitting up straighter in his seat. He looks up at you for maybe a full minute, assessing, maybe pretending to think of a dare. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Whatever he is about to say, you’re sure he’s had it ready since the moment he called you out for picking truth.
Silence. Bucky exhales.
“Remember the consequence if you don’t do the dare?”
You huff, trying to play it cool even as your heart starts beating faster. “Do the dishes for a month. Ugh, don’t be boring, Bucky. Just say what the dare is.”
“I dare you…” Another pause. He seems unfazed by whatever is on his mind. “to give my cock a kiss.”
You nearly choke on your saliva, heat flooding your face so fast it feels like the fire leaped straight into your veins. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again, but no sound comes out at first.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” You finally blurt out, voice cracking halfway. “Buck, that’s disgusting. You’re my brother.”
He doesn’t even blink. Just leans back against the couch cushions, arms spreading along the backrest.
“Aww, sis,” he drawls, a little mocking. “didn’t know you were such a prude.”
That hits something in you. Like it’s an actual offense that he would say that. “A prude? You just asked me to kiss your dick! I’m not being a prude, I’m being a normal person.”
“Hey, you picked dare. I gave you one.” He tilts his head, studying you with lazy amusement. “You know, you can always back out.” A beat. “You know the consequence.”
Dishes for a month. The same stupid punishment you’ve enforced since you were fifteen. You hate doing dishes. You really hate doing dishes for a month.
Your heart is hammering so hard you can feel it in your fingertips. The room feels ten degrees hotter. The alcohol swirls warm in your stomach, loosening your limbs, fuzzing the edges of everything. You’re definitely not drunk, but you’re loose enough that the outrage feels a little distant, almost as if the situation is happening to someone else.
Bucky’s watching you, expecting you to call him a pervert and run to your bedroom upstairs.
You don’t.
Instead, you push yourself up, bare feet hitting the rug. Bucky’s smirk falters, just a flicker, as you move toward him and drop to your knees in front of him, right between his spread legs, hands resting on the edge of the coffee table behind you for balance.
The cocky mask on his face slips fully for the first time tonight.
“Whoa. Wait, what are you—you’re not actually…?”
Your eyes meet his, cheeks burning, pulse racing. The alcohol hums in your veins, daring you forward. “You gave me a dare,” you say. “I’m not doing dishes for a month.”
Bucky’s breath catches sharply as you settle between his thighs, the rug soft under your knees. His hands hover uselessly in the air for a second, like he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.
“You’re… you’re bluffing,” he says, but his voice has lost all its earlier swagger. “Come on, get up. This is—”
You don’t answer with words. Your fingers find the button of his jeans, pop it open with a soft click. The zipper comes down next. Bucky’s hips twitch, just barely, but you feel it.
He’s already hard.
The outline of him strains against the dark fabric of his boxer briefs, thick and obvious. You can see the shape of him clearly now, the way he’s swollen and heavy, and the realization sends a fresh wave of heat through you.
“Jesus,” he mutters, head falling back against the couch for a second before he jerks it up again to stare at you. “There’s no way—”
You tug the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free him. He springs out, hot and hard against his stomach, the tip already slick. The sight steals whatever comeback he had left. His mouth opens, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale.
You lean in.
Your lips brush the head of his cock, soft, almost chaste at first, just a press of warmth. Bucky jolts like you’ve shocked him. You linger there for a second, feeling the velvet heat of him, the faint salt on your lips, the way his thighs tense under your palms.
Then you part your lips and take him in.
Not just a kiss anymore. You slide down slowly, tongue flat against the underside, until the head nudges the back of your throat. Bucky’s hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just gripping, fingers threading tight like he needs something to hold onto. A strangled groan tears out of him.
“Fuck, sis, what are you...?”
Words die on his tongue when you pull back almost all the way, lips sealed around him, then sink down again, deeper this time. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and warm, and the alcohol in your blood makes everything feel slow and syrupy and inevitable. You set a rhythm. Up, down, swirl of tongue around the tip each time you rise; unhurried, like you’ve got all night.
Bucky’s head drops back again, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open on silent curses. His hips rock up once, instinctively, and you let him, taking him deeper until your nose brushes the coarse hair at his base. Another groan, louder this time.
“Shit…” The word comes out broken. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” His grip on your hair tightens, trembling now. He’s trying so hard not to thrust, trying to keep whatever shred of control he has left, but you can feel it slipping.
Bucky’s chest rises and falls in ragged bursts, the hand not tangled in your hair fumbling blindly along the couch cushion until his fingers close around the pack he’d tossed aside earlier. You hear the soft flick of his lighter, the quick scrape of metal on flint, and then the faint hiss as he draws the first drag.
The sharp, familiar scent of tobacco curls into the air, mixing with the woodsmoke from the fireplace and the heavier, muskier heat between you. You glance up through your lashes just as he exhales, a thin stream of smoke drifting toward the ceiling. The orange glow of the cigarette tip flares as he takes another pull, his eyes half-lidded, fixed on your lips stretched around him, on the way your cheeks hollow every time you pull back.
Something about it hits you like a spark straight to your core. Maybe it’s the casual arrogance of it. Lighting up while you’re on your knees for him, like this is just another lazy night on the couch. It should piss you off, but instead, it makes your panties so wet they might be ruined forever.
It’s hot. Unfairly hot.
You moan around him, the vibration humming straight through his cock. Bucky’s hips jerk involuntarily, a sharp curse slipping out as smoke spills from his parted lips.
“Fuck, you like that?”
You answer by taking him deeper, faster, cheeks hollowing harder. Your hands slide up his thighs, nails digging in just enough to feel him tense under your palms. The cigarette dangles from his fingers, forgotten for a second as his head tips back again, another slow exhale shuddering out of him.
He brings it to his lips once more, eyes locked on yours this time, holding your gaze while he inhales. When he pulls it away, he doesn’t exhale right away. Just lets the smoke sit in his lungs, chest expanding, before releasing it in a lazy ribbon that drifts down over you.
You suck him harder, sloppy now, saliva slicking your chin, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Every time he takes a drag, you match it, like you’re trying to suck the smoke straight out of him. Your jaw aches in the best way, thighs trembling from kneeling so long, but you don’t care.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, cigarette bobbing between his fingers as he speaks. “Sucking me off like that while I smoke… you’re fucking filthy, sis. My filthy slut.”
The words send a fresh rush of heat through you. You whimper around him, eyes watering, but you don’t slow down. If anything, you’re more desperate, chasing the way his thighs start to shake under your hands.
“Fuck… I’m close,” he rasps, voice shredded. Smoke leaks from the corner of his mouth as he speaks. “You’re gonna make me—”
You don’t let him finish. You take him all the way down, nose pressed to his skin, throat working around him. That’s all it takes.
He comes with a choked groan, hips bucking hard enough to lift off the couch. The first pulse hits the back of your tongue, hot and thick, and you swallow instinctively, again and again, milking every last drop as he spills down your throat. His whole body locks up, trembling, the hand in your hair gripping almost painfully tight while the other crushes what’s left of the cigarette into the whiskey glass with a faint hiss.
You keep him in your mouth until he’s spent, until the last shudder rolls through him and his grip loosens. Only then do you pull off slowly, lips dragging along his length, tongue catching the final bead at the tip. He’s sensitive now, breath stuttering when you give the head one last soft lick, cleaning him.
The room smells like sex and smoke and burned wood. Your knees ache against the rug, chin wet, lips swollen, but you feel strangely calm, like you just won something you didn’t know you were competing for.
He stubs the dead cigarette out properly, then reaches down, thumb brushing across your lower lip, smearing the mess there.
“Come here.”
You rise up on shaky legs, climbing into his lap without thinking. He cups the back of your neck and pulls you in. You think he’s going to kiss you, but he pauses, nose brushing yours.
“Want something?” he murmurs, reading the look on your face before you even say it.
You nod, barely a movement. “Exhale in my mouth.”
His eyes flare. He takes one last drag from a fresh cigarette he must have lit while you were catching your breath, holds it deep, then leans in.
His lips part against yours, and he breathes the smoke straight into you. You inhale it greedily, lungs filling with him, with the sharp bite of tobacco and the lingering taste of his release still coating your tongue. It’s dizzying.
Then he kisses you for real.
It’s messy and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours, sharing the smoke and the salt and everything else. You taste yourself on him somehow, or maybe it’s just him on you, but it doesn’t matter. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth like he’s already ready for more.
When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, he just smirks.
“Your turn, sis,” he whispers against your lips. “And I’m picking dare.”
read part 1 here
Prompt: After what happened on Christmas Eve, you and Bucky try to ignore the elephant in the room. But it's not easy when you're both all alone under the stars of a new planetarium exhibition.
Pairing: Brother!Bucky Barnes x Older Sister!Reader
Word count: 7.3k
Warnings: DDDNE (dead dove do not eat); incest; siblingcest (brother/sister); age gap (reader is 4 years older than Bucky, both are over 18+); inexperienced Bucky Barnes; use of pet name (my moon); dirty talk (Bucky trying it out for the first time); mention of creampie (not depicted); mention of jerking off (not depicted); fingering; pussy pronouns (just once); p in v; protected sex; yearning !!; Space Cuties! Bucky is a space nerd, reader is also a space nerd; no use of Y/N; not beta'd
Notes: gosh, the overwhelming love for the first part of this fic has truly made my heart ache in the best possible way. thank you for being a part of the space cuties journey with me. 💕
as always dividers by me. reminder to not read unless you are comfortable with the tagged themes !!
It’s been two weeks since Christmas Eve, and you still haven’t figured out how to be normal around Bucky.
The memory lives in your body more than your mind, lingering like a bruise you keep pressing on. Too tender, impossible to ignore. The way his hands shook when they touched you. The way he whispered your name like it was sacred and sinful at the same time. The way you both swore, pinkies linked in the dark, that it would never happen again.
You swore it was a mistake. One time. Never again.
But the promise didn’t stop the dreams. Didn’t stop the way your skin remembered his mouth. Didn’t stop the ache that settled low in your stomach every time your phone buzzed and you hoped, stupidly, it was him.
You’ve kept your distance. Short texts, careful topics. He’s done the same. You tell yourself it’s working. You almost believe it.
Until today.
You’re standing in the darkened dome of the planetarium after hours, running one last test on the new constellation exhibit. The projector hums to life above you, and suddenly the ceiling is alive with stars; thousands of them.
This exhibit has been your obsession for months. You fought for every detail, the accurate positioning, the subtle animations. You did it for the visitors, sure. But mostly you did it for the kid version of Bucky who used to lie on the grass with you in summer, tracing shapes in the sky with his finger while you read aloud from dog-eared library books. You’ve always been the one who gave him the stars.
Now you’re standing under a perfect sky, and the only person you want to share it with is the one you’re not supposed to want at all.
That’s when your phone feels heavy in your pocket.
You pull it out before the rational part of your brain can talk you out of it. Thumbs hover over the screen for a long minute, heart thudding hard enough that you’re sure the empty room can hear it.
Finally, you type.
You: Hey space nerd
You: Got a surprise for you
You: New exhibit isn’t open to the public yet but I can get you in this afternoon, since we’re closed
You: Meet me at the side entrance at 5?
You hit send and immediately regret the casual tone, like this is just a fun sibling hangout and not you actively inviting the source of your sleepless nights into a private room with a ceiling full of stars.
Your phone vibrates almost instantly.
Bucky: you had me at space nerd
Bucky: i’ll be there
Bucky: thanks sis ❤️
That little heart emoji punches the air out of your lungs. He’s been using with you for years, but now it feels different. Loaded.
You spend the rest of the day distracted, running through lighting sequences and constellation overlays, but really you’re thinking about how he’ll look when the stars come on. How close he’ll stand to you. Whether he’ll mention Christmas. Whether you want him to.
By 4:45 you’re waiting at the staff entrance, bundled in your coat, breath fogging in the cold. Your keys jangle in your hand as you pace.
Headlights sweep across the snow, and his truck pulls up to the curb. He climbs out, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, that familiar grin already in place when he spots you.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet. Snowflakes catch in his dark hair as he walks up. “This better be good. I turned down Steve’s invitation to get pizza before the football game for this mysterious secret field trip.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Trust me, you’ll like it more than pizza.”
He falls into step beside you as you unlock the side door and lead him inside. The hallway is dim, emergency lights casting long shadows. His shoulder brushes yours more than once, and neither of you moves away.
“So,” he says, glancing around the empty corridors, “you’ve been working on something big, huh? You’ve been kinda cagey about it.”
“It’s a new immersive show,” you answer, keeping your voice light. “Opens to the public next month, but…” You glance at him sideways. “I wanted you to see it first.”
He stops walking for a second, surprised. “Really?”
You shrug, suddenly shy. “If anyone deserves an exclusive preview, it’s you.”
He looks away first, clearing his throat. “Lead the way, tour guide.”
You smile to cover the sudden tightness in your chest and keep walking, leading him deeper into the building, past closed galleries and silent halls. You stop at a corner before pushing open a heavy black door.
When the two of you walk in, the room is pitch dark, chairs spread across the room and stairs in the middle, guarded by safety rails. The walls are bare, the ceiling barren, all stark white under the faint emergency glow; the real magic is behind a projector that is turned off for the time being. It’s incredibly… lackluster. Walls that rather feel like an abandoned classroom where a lecturer will bore to death a group of students for two hours straight. Bucky looks around the room, maybe looking for something special to catch his eye or for you to reveal the surprise.
"...Okay. I mean, sis, you know going anywhere with you is fine, but—" His lips curl into the crooked smile you know all too well, the one that says he's about to tease the hell out of you.
"Don't be a smartass," you answer, swatting his shoulder playfully as you brush past him to stand in the center of the room. You stand near a cushioned chaise, set apart from the regular chairs. A place clearly meant for someone to lie down and look at the ceiling above them. “We’re standing in the middle of the stars right now.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms over his chest before looking up, staring at the ceiling like he’s fully expecting it to open wide in the meantime and reveal the universe. “… Did you hit your head?”
"Oh my God, shut up," you groan, heat rushing to your cheeks even in the dark. "I wanted to do a pretty speech. About how sometimes you can't see the stars because it's too bright out, or the sky's all cloudy and messed up. But they're always there anyway." A pause. Bucky doesn’t interrupt this time, his head just tilts back down as he looks at you, his attention back on your voice as if you’re saying the most important thing he’s ever heard. Undivided. “Hm. Well, anyway… I thought you’d like this.”
You trail off, digging into your pocket for the small remote you've been hiding since he arrived. It's sleek, with just a few buttons, nothing flashy. Bucky squints at it, trying to figure out your game, but he doesn't have to wait long.
You raise your hand, aim the remote at an innocuous dot on the ceiling, and press a button.
The room transforms.
A thousand shades of blue wash over the ceiling first, spreading like ink in water. Then come the stars, thousands of them, pinpricks of light blooming across the expanse in perfect clarity. Some twinkle faintly, others burn steady and bright. Slowly, constellations emerge as delicate lines connect the dots and letters form words in elegant script across the walls.
Right above you, the constellations Perseus and Andromeda stare straight at you as if they are witnessing the birth of something new. A stolen piece of the cosmos tucked into this little room. And with you holding the remote, Bucky just a few feet away from you, it really feels like you’ve stolen it just for him.
Bucky’s breath catches, his head tilted back again, eyes wide as he takes in the sight surrounding him. The blue light reflects in his gaze, ocean blue eyes even bluer now. You’re reminded of the way he looked so soft under his bedroom lights, similar shades covering this room now. Bucky’s the one staring at the ceiling, but you’re the one wonderstruck.
“Holy shit, that’s so cool,” he murmurs, genuine awe seeping from his voice. “That’s Cassiopeia. And that’s Andromeda and Perseus. You know the story, right?”
You do. You’ve read it about a hundred times in your old astronomy books, the same ones you shared with Bucky once he started having the same passion for the stars. You’ve read the text they’ve written for the visitors of this exhibition even if it hasn’t been made public yet. But here, in this moment, staring at Bucky as he stares at a man-made sky in the white ceiling, you want him to talk you through it. Before you think better of it, your body moves on instinct. You close the small distance between you, sliding your arm through his and curling it tight around his bicep. You lean your head against his shoulder, tilting your face upward to follow his gaze.
“Tell me, Buck.”
He glances down at you for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting in a private little smile, like he knows exactly what you’re doing and loves you for it. Then his eyes drift back to the ceiling.
“Princess Andromeda was said to be more beautiful than the sea nymphs. Her mother Cassiopeia bragged about it one too many times, and that pissed off Poseidon. So he sent this massive sea monster, Cetus, to tear apart their kingdom.”
His free hand lifts, tracing the faint outline of the constellation with one finger. You watch the motion more than the stars.
“Perseus was flying home after chopping off Medusa’s head, still carrying it in a bag, by the way, which is really dope. He sees Andromeda chained to a rock as an offering to the monster. Doesn’t even hesitate. Swoops in, pulls out the head, turns the beast to stone.”
You feel his arm flex slightly under your grip, like he’s living the fight in his head. You almost let out a chuckle. Your nerd.
“They fell in love right there on the shore, covered in sea spray and monster guts. Got married, had a bunch of kids, lived a long life.” He pauses, voice softening further. “And when they died, the gods didn’t split them up. They put them in the sky together. Close enough to touch, forever.”
The last word lingers between you, quiet and heavy.
Bucky lowers his hand slowly, letting it settle over yours where it rests on his arm. His thumb brushes over the soft skin of your knuckles, an absent motion that means too much.
“Think they’d give us a constellation someday?” he asks after a moment of silence, almost joking.
“More like they’ll name a new circle of Hell after us,” you say, self-deprecating. Bucky scoffs. He doesn’t appreciate the humor this time. You can feel the shift before you hear him, how his muscles tense just a fraction.
“Don’t do that,” Bucky says, his voice stern.
You shrug it off, eyes fixed on the glowing outline of Andromeda above you because it’s easier than looking anywhere else. “Just a joke, Buck.”
“It’s not funny.” He shifts, turning his body toward you fully now, one hand coming up to grip your chin and tip your face until you have no choice but to face him properly and meet his eyes. “You say sometimes we can’t see the stars but they’re always there anyway.”
He leans in closer, forehead touching yours. “But I don’t need the stars with me. Just my moon.”
Your breath hitches. Your eyes meet his in the lights of the room, different shades complimenting his complexion and awakening something deep in your gut. Bucky is your brother. Blood of your blood, family. And you’ve always loved him, the way a sibling loves another… but something else simmers now. The beginning of a heartbreak you can’t possibly begin to imagine. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s too big for this small room to contain.
“Bucky…”
You and he messed things up during Christmas. One time. You’d promised yourself it wouldn’t happen again. You’d buried it deep, pretended it was a dream, a mistake born of weakness.
Yet here it is, rising like a tide you can’t hold back.
“I mean it.” His hand slides from your chin to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of it. “Stars are pretty. But the moon pulls the tides. Lights up the dark when everything else is gone.” He leans forward until his lips move against yours, not kissing, just touching. “I hate how often you’re not around now. You used to light up my darkness.”
Bucky presses his lips to yours then, one hand reaching behind your head and holding you to him before he moves you to the chaise seat. One leg wrapped around his waist, fingers carded into his hair, and you pull him closer, body shifting, preparing to move your bodies and take over—but Bucky presses forward, forces your back to lean towards the cushion, his body caging yours.
“I wanna show you I can make you feel good, too,” he whispers against your lips, his breath hot and mingling with yours. One knee slides forward, nudging your thighs apart with insistent pressure until they part for him, and his thigh settles against your warm core. Your eyes meet his briefly, breath ragged.
“That’s—you just did the knee thing,” you barely manage. “How do you even know the knee thing?”
His cheeks flush a pretty shade of red, the color creeping up to the tips of his ears. He ducks his head shyly, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, lips soft and trembling slightly against your skin.
“I might’ve looked some stuff up,” he mumbles, the words barely audible. “After last time. Wanted to… get better.”
The admission slams into you like a wave. Even through the haze of want, swimming through the idea of Bucky researching how to make you feel good which undoubtedly is enough to leave a wet patch in your underwear, you soften. The image of Bucky, your sweet little brother, hunched over his laptop in the dead of night, researching ways to pleasure you, finding tips and tricks to make you moan. You picture him blushing even then, hand perhaps wandering as he read, imagining you instead.
Your heart aches in a complicated way even as molten heat floods every inch of you.
“You didn’t have to,” you whisper, fingers tightening in his hair.
“I know we only… once,” he says quickly, words tumbling out in a rush like he’s terrified you’ll stop him. “And I know we said never again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. How you sounded. How you felt.” His thigh shifts again, slow and deliberate, dragging the firm muscle upward in a teasing grind that makes your hips roll up to meet him. “I just… I wanna do it right this time. Make you feel as good as you made me feel.”
You said never again.
Swore it, pinky-promised in the hazy afterglow of Christmas night, both of you tangled in sheets and guilt.
But now Bucky’s on top of you, his thigh pressed between your legs, dragging the muscle against your core, soft blue eyes chasing a reaction on your face. Pleasure. There’s a terrifying realization that if you give in now, if you break the fragile vow of never again, then it will irrevocably happen again. Today, under the fake stars in the ceiling; next week, in the quiet darkness of his bed; a month from now, sprawled across yours. Until both of you have completely expunged the line that two beings who shared the same wound should never even dare to cross, let alone erase it.
The moment your lips part so you can answer with a protest, or maybe surrender, Bucky swallows your words by kissing you again. The hand cradling the back of your head slides down slowly, palm open and spread over your chest, dragging lower until it rests over the hem of your shirt. Soft fingers dip under it, crawling up your ribs and leaving goosebumps in their wake, feeling the warm skin before cupping your breast through the lace of your bra. He lets out a gasp, long and stretched out, lips parted as he stares down at you in awe. Almost as if it’s the first time all over again.
“Are you into dirty talking?” He asks, the question quick and blurted out. It catches you off guard, but you just smile at him.
“Do you want to talk dirty?” You counter gently.
The truth? Anything he does right now, every clumsy touch, every eager word, will leave you on the edge. You’re already soaked, pulsing against his thigh. So you’d rather let him learn what he likes, explore his pleasure hand-in-hand with you. You’ll be his safe place for all of it.
“I… well,” he chuckles almost to himself, shaking his head a little embarrassed. Under your shirt, his hand kneads your breast with growing excitement, thumb brushing experimentally over your hardening nipple through the lace, but still a little hesitant, unpracticed. “I wanted to say something.”
You nod eagerly, arching subtly into his palm. “Say it.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, watches his hand move around your breast through the fabric of your shirt. “Every night since Christmas night… I’ve jerked off thinking about you.” The words hang in the air between you, but you stay silent, giving him space to continue. “Couldn’t stop thinking about these tits. About how pretty they looked bouncing up and down when you were riding me.”
The words ignite a fire in your stomach so intense it spreads like wildfire through your veins, making your throat tighten and your breath catch.
“You’re good at the dirty talking,” you praise with a smirk, body burning up under his touch. “Still a little sweet. But extremely hot.”
“Do you like it dirtier?” He asks, a hint of teasing tainting the undertone, though the question is unmistakably genuine. He’s testing boundaries, eager to learn exactly how far he should push you.
“I’m fucking my younger brother. How dirty do you think I like it?”
“Don’t call it that,” he says with a flinch. “You did it last time, too, call it fucking. Call it anything else.”
Behind his words, you see the ugly truth of this. The weight of years and shared childhood bedrooms that twisted into something that burns. And the burn is why you’re here. Why your hips are still rocking helplessly against the hard line of his thigh, chasing friction even as guilt claws at the back of your throat.
“Okay. I won’t say it. Not like that.”
Relief flickers in his eyes for a second before he leans down to kiss you again, slower this time. His tongue slides against yours, filthy, hand still working against your breasts under your shirt until both your nipples stiffen into tight peaks under the lace bra. He swallows every sound you make greedily, feeding off of them, and when he pulls back his eyes are almost black with want.
“I practiced saying stuff. In the mirror. Sounds stupid now,” he admits, cheeks still flush.
“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” you encourage, arching into his touch. “Tell me what you practiced.”
Bucky hesitates, then lets out a shaky breath. “Wanted to tell you…” His hand moves from under your shirt, sliding down your stomach, fingers hooking under the waistband of your jeans but not dipping lower yet. “Wanted to tell you how many times I came thinking about your pussy. How I’d lick my own hand after, pretending it was you.”
Your breath catches hard, a sharp inhale that makes your chest rise against him. The innocence in his face paired with the crude honesty of his words sends a fresh rush of wetness between your legs.
“Jesus, Bucky…”
“Too much?” He asks quickly, worry creeping back in.
You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand lower, pressing his palm against the damp fabric between your thighs. “Nowhere near too much.”
He groans at the feeling of you soaking through your jeans, and his hips jerk forward, grinding his hardness against your hip. You feel how achingly stiff he is, trapped in his jeans, and your clit throbs against your underwear at the knowledge that he’s this desperate just from touching you.
“Tell me more while you touch me.”
His fingers move experimentally, rubbing circles over your clothed slit, eyes locked on your face. “I thought about… about how tight you were around me. How you squeezed me when you came.” His voice drops an octave as if he’s about to share an even filthier secret. “Thought about bending you over the kitchen counter when Mom and Dad are gone. Pulling your panties down just enough to slide in from behind. Fucking you quiet so the neighbors don’t hear.”
Your hips buck into his hand. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he repeats, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the skin. “Imagined coming inside you with no condom. Watching it drip out after.”
The words hit like a spark to gasoline. You moan louder than you mean to, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Bucky—”
Your sounds only spur him on, and his hand moves with urgent precision to the button and zipper of your pants, popping them open with a swift tug. He peels the fabric down your hips, exposing the soft curve of your thighs, leaving you in nothing but your pretty pink underwear, delicate lace so sheer it's almost translucent, clinging to your skin from the damp heat building between your legs.
His fingers trace slowly over the soaked fabric, teasing the edges with feather-light touches that make your hips twitch involuntarily. Then he pushes the material to the side, not bothering to pull them off, just enough to bare you completely. Cool air kisses your exposed, glistening core, and you feel the slickness coating your folds, shimmering faintly in the low light. Bucky licks his lips, his tongue dragging across the full lower one like a man starved, finally faced with his favorite meal after days of deprivation. His gaze drops there, dark and intense, pupils blown wide with desire.
One thick finger gathers your slickness first, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, coating himself in your arousal until his fingers are glistening too. He watches your face the entire time, blue eyes locked on yours, searching for every flicker of reaction as he finally dips one finger inside you. Your eyes flutter, struggling to stay open at the feeling, and you gasp softly.
“Bucky, fuck…”
“Wanna make you cum,” he murmurs, finger working slowly in and out of you now, dragging out every sensation, the pad of it curling upward with each deep thrust to stroke that sensitive spot inside you that sends sparks racing up your spine. “Please, I wanna make you cum again.”
Your heart stutters. Sweet, eager boy, still trying to earn an A+ in pleasing you even when he’s already got you halfway gone. You shift your hips under his, just an inch, grinding subtly against his hand, and it's all the encouragement he needs. He slides a second finger inside you without hesitation, the added girth stretching you open further, a delicious burn that has you clenching around him immediately. A low whimper escapes you as he scissors them gently, opening you up, his palm pressing firmly against your clit with every motion.
Even though you know he's not experienced—not like this, not with anyone else—you can feel the innate talent in every movement: a touch of raw instinct guiding him, a certain growing confidence that blooms with every gasp you give him. It builds the wetter you get, your arousal coating his fingers, dripping down to his knuckles as he pumps faster, the obscene slick sounds filling the air between you. Your moans are his roadmap; your breathless cries of his name that spill unrestrained tell him when to go faster, when to go deeper. He’s a quick learner, adapting instantly every time your cunt squeezes him greedily, thrusting deeper when your thighs tremble.
Your breath comes in shallow pants, the coil in your belly tightening with every thrust of his fingers. And though he curls them just right, touching the perfect spot deep inside, you need that sharp edge of pleasure to push you over. Just a little more.
“Bucky,” you call, barely a whisper. “touch my clit. Please.”
He stills for a heartbeat, fingers buried deep, his brow furrowing in an adorable mix of concentration and uncertainty. “Your clit?” The word comes out hesitant, like he’s tasted it before in fantasy but never dared say it out loud. His eyes dart to where his hand disappears between your thighs. “Tell me how. I wanna do it right.”
Jesus Christ, he’s more invested in making you feel good than any experienced guy you’ve ever been with.
You reach down, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, guiding his slick thumb upward between your folds until it brushes the swollen bundle of nerves at the top. The contact makes you jolt, a soft cry slipping out.
“There,” you breathe, pressing his thumb more firmly against your clit. “It’s all these sensitive nerves bundled together. Feels incredible when you touch it right.” You move his thumb to circle slowly, showing him the rhythm. Small, steady circles at first, then a gentle up-and-down flick. “Like this. Firm but careful. Just play with it while you keep moving your fingers.”
His eyes are wide, utterly focused, drinking in your every reaction as he mimics the motion. The pad of his thumb presses down, tentative at first, then firmer when you moan. He flicks upward, learning how to get the pressure just right and sending sparks of pleasure across your skin.
“Like that?” He asks, almost awed.
“Exactly like that,” you gasp, hips rolling to chase both sensations: his fingers pumping deep inside you, thumb flicking your clit with growing confidence. “God, don’t stop. Faster on my clit—fuck, yeah, like that.”
Bucky’s breath hitches at your broken praise, and it works as the only encouragement he needs. The awe in his eyes sharpens into something hungrier, and his thumb settles into the rhythm you taught him. Quick, firm flicks upward, then tight little circles, over and over, relentless now that he knows exactly what it does to you.
At the same time, his fingers start moving faster inside of you, plunging deeper. The wet drag of them gets louder, your arousal making every thrust smoother, sliding right in like coming home. Fresh heat rushes out to coat his hand, soaking the inside of your thighs. Your body is greedy for him, and your legs close around him, pulling him in and choking his hand between your thighs. You moan again, loud, a little unashamed.
“God, listen to you,” he whispers, voice rough with disbelief. He shifts his hand just slightly, angling his fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your entrance with every thrust while his thumb keeps tormenting your clit. “She keeps getting wetter… feels so good around my fingers.”
You can’t answer with words anymore, even though you desperately want to tell him how hot it is that he’s referring to your cunt like its own entity. Instead, you let out breathy moans that keep rising in pitch, thighs trembling on either side of his arm. Your muscles tense as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter, building right to the edge where everything feels sharp.
Bucky notices. Of course he does, when he’s watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. His free hand rests beside your head, holding himself up above you.
“You’re squeezing me so tight. You’re close, aren’t you? My moon.” He murmurs against your ear, lips grazing the shell. He’s tempted to speed up, go faster, harder, but when he senses you right on the edge, he keeps just the pace that brought you here. “Please, let me have it. Cum on my fingers.”
“Bucky, oh god, I’m—” The words fracture into a broken moan as he curls his fingers just right, thumb flicking firmly again. Your back bows off the surface beneath you, nails raking down his shoulders as the orgasm hits you like a sudden storm, fierce and all-consuming, ripping the air from your lungs in a silent gasp before a long, broken cry tears free. Your entire body seizes, back arching high off the surface as every muscle locks tight, thighs clamping hard around Bucky’s wrist like you never want him to leave.
You clench around him in greedy spasms, walls fluttering and squeezing in time with your racing heartbeat, pulling him deeper even as your body shakes uncontrollably. Fresh slickness rushes out of you, soaking his fingers. Your clit throbs under the steady pressure of his thumb, swollen and hypersensitive, each lingering flick sending sharp aftershocks that make you twitch and whimper long after the peak.
It rolls through you in ripples, softer but no less intense, until you’re left boneless and gasping, tiny shudders still running through your limbs every time he shifts his fingers even slightly.
Bucky watches it all with reverent eyes, lips parted, like he’s witnessing something sacred. When the last tremor fades and you finally go limp beneath him, he carefully eases his fingers out, the slow drag making you whine softly at the loss.
“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to rest against yours. “You’re so beautiful when you cum. I don’t ever wanna forget how that feels.”
Your body still hums with the aftershocks, skin flushed and sensitive, as you push gently at Bucky’s chest. He yields immediately, letting you guide him until he’s the one stretched out on the cushioned chaise beneath the domed ceiling. The projected stars continue swirling slowly overhead, casting soft light across his face.
You swing a leg over him, settling astride his hips, knees sinking into the plush surface on either side of him. The shift makes him groan, hands automatically coming to grip your thighs.
“Oh, come on,” he says, voice tinged with a shy awkwardness that always surfaces. “You’re… on top again.” He huffs a breath, fingers flexing against the skin. “I like it. I really like it. But I wanna… y’know. Learn. Be on top of you sometime. Properly.”
You lean down, brushing your lips over his in a slow kiss that makes him chase your mouth when you pull back just enough to smile.
“As your big sister,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his pants. The zipper rasps in the quiet room, “my job is to take care of you.”
His breath stutters, and his hips buck up as you tug his pants and boxers down just far enough to free him. His cock is hard and flushed, tip red and slick with precum.
You reach blindly for the foil packet you’d saved in your back pocket; prepared, responsible, even when everything else about this feels reckless. Bucky’s eyes flick to your hands, wide and dark, watching as you tear it open with your teeth and roll the condom down over him with steady fingers. He groans low in his throat at the touch, hips twitching, but stays still, letting you handle it.
You shimmy your own pants and underwear down, kicking them aside somewhere on the floor. Then you settle back over him, bare skin on bare skin, guiding the head of his cock through your folds, still soaked and sensitive, coating him in the mess he made of you.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until he’s feeling every fluttering aftershock still rippling through you. His mouth opens on a broken sound, almost a whine, that he bites back quickly.
“You—Jesus,” he gasps, and his fingers dig hard into your hips. He tilts his head up, eyes focusing somewhere on the ceiling and the stars above. “Hm. That’s… hng, that’s Algol. Algol.”
You bottom out with a soft sigh then, seated fully on him, before you realize he’s mumbling whatever words just came out of his mouth. You raise an eyebrow at him, hands braced on his chest over his shirt. “… what?”
“That’s Algol. Beta Persei. Also called Demon Star,” he rambles on, every word ending on a choked syllable.
You pause, hips stilling with him buried deep inside you, the sudden shift from pleasure-drunk haze to bewildered amusement making you blink down at him.
“Demon Star?” You repeat, voice soft but laced with confusion, a small laugh bubbling up despite the way your body clenches involuntarily around him at the sound of his strained voice. “Bucky, what are you talking about?”
He swallows hard, throat working, one hand leaving your hip to gesture vaguely upward without looking at you. “The—the bright one, blinking red every couple days. Variable star. Demon Star ’cause it… it winks. Like it’s evil.” His words come out clipped, hips twitching minutely beneath you like he’s fighting every instinct not to thrust up. “Then… then Rho Persei. Gorgonea Tertia, in… fuck… reference to the Gorgons, from the Perseus story.”
Another choked sound escapes him when you shift just slightly, settling more firmly in his lap. You realize it then, watching the way his eyes stay glued to the ceiling, the way his chest rises and falls too fast. He’s trying to distract himself.
An affectionate smile curves your lips as you lean forward, feeling his heart hammer beneath your palms, your hair falling into a curtain around his face.
“Look at me,” you ask, sounding too soft for it to be a demand, and you brush your nose against his. “Is my little brother trying not to come too fast?”
His eyes snap to yours at that, mortified, cheeks burning dark under the starlight. “I… shut up,” he mutters, embarrassed. “You feel too good. I’m trying… to keep my head somewhere else. I don’t wanna embarrass myself.”
You hum in indulgence, and start a slow roll of your hips, just enough to make him groan, head thrown back against the cushion again.
“Keep going,” you tell him, leaning down to kiss along his jaw, nipping gently at the stubble there. “Tell me about the stars, Bucky.”
He exhales shakily, hands moving from your thighs and sliding up your back.
“There’s… there, in the middle, Alpha Persei. It’s—” You purposefully tease him with another grind, circling your hips until he’s panting openly, words fractured. “I—it’s the brightest star in the Perseus constellation.”
“Hmm. Good boy,” you praise softly, sitting up straighter so you can watch his face: eyes squinting, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, completely at your mercy under the endless sky of projected stars. And Bucky revels in the praise, lets out a little whine before his hands fall to your ass, trying to grind you down harder onto him.
“You’re not helping,” he pants, and his hips rise a few times to meet yours, thrusting up deep into you before coming back down. “You, talking like that, I can’t—”
“Bucky,” you hush his name into the room, fingers coming to the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath to feel the hard muscles underneath. “Better tell me the names of all those stars before you cum inside me.”
Bucky’s breath stutters out of him in a ragged rush, your words landing like sparks on dry kindling. His hand flexes against the curve of your ass, fingers digging in as though he could hold the pleasure at bay by sheer force.
“I—okay,” he rasps, eyes darting back up to the dome, searching frantically for something to latch onto. “That one—in the Cassiopeia oh constellation… it’s Alpha Cassiopeiae. Also called Schedar. It… it comes from Arabic, it means breast…”
You can’t help the fond chuckle that spills from your lips at the way he stumbles over “breast,” his voice cracking on the word like a teenager. It’s so perfectly him, reciting Arabic etymology and stars while buried inside you because it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
It’s unbearably hot.
His effort is rewarded with another slow lift of your hips, rising until only the tip of his cock remains inside of you before sinking back down in one smooth glide. You circle your hips lazily, grinding down so your clit drags against him until his moan sounds more like a sob. “Please, don’t tease me…” He gasps, but you only smile, leaning forward to brace your hands on his chest again.
“Promise I’m not.” Your velvet-soft voice sounds in the room, eyes fixed on his face. God, he really is beautiful like this, under the different lights in the room, brows furrowed, lips red and wet, about to come undone under you.
Something fierce coils tight in your chest, then lower, spreading outward in a rush of heat. You sit up straighter, hands sliding from his chest to brace on his thighs behind you, changing the angle just enough that the next roll of your hips drags the length of him right across that spot inside you.
Bucky’s eyes go wide, a strangled “fuck” slipping out before he bites it back.
You start moving faster, properly riding him now, lifting and dropping in a building rhythm. The chaise creaks softly beneath you both, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting growing louder in the hushed planetarium. Every downward stroke grinds your clit against him, sparks shooting up your spine.
“Keep talking,” you breathe, voice trembling now too. “Tell me more, baby brother. I love it.”
He tries. God, he really tries. His gaze flicks desperately across the dome again.
“Caph—Beta Cassiopeiae,” he manages, the words punched out of him on every upthrust of your hips. “Means… palm of the hand—oh—”
You slam down harder, chasing the pleasure that’s suddenly roaring toward you faster than you expected. The sight of him like this, still trying to be your good little astronomy nerd while you fuck him senseless, is unraveling you quicker than you planned. Or rather, you hadn’t planned it at all. To be so turned on by the image of him naming stars just to keep himself from cumming too soon.
“Gamma Cassiopeiae,” he gasps, fingers digging crescents into your hip, hand clutching your ass like a lifeline. “Variable star—erratic—spins so fast it’s throwing off a disk—oh my God—”
His voice breaks completely when you start circling on every downstroke, grinding deep, thighs trembling. Your own breath is coming in short pants now, heat coiling tighter and tighter low in your belly.
“Bucky,” you moan, head tipping back, hair spilling down your spine as you ride him faster, harder. The stars overhead blur into streaks of silver and blue. “You’re so fucking cute when you do this, keep going—”
He whimpers and tries one last time.
“Ruchbah—Delta—means knee—and Segin—Epsilon—at the bottom—”
Oh, that’s it. Him fighting so hard to stay coherent, naming stars like a prayer while you ride him, tips you over the edge.
You come with a sharp cry, back arching, thighs clamping tight around his hips as your walls flutter and clench around him in greedy pulses. Pleasure crashes through you in bright, blinding waves, clit throbbing against him, slick heat rushing out to soak where you’re joined.
Under you, Bucky’s hips jerk up helplessly, a raw sound tearing from his throat as your orgasm drags him right to the brink.
“Please, sis, let me—”
You’re still trembling through the aftershocks, but you lean forward, bracing shaking hands on his chest, and nod frantically.
“Cum for me,” you whisper, voice raw.
Bucky’s hips snap up one last time as he spills deep into the condom with a shattered groan that echoes in the room. You feel every hot pulse, the way he throbs and jerks through it, hands clutching you like he’ll never let go.
“You did so well,” you whisper against the skin of his neck, smiling as his arms come up to wrap around you, pulling you down until you’re draped over his chest.
He huffs a weak, breathless laugh, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Think I saw real stars for a second there,” he mumbles. “Behind my eyelids.”
The stars have slowed to a gentle drift overhead, the planetarium’s show looping back to the beginning. You’re both dressed now, clothes pulled on in quiet movements, the rustle of fabric louder than it should be in the hush. Your shirt smells faintly of his cologne now, his hair is mussed in that way only your fingers can manage. And neither of you has quite met the other’s eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.
Bucky stands near the chaise, closing the zipper and button of his pants. You’re leaning against the railing that separates the chairs from the stairs, arms crossed loosely.
“I should head out,” he says first, almost apologetic. “Promised Steve we’d watch the game even if I didn’t go for pizza.”
You nod, throat awfully tight. “Yeah. Of course.”
He steps closer, and his hand lifts, hesitates, then brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. So tender it makes your heart ache.
There’s a heartbeat of wonder. A moment where you think if he might push and say the thing that’s been sitting heavy between you since Christmas. A fraction of a second where you consider that maybe you will be the one cracking it open, reaching for the words that turned the two of you into whatever this is now. Hands and mouths and something neither of you can take back.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Neither do you.
That means that neither of you make empty promises again. Neither of you repeat the “this won’t ever happen again.”
Bucky leans in first, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, the kind that feels like it belongs in a whole different place.
“Text me when you get home safe,” he murmurs against yout skin, before pulling you into a tight hug.
“I will,” you answer. “Text me when you get to Steve’s.”
He steps back. You let him.
Bucky pauses at the door, hand on the frame, looking back at you framed against the soft glow of the projected stars. For a second his expression cracks, allowing something that looks a lot like longing, and love he’s not allowed to name, to come forward.
Then he gives you that small, crooked smile he saves only for you.
“Night, sis.”
You manage a smile in return, even though it feels fragile. “Night, Bucky.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
You stand there alone in the empty planetarium, arms wrapped around yourself, staring up at the endless sky. You don’t know how many more times you can do this. Chase each other under false pretenses, pretend the line between sibling and lover hasn’t already been crossed twice. You don’t know how long you can keep pretending it’s just physical, just a secret you can lock away.
pairing: ex's older brother!steve rogers x female reader
summary: you break up with your boyfriend when he gives you a cruel gift, which leads to you getting bred by your ex's brother on christmas eve.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), body shaming from reader's ex/talk of insecurities, emotional hurt/comfort, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, heavy breeding kink, dry humping, kissing, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (angel, sweetheart, baby), aftercare, revenge sex with a happy ending
word count: 4.9k
a/n: here's my second entry for @stargazingfangirl18, @buckets-and-trees and @biteofcherry's Hoes for the Holidays event!! for this one, i used the prompt "Receiving an unexpected gift" and it's really not a nice gift 😅 this is the fic y'all voted to be about Steve as your ex's older brother (though it's different than my original idea 🫣). there's so many ideas in this one, i hope it comes together well, and that y'all enjoy it!! happy holidays 🎄❤️
You were so humiliated.
The sharp slam of the bedroom door behind you was momentarily satisfying, but it was quickly eclipsed by a fresh wave of shame washing through your body. You couldn’t believe your boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—would do that to you. And in front of his whole family.
Tears of embarrassment pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked up at the ceiling to stop from crying. You refused to cry over that jackass and the unexpected gift he’d gotten you. You had other things to focus on than the memory of what had just happened.
You needed to make a plan to escape. You needed to pack and get out of there. But how on earth were you going to get home from your ex’s family’s mountain cabin on Christmas Eve?
A soft knock sounded at the door and, assuming it was your ex come to grovel, you called a quick, “Go away,” your voice thick with tears. You couldn’t face him, not if you didn’t want to end up in jail for murder on Christmas.
When the door opened anyway, you whirled around, ready to hiss and claw at the face of the man who’d humiliated you in front of his entire family during their Christmas Eve celebration. But you froze when you saw who it was.
It wasn’t your ex who slipped into the bedroom, but his older brother, Steve Rogers.
You blinked, your mind going entirely blank as it dawned on you that not only had your boyfriend—ex, you reminded yourself—denigrated you, he wasn’t even going to try to apologize for hurting you.
The numb, blankness only lasted another moment. Then anger, hot and roiling, churned in your belly, and you narrowed your eyes at the man in front of you.
“What do you want?” you spit out, unable to contain your fury from spilling over and scalding Steve. Even if he didn’t have anything to do with the gift your ex had gotten you, he’d been a witness to your humiliation, and that was bad enough.
Steve’s hands lifted, like he was going to reach for you, but you snarled and took a step back, making sure you were out of his reach. He let his hands fall back to his sides and he looked at you with concern etched into his handsome face.
“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said. His blue eyes were sharp as they raked over your body, taking in the way your arms were wrapped around your middle like you were protecting yourself. “What he did…” Steve trailed off, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words to complete that sentence.
Your ex’s older brother swiped his hand down his face, and the movement brought your attention to the angry, broken skin on Steve’s knuckles. There was a small cut on the middle one, like the skin had split open when he’d hit something. Or someone.
That thought had you looking closer at Steve.
You didn’t know your ex’s older brother very well. Although you’d been dating your ex for most of the year, you’d only met his family when you’d arrived at their cabin a few days before Christmas to celebrate the holiday with them. You’d cancelled your own plans for the trip, and you’d been excited to get to know Steve and your ex’s parents.
But the days had been a little awkward and… weird.
First, there was your ex’s mom’s reluctance when you’d offered to bake some Christmas cookies based on your family’s recipes. She’d claimed she didn’t like letting anyone else into her kitchen so soon before Christmas, and that she was sure her family wanted their usual cookies.
You’d been prepared to leave it there, but Steve had interjected and said the cookies you wanted to make sounded delicious. He’d given his mother a look you couldn’t quite interpret and told her it would be good for the family to try something new.
Then there was the day your ex’s dad had taken him skiing, even though he’d known the two of you were supposed to go into town for some last-minute shopping. The shopping day had been your ex’s idea, but as soon as his father suggested skiing, he’d forgotten your plans entirely.
With him and his dad gone, and his mom busy in the kitchen, you were left on your own. You ended up reading in front of the fireplace, where you’d been joined by Steve, who stoked the fire in between sketching in a sketchbook and making occasional conversation with you.
In fact, as you looked back on the days leading up to Christmas, you’d spent more time with your ex’s brother than the man you’d been dating. Even though you’d been dating his brother, Steve had been there for you, supporting you and making sure you didn’t feel alone.
That realization had you finally softening, and you stepped closer to him. Steve stayed still as you snagged his hand, wrapping your fingers gently around his wrist and lifting it so you could look at his split knuckles.
“What happened?”
Steve heaved a heavy sigh, ruffling his blond hair with his other hand. “I decked my brother,” he said simply, and when his eyes met yours, his gaze was entirely unrepentant. “He deserved it for how he treated you.”
Vindication, swift and vicious, stole through your heart, and you couldn’t help the corners of your mouth from curving up into an evil smile. “Did it hurt? Did he cry?”
A surprised laugh tumbled from Steve, and he shot you a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Probably… and yeah, a little.”
“Good.”
Steve laughed again, softer, the warmth of it almost affectionate, but then he sobered, his expression turning serious. He tangled his fingers loosely with yours, gently tugging you closer, and you stumbled willingly into his arms.
With his undamaged hand, he cupped your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his.
“Are you okay, angel?” he asked, looking deep into your eyes. He sounded so much like he genuinely cared that his question finally pierced through the armor of anger you’d wrapped around yourself.
Tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and in the face of Steve’s kindness and care, you couldn’t stop them from falling. You shook your head in response to his question as tears spilled down your cheeks, as much an answer as you could muster.
“Fuck,” Steve cursed softly, pulling you into a tight hug. He wrapped you up in his sturdy arms and tucked your head against his shoulder, his palms skating up and down your spine over the fabric of your dress.
There, in the safety of Steve’s arms, you allowed yourself to fall apart. The dam burst and you sobbed into Steve’s sweater while he held you close, keeping you warm and steady while you cried.
You didn’t know how long you spent crying, but Steve didn’t rush you. He held you patiently while you sobbed through the hurt, never hurrying you or making you feel silly for your outburst, just whispering words of comfort and encouraging you to let it all out.
“I j-just can’t believe I wasted almost a year with someone so cruel,” you lamented when you could finally manage words, your voice muffled by the soft cotton of Steve’s sweater. “He knows how insecure I’ve been f-feeling, and that’s how he responds!?”
“He’s an immature, dipshit knucklehead, that’s for sure,” Steve rumbled, his voice low and angry enough to be a growl. But he quickly reined in his anger and cupped your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful just the way you are.”
Your emotions were a tangle of thorns wrapped around your heart, but Steve’s declaration loosened the briers as hope—and something else—flooded in between your ribs. Overwhelmed, you buried your face back in his chest, unable to stop the memories of what had happened from bullying their way into your mind.
It was tradition for the Rogers family to have a nice dinner on Christmas Eve, and then sit by the fire as each member of the family opened one of their gifts. You’d worn a long-sleeved velvet dress that hugged your curves and made you feel pretty, though couldn’t help but notice your ex hadn’t commented on whether he thought you looked nice.
After dinner, your ex had insisted you open a present first because you were a guest. He’d pulled a long, thin box from under the tree, explaining the gift was from him, and your heart had raced with excitement.
The shape of the box looked like something that would contain a bracelet or a necklace, and you were already envisioning wearing whatever jewelry was inside for the rest of the trip. But when you’d pulled off the wrapping paper and opened the box, there wasn’t any jewelry inside.
Instead, it was a gift card to a gym near your apartment.
You’d felt your face go blank with horror, your mouth dropping open as you tried to process the cruelty of the unexpected gift. You didn’t want a gym membership. You wanted to feel better about your body, but the gift implied that your body was something that needed to be fixed.
Your ex must’ve mistaken your expression for confused surprise because he’d explained he knew how you’d been feeling insecure about your body. There’d been a hint of laughter in his tone while he’d said he wanted to help you lose weight.
He’d said it was really a Christmas present for both of you.
And the worst part was, both of his parents had laughed. They’d laughed like it was some silly, harmless joke, and your heart wasn’t crumbling because your boyfriend of nearly a year was confirming your worst insecurities were true—he didn’t like the way you looked. He wanted you to change.
In that moment, something snapped in you. Anger flooded in on the heels of humiliation, and you let it guide you. Chucking the box and the gift card at your boyfriend’s head, you’d told him in no uncertain terms that you were done, your relationship was over, then you’d stormed upstairs to escape and be alone.
That is, until Steve showed up.
You clung to your ex’s older brother like he was the life preserver keeping you afloat in the ocean of unspeakable horrors that had become your Christmas, crying into his chest until you had no more tears left. He held you tight the whole time, his arms a comforting weight around your waist, his hands soothing up and down your spine.
When you’d finally cried yourself out and calmed down a little, you pulled back and blinked at Steve through your tears. You knew you must’ve looked a mess, but you felt raw and vulnerable and there was something he’d said that lingered in the back of your mind—and you just had to know.
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
The question was dredged up from the very pit of your soul, where your insecurities clawed at your sense of self, and you knew you sounded pitiful as you asked it, but you needed Steve’s answer. You needed to know if he’d been telling the truth or just telling you what he thought you wanted to hear.
With a sound of surprise, Steve’s handsome face softened at your question. He cupped your cheek in his warm, calloused palm, his thumb brushing away your tears, his expression earnest.
“I do, sweetheart,” he said, his words like a promise. “I thought you were gorgeous from the moment I met you—and even though I don’t know you well, I know you’re way too good for my little brother.”
A delighted, hiccuping laugh spilled from your lips before you could bite it back, your heart soaring at the sincerity in Steve’s words. He chuckled affectionately at your reaction, and used the cuff of his sweater to clean up as much of your ruined makeup as he could manage.
When he was done, Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead that was so sweet, your heart banged against your ribs with longing.
“I wish I’d met you first, Steve,” you murmured, the admission slipping out before you could think better of it. But it was true.
The whole time you’d been at the cabin, Steve had been the steady support you’d needed. You’d tried not to resent your ex while you’d still been with him, but since your relationship was over, you could yearn for his brother as much as you wanted. And you realized you’d been pining for him since not long after you’d arrived at the cabin.
Steve blew out a sigh, looking over your shoulder as something like regret flitted across his features. “I do, too, angel,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure if the words were meant for you.
But then he returned his gaze to your face, and an electric bolt of awareness zipped down your spine. Steve meant what he said—he wanted you, maybe just as badly as you wanted him. The realization hit your bloodstream with the fizzy delight of a glass of champagne, and it gave you the courage to be brave.
“Steve, will you kiss me?” you asked in a soft voice, hardly daring to hope you’d get what you wanted. “Please?”
It took a moment for Steve to process your question, and when he did, he went perfectly still—except for his eyes, which darkened infinitesimally as they roved over your face, like he was trying to read your thoughts in your expression.
“Sweetheart…” Steve started, trailing off like he didn’t know what to say. He swallowed and finally asked, “Why?”
“Because fuck my ex,” you said, parsing through your twisted emotions as you spoke and letting your heart guide your words. “Because I want to hurt him—and I didn’t get a chance to hit him like you did.”
Steve huffed a laugh at that, but didn’t interrupt the spill of your words, and it gave you the space to be honest with him, in a way you never were with your ex.
“Because I want to be kissed by someone who thinks I’m beautiful,” you said, your voice cracking with emotion. You held Steve’s gaze as you went on. “Because I deserve to be kissed by someone who cares about me, especially after the horrible Christmas Eve I’ve had.”
Affection shone bright in Steve’s eyes as he stared back at you, a small smile curving his mouth. “So it’s more than just a revenge kiss?”
“Yeah,” you answered truthfully, sliding your hands up the front of his chest and settling them on his shoulders. “I want this, Steve—I want you.”
“I can work with that,” Steve murmured, slanting his mouth to yours and giving you the kiss you’d asked for.
It started soft, just a sweet brush of lips, tentative and exploring and wonderful. Then, when you couldn’t help but moan at the feel of him, Steve deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped past your parted lips and he swallowed your breathy whimpers of pleasure, kissing you so thoroughly, so sweetly, you knew he was liable to ruin you.
But you welcomed his destruction. You reveled in it.
Wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders, you pushed up onto your tiptoes to kiss him harder, climbing his body to get closer. With a grunt, he spun you around, presing your back to the closed door while he pushed his knee between your thighs, kissing you harder.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel better than I imagined,” Steve groaned, ducking his head to leave lingering kisses down the curve of your neck. His hands slid up your sides, groping your tits and grabbing handfuls of your ass, helping you to grind on him.
“You imagined kissing me?” you asked, your voice breathless with desire, whimpering when your clit rubbed against the firm muscle of Steve’s thigh through your clothes.
“Mm, I imagined a lot more than that,” Steve murmured, kissing his way back up to your mouth. For a long moment, you were quieted by him stealing the breath from your lungs, but you weren’t distracted so easily.
When Steve pulled away, leaving you gasping for air and writhing between him and the door, you asked, “What else did you imagine?”
Steve braced one of his arms against the door above you head, using his other hand to guide your hips to keep humping against his thigh. His chest heaved with heavy breaths and his eyes grew even darker as he watched pleasure dance across your face.
“I’ve imagined fucking you in every room of this cabin,” Steve confessed, his voice a low, delicious rumble that sent shivers all the way down to your toes. “Wanted to make you come on my tongue while your cookies baked, wanted to fuck you in front of the fire.”
You moaned softly at Steve’s words, enjoying the picture they painted of a very different kind of Christmas while you rubbed yourself on his thigh, your hip bumping against the bulge in his pants.
“God, fuck, sweetheart, I’ve fucked my hand every day and night since you got here, thinking about sinking my cock into your tight, warm pussy,” Steve said, his voice strained as he buried his face in your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin. “I didn’t care that you were my brother’s girlfriend, I wanted you—I want you so bad, angel.”
“I’m not his girlfriend anymore,” you reminded your ex’s older brother, your words practically a purr against the shell of his ear. “Take me, Steve, fuck me. I want you, too, please.”
You’d barely gotten your last word out before Steve was wrapping his arms around your waist and hauling you away from the door. He tossed you down on the bed and it wasn’t until you landed, his scent surrounding you, that you realized you were in Steve’s room.
In your haste to get away from your ex and his awful, laughing parents, you’d shut yourself in Steve’s room rather than the one you’d been staying in, or the room where your ex had been sleeping. That was…a choice you’d parse out another time.
As Steve climbed onto the bed, you were too focused on him, and the task of helping each other get out of your clothes to think too hard about what it meant that you’d sought sanctuary in your ex’s older brother’s room.
When you were both nearly naked—you in a matching set of red lingerie while he wore a pair of black boxer briefs—Steve reached over to his bedside table and pulled out a condom. But you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and stayed his hand.
“Don’t,” you said, fighting through the fog of lust to get the words out that you wanted to say. “I always used condoms with him—I want you to fuck me bare, Steve.”
Your ex’s brother froze above you, his mouth dropping open in surprise. Then, a slow, smug smirk spread across his face. “You want me to fuck you raw, baby?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “Want me to fill up your pussy until you’re dripping my come down your thighs? Ya want me to breed you, angel?”
Your heart was racing in your chest, but all you felt was excitement, a giddy grin curving your lips as you nodded.
“Yes, please, Steve,” you begged eagerly, spreading your thighs wider so his bulge pressed against your soft mound. “Want you to come deep in my pussy, fill me up completely.” Your smile turned evil, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “C’mon, Stevie, breed your brother’s ex-girlfriend.”
“Fuck,” Steve groaned, his eyes sliding closed as he dropped the condom back onto his bedside table. His arms dug beneath your body, crushing you to his chest while he buried his face in your neck. “You on the pill, sweetheart? Because I might put a baby in your belly if you’re not.”
A delicious shiver skated down your spine, and it surprised you how much you didn’t hate the idea of Steve putting a baby in you. It was almost a shame that you were on birth control, but that didn’t stop a little recklessness from taking over.
“I am, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to beat it,” you murmured, tugging on one of Steve’s arms until he pushed himself up, giving you his hand while he watched what you were doing. You guided his palm to press against your lower stomach, smirking when you felt his cock twitch against our pussy. “Knock me up, Steve. Stuff me full of so much come, there’s no way it doesn’t take. Breed me—please.”
Something seemed to snap in Steve, his handsome face twisting into a mask of lust and his eyes going dark and hazy with need. In just a few quick seconds, he stripped you out of your bra and panties and tossed them, along with his briefs, somewhere in his room.
It wasn’t until his bare cock slid against the slick slit of your pussy that he paused, and his gaze cleared when he caught your eye. “Are you sure, angel?” he asked, rocking between your thighs and fucking between your folds to coat his hard length in your desire.
You smiled up at Steve, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It was slow and decadent, the way your lips moved against his, your tongue slipping briefly into his hot mouth before you pulled back with a grin.
“Am I sure I wanna be bred by my ex’s brother on Christmas Eve?” you shot back teasingly, not giving Steve a chance to respond before you answered your own question. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s hot as fuck.”
At your playful response, Steve paused, a conflicted look passing across his features for the first time. You reminded yourself that he cared for you—really cared—so you gave him a more serious answer.
“Hey, this is what I want,” you told him, skimming your hands up his biceps and over his shoulders. “I’m on the pill, so it’s not likely to take. But if it does…maybe it’s fate.” You shrugged a shoulder. “Or maybe I get a morning after pill.”
The expression clouding Steve’s face cleared and he must’ve been reassured by your words because he grinned. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agreed, pulling him down for another soft, sweet kiss. “Now, fuck me, Stevie. Please.”
Steve chuckled against your cheek, lining up with your tight hole and pushing inside, his laughter choking off in a groan when he felt your heat envelop him. “Fuck, baby, that’s it, take my cock,” he rumbled, pushing deep into your slick cunt.
You cried out at the warmth of his bare cock and the stretch of him filling you up; your back bowed off the bed as you bore down, trying to take him even deeper. With a few more thrusts, Steve worked his cock into you, and when he was finally fully seated, he paused to kiss you while you adjusted to his size.
“Ready, sweetheart?” he asked with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours and nuzzling your nose. “Ready for me to fuck you full of come and put a baby in your pretty belly, huh?”
“Ready, ready,” you mumbled, rocking your hips beneath Steve’s body, fucking yourself on his cock. “Please, breed me, Stevie!”
With a half-feral groan, Steve started to fuck you, rolling his hips in a maddening rhythm, pulling out of you only to press back in until the tip of his cock brushed your cervix. He fucked you in slow, languid strokes that drove you wild, sweat gathering at his brow and making your skin glisten.
“Breed me, breed me, breed me,” you chanted breathlessly, hooking your thighs over his hips and meeting his thrusts with your own rocking hips.
Gradually, Steve picked up the pace, fucking you hard and deep, the bed frame knocking against the wall with every thrust. Neither of you cared, though, too lost in each other, your moans filling the room alongside the sounds of Steve’s hips clapping against your thighs.
“You feel so fucking good, baby, such a perfect fucking angel taking my cock,” Steve growled against your mouth in between hungry kisses. “Gonna breed your pussy, baby, gonna stuff you full while your cunt milks me dry. Gonna make you all fucking mine.”
Steve’s possessive words sparked even more pleasure in your body, and you hurtled toward your release. Burying your face in his collarbone, you mumbled urgently, “Ahh, Stevie, ‘m close!”
“That’s my girl, come on my cock, angel,” he growled, grabbing your thighs and pushing your legs toward your chest, bending you in half and mounting you in a mating press. The change in position had the base of his cock rubbing against your clit and you moaned loudly. “So fucking gorgeous—you’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”
The praise and the pleasure from Steve’s mouth and body was too much. It all sent you careening over the edge, tumbling into ecstasy with a shrill cry of his name. “Steve!”
Exquisite pleasure crashed over you in endless waves, your own release sparking his. Steve’s thrusts turned wild as he chased his release, then he buried his face in your neck and groaned so loud, you felt the sound down to your bones.
Inside you, Steve’s cock twitched and you felt him plunge deep, the tip of his dick pressed to your cervix as he spilled inside you. Steve flooded your pussy with his seed, feeding your womb with rope after rope of come.
It sent new fluttering waves of pleasure through your pussy to know there was a possibility that he was breeding you for real, that his seed might take and he might knock you up. You hugged him closer, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face to yours for a messy, feral kiss.
The slide of you mouth against Steve’s slowed as you both came down from your peaks. For a long while, you made out in his bed, his softening cock still buried deep in your cunt and your hips tilted up as if you both hoped he would really put a baby in your belly.
“Still wanna get that morning after pill, sweetheart?” Steve asked when he finally pulled away, pushing up onto one arm enough to look at your face. When he saw how pleasure-drunk you were, a grin spread across his face.
It took a moment for you to process his question and when you did, you heaved a sigh. “I probably should,” you said, then muttered, “It’s the responsible thing to do.”
Steve just hummed like he’d agree to whatever you wanted to do, then gathered you up in his arms and rolled over. He took you with him, grabbing a blanket and covering your cooling bodies while he kept you pinned against him.
You snuggled deeper into his chest and let out a sigh of contentment as you let yourself melt into his warmth and comfort. You could make a decision about the morning after pill later, when you weren’t feeling reckless enough to hope your ex’s brother had knocked you up.
After a short while, Steve’s voice brought you back from the edge of sleep.
“Spend Christmas with me.”
You let out a little sound of sleepy confusion, having been lulled into a doze by his fingers skating up and down your spine. At his invitation, though, you roused, lifting your head to look at your ex’s older brother. “What?”
“My best friend, Bucky Barnes, has a cabin nearby,” Steve explained, his eyes sharp as they watched your face. “D’you wanna get out of here and spend the rest of Christmas there—with me?”
You only had to think about it for a minute. It was already Christmas Eve, but you couldn’t stay another minute at your ex’s family’s cabin. And you didn’t want to spend all of Christmas trying to get home. Besides, you didn’t want to leave Steve just yet. It was an easy decision.
“That sounds perfect, Stevie.”
Once the plan was made, you and Steve moved quickly. You packed up your things, then he carried your bags down the stairs of the cabin. Only your ex was still awake, and you were gratified to see the black eye forming on his face.
He sneered some comment about how you moved on quickly, and you shot back that you were simply trading up for the better Rogers brother.
Before your ex could respond, Steve stepped in. He told his brother he was leaving with you and their parents shouldn’t expect him back for Christmas—or ever, unless they all apologized to you. At that, your ex looked a little shell-shocked, which made it easier for you and Steve to make your exit.
You spent the rest of your holiday with your ex’s older brother, shacked up at a cabin in the mountains, just the two of you. He fucked you in every room, in every position, filling you up with his come until he did end up putting a baby in your belly.
That year, Steve Rogers gave you a baby for Christmas, and it was the perfect gift to start of the rest of your life together.
thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ♡
Your emotions were a tangle of thorns wrapped around your heart, but Steve’s declaration loosened the briers as hope—and something else—flooded in between your ribs.
Molly, this is so beautiful! Of course I was already enjoying this fic with Steve and his tender fierce care for you/punching his brother, but this just melted me!
In your haste to get away from your ex and his awful, laughing parents, you’d shut yourself in Steve’s room rather than the one you’d been staying in, or the room where your ex had been sleeping. That was…a choice you’d parse out another time.
DAMN OKAY YES! PERFECTION! I mean... a tiny little bit of me thinks it would also have been amazing to have Steve fuck us on his brother's bed, but then it would still have the lingering effect of being tied to shitty ex, and now we can just purge him out by it being Steve's.
But, Molly! The rest of this just swept me away because of how earnest and sincere those feelings were that had been sparked by them for each other and getting to just drown in that and smut it up!
Also, I'd bet there were at least a drawing or two of you in that sketchbook of Steve's!
And how perfect to get to escape away to the Barnes cabin. 🥹🥹🥹
Pairing: Thor x Avenger F!Reader and Implied/Unrequited Steve Rogers x Reader
Words: 2.5k Rating: Explicit / 18+ only
Tags: Smut, P in V Sex, Adorable Thor Fluff, Steve Being a Dick, Minor Angst and Violence, Unwanted Kiss, Happy Ending.
Summary: After years of denial and silent pining you cave and admit your feelings for Thor. Together you decide to give a relationship between a God and a human a try.
Can your relationship endure the obstacles that lay in your wake, and what about when other admirers on your Avenger team make themselves known?
CHAPTER 7 OF 7
Master List
CHAPTER 7
With your hands on your hips you look around your room trying to decide what you should take with you and what can stay. You could always send for the larger items later, once you get settled. So really you just need to pack your necessities and any irreplaceable personal items you have.
So you lean over inside your closet and pull out a couple duffel bags. Feeling eyes on you, you look over your shoulder. Thor’s staring at you with a particular look you’re familiar with. Then you look down at yourself and remember when you got out of the shower you only put on a tank top and underwear. “Thor, are you gazing at me lustfully?” You tease.
He bites his lip trying and failing to hide his smirk. “Perhaps. But it's with love not lust.” He grins. “I apologize, I will try to control myself better. I’ve just missed, well, all of you…” His voice trails off as he starts gazing at you again.
“Well…” You grin back, licking your lips returning the favor and looking him up and down. “I can’t deny I’ve missed all of you also. Every. Single. Inch.” You say with a coy look.
In the blink of an eye Thor charges across the room, and lifts you up by your thighs. He pins you between his body and the wall crashing his lips against yours, kissing you hungrily.
That spark that his lips always ignite inside you burns bright and white hot, and you start tearing at his clothes. “Thor, I need you.” You gasp, taking a quick breath of air as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“I need you more.” He growls as he rips your underwear off. Yes, he literally ripped them off, they are ruined, torn to shreds. Good thing it wasn’t a favorite pair.
Then after ripping your offensive clothing away you make quick work at unbuckling his belt. Within seconds he’s freed his cock from its confines. He goes to prep you like he used to, to get you ready to take his size but you stop him. “I want you now. All of you.” You command.
He hesitates for only a second. The look on your face to go along with your words must tell him you’re certain. In one moment the tip is pressing against your entrance and then in the next he’s shoving his huge cock fully inside you in one swift fluid motion. “I’m finally home.” He gasps next to your ear.
The initial burn from the fast stretching fades quickly. Your eagerness and excitement over take the pain. “Fuck I’ve missed you. Make me feel good again, just like you used to.”
He crashes his lips against yours once more for a bruising kiss, just long enough to take your breath away. “Hold on tight, my love, as I bring you pleasure once again.” He grunts as his grip on your hips tightens.
Following his orders you slip your arms underneath his and grip onto the tops of his broad shoulders. Then without warning he starts pounding into you at an almost punishing pace, and it feels great.
His huge cock stretches you, and slams into your core with each hard thrust. You are easily a moaning, drooling mess when he fucks you like this. “Thor!” You moan his name like a chant over and over again. And the way you say his name just spurs him on more.
“I love you.” He gasps, as he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck. He leaves a deep red mark when he pulls away. Marking you as his.
“I love you more.” You gasp back, digging your nails deeper into his shoulders.
“Cum for me my love.” He says in a commanding voice that has always driven you wild.
You were already on edge as it was, having been so long since you’ve had him this way. Seconds later you’re crying out the God of Thunder’s name so loud surely half the Compound can hear you. Your core constricts and convulses around him as your legs begin to shake and quiver. Which then triggers Thor, and he’s cumming right along with you. Groaning out your name as he spills his release inside you, marking you as his on the inside also.
Thor rests his forehead against your shoulder while you both take a moment to catch your breath. You kiss his temple, running your fingers through his short hair. “Do you think your people can wait for you a little bit longer?” You question, breaking the silence.
Thor lifts his head, giving you a knowing smirk. “Are you asking me for another?”
“Damn right I am.” You say with a breathy laugh.
“They’ll be fine a little longer.” He shrugs. “I’d never deny my goddess her pleasure.”
45 minutes and 4 orgasms later you’re working up the nerve to tell your friends, your family, that you’re leaving for good with Thor. You’ve lived together with this misfit bunch for a few years now. You’ll miss them dearly, but surely you'll see them again, just the visits will be far fewer with the distance. But you’re ready to move to the next stage of your life with Thor.
Together you and Thor walk through the Compound hand in hand, and find everyone in the living room crowded around the once long lost Bruce. Natasha has the biggest smile you’ve seen on her face in years.
When she sees Thor she momentarily pries herself away from Bruce and runs over to him, surprising everyone by giving him a big hug. “I’m sorry for what you had to go through, but I’m happy you found him. Thank you for bringing him back.” She says.
“Of course Lady Natasha. And it’s good to see you smile again.” Thor replies with a kind smile.
Natasha nudges you after she pulls away from Thor. “Don’t let this one get away again.” She says with a knowing look. Seeming as if she already knows what you’re about to announce.
“Trust me, I’m not. Never again. Same goes for you.”
“He’s never allowed on a Quinjet again, or any kind of aircraft.” She chuckles but you can tell she’s dead serious.
Now it's your turn to go greet Bruce, your dear friend. You push past everyone and give him a hug and whisper to him. “It’s good to see you again my friend. She missed you more than you know. You better take good care of her.”
He nods his head against your shoulder. “I will, I promise. You better take care of him, he’s been to hell and back to get here. I’ll miss both of you.”
So, Bruce also already knows your plans. That’s two down. Makes things a little easier knowing you have at least two friends happy and accepting of you leaving.
Thor’s sudden deep and angry voice breaks up the joyful moment, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “You have some nerve Rogers, being in my presence after what you did. Give me one good reason not to tear you in half right now with my bare hands.”
Oh no.
So the kiss is not as forgotten as he claimed it was.
Bucky moves and stands between the two men. “Thor, come on pal. First, welcome back. But second if you look closely you will see he already has a shiner. It’s starting to heal from the whole super soldier thing, but I swear I punched him for you. And I made sure she was okay.”
“My quarrel isn’t with you Barnes. She told me of your kindness. At least you can behave like a gentleman.” Thor says, then points at Steve angrily. “But you, what kind of man are you to take advantage of a woman who is intoxicated and not thinking with a clear mind?!”
You run over to Thor and push him backwards in an attempt to put some space between the men. “I thought we already talked about this? I kissed him. You said you forgave me.”
“Yes you. I forgave you.” Thor reassures. “But him, what efforts did he make to stop what was happening? None I suspect. He jumped at the opportunity, didn’t he Barnes?” He adds, looking over to Bucky for confirmation of his suspicions.
Why ask Bucky? Is your first thought. Bucky is always an unbreakable force. You can’t make him spill the beans on anything he doesn’t want to discuss. He locks his thoughts and feelings away like Fort Knox. He’d never rat on his best friend.
However today of all days his unreadable poker face is apparently out of order. Because the look on his face alone answers Thor’s question. He’s guilt-ridden. Steve jumped when the opportunity presented itself. Bucky saw it coming and tried but failed to stop it.
Everyone in the room is watching with wide eyes. Bucky was the only person that knew about what happened last night. So everyone is surprised to hear about this encounter between you and Steve.
“Thor, it wasn’t like that.” You start.
“Yes it was.” Steve interrupts, speaking up for the first time. “It was like that (Y/N) and I’m sorry. I knew what you were about to do and knew I should have pushed you away but I didn’t. I was hoping with him gone that maybe, you and I…” He trails off, looking ashamed. “Not my finest moment, okay. But I apologize to both of you.”
Bruce walks over to Thor when he sees the angry glow in his eyes. During his time away Thor learned to use his powers without his hammer. And when he’s angry it can get a little out of control. “Thor come on buddy. She already told you what happened, and he admits he was wrong. You got your girl back and you guys are leaving anyway. So just leave your problems behind, yeah?”
“You know what, no!” Steve interrupts. “I lied, I’m not sorry, and I’m not going to stand by and let you steal her away from everyone!” He glares at Thor and then turns his gaze to you. “He will leave you again. He always leaves. In all the years I’ve known you I’ve never left you. Not once.”
You gape at his words, surprised at Steve’s sudden outburst because this is very unlike him. “Steve, what the-?” You start, but he cuts you off, when he grabs you by the shoulders.
“Be honest, you felt something when we kissed. You just need to be reminded, I suppose.” Steve says and then suddenly he’s crashing his lips against yours.
With quick reflexes you shove the super soldier away from you and then slap him across the face. “What the hell has gotten into you Steve!” You hiss. “No, I don't feel anything. It feels wrong because I love Thor!” Then you look over at Thor wondering why he’s not pummeling Steve into the ground yet. You were expecting to see a look of fury on his face, but instead he’s looking at Steve strangely. “Uh Thor?”
“Hmm.” Thor mutters as he looks the soldier up and down. “That was rather bold Rogers. Especially for you. You may be bold in the field, but not when it comes to women.”
“Yes, well, love may cause one to act irrationally. What’s your point?” Steve huffs.
“Yeah, what’s the point?” You echo feeling utterly confused.
Thor takes a step closer to Steve, which Steve instinctively takes a step back. Thor starts chuckling sarcastically. “Just because I do not have my hammer does not mean I will not still smash your face in. Now reveal yourself. Brother.”
“Brother?” You gasp.
Suddenly Steve disappears and Loki’s true self is revealed. “Ta da!” He laughs. “I had you there for a moment. It’s hard pretending to embody all that self righteousness.”
“Son of a bitch, Loki.” Thor grunts. “I thought you went off to ‘be by yourself’? How long have you been here, and why?”
“Well I didn’t say for how long.” Loki says with a mischievous grin. “You were busy settling everyone in so I came here last night to have a bit of fun with your human you can’t stop talking about. She was fun to party with until she got all weepy about you.”
“Oh you asshole!” You growl as you punch Loki in the face for the second time in your career.
Thor points at his brother as he bursts into laughter. “That is one of the many reasons why I love this woman. She likes hitting you in the face.” Then his laughter dies down, the smile disappears from his face and the look of fury that you had been waiting on appears as he grabs Loki the lapels of his jacket. “Kiss my beloved ever again and I will send you back to that trash planet Sakaar.” Then he punches Loki in the face, this time knocking him onto the ground.
“You two are no fun. Is that how it's going to be in New Asgard? The two of you punching me in the face all the time?” Loki grumbles.
“Probably.” Thor quips.
“Definitely.” You scoff.
Your friends that have been watching this surprising and odd exchange have been silent while they take it all in. Bucky is the first to break the silence. He huffs putting his hands on his hips. “Hmm, this actually explains a lot. I thought Steve was acting strange. So where the hell is Steve?”
“Locked in the basement you dull human.” Loki sighs as he pulls himself off the floor only to be met with your hand smacking him across the face again. Ouch! What was that for?!”
“Don’t talk to my friends like that! And no locking them up either!”
Thor starts laughing, he puts his arm over your shoulder pressing his lips against your temple. “Oh my love you, New Asgard is going to love you.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be in prison?” Nat questions, scowling at the God of Mischief.
“Yes, well my home planet exploded so what would you have me do?” Thor shrugs.
“It’s true. I was there.” Bruce adds as if confirmation was needed.
Nat rolls her eyes because she was clearly being sarcastic. Then she looks over at you. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take it as a personal challenge.” You grin as you lean into Thor. Not even the ever annoying pain in the ass God of Mischief could keep the two of you apart.
“See brother. I knew I liked her. This is going to be fun.” Loki chides.
“Alright.” Nat shrugs. “Let’s go get Steve out of the basement. Then we’ll give you both a proper send off.”
“Then off to New Asgard.” You say, smiling at Thor, the love of your life, excited for this new chapter in your life. Even if that new chapter includes Loki.
Surprise Loki twist!
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to comment and reblog.
I love how within the story even though Dean is allowing himself to really love his sister in the way he wants, he still never loses his big brother traits that make him his lovely self!!!
ngl there were a few moments in there where Sam just kept getting on my nerves 😂 like WTF dude just let your siblings be happy!!!!! I’m happy that in Chapter 10 he finally saw that his siblings were happy together and Cas was hilarious in that chapter 😆
Anyways I love your writing it is so good 😊
Oh my gosh thank you so much!! This was so sweet and honestly means a lot to me. I had some hater messages for writing my Dean x Sister!Reader fics so I retaliated by writing more. 🤣
Sorry about Sam, I needed his nosiness to add to the angst. Haha. I still have one more chapter to write for Don't Deny Me, possibly two. Thank you so much for reading and reaching out anon! 🩷
2026 is almost upon us, and being the time of year most people reflect, I thought it might be nice to reflect on the things you’ve written 🤗 What’s a fic you wrote in 2025 that you’re proud of?
Please gush about it, and consider spreading the love around by asking another author ❤️
(Apologies if you already got one of these or have done this. I'm behind on my Tumblr feed this week)
Happy new year! 🎇❤️
Oh gosh, it’s so hard to pick just one, but I think Captive really leads the pack for me. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve had this idea gnawing on my brain for years. It was one of the first Ransom ideas I ever had but I always felt too intimidated to write it for some reason. So I’m ridiculously excited to finally bring it to life, and I can’t wait to dive into the next part!
I mean seriously, just look at him. He's so unfairly gorgeous as the mad hatter. How are there not more Jefferson fics? I seriously need to rewatch OUAT.
Summary: Killian's watched someone flirting with you all night, he decides to take it into his own hand
Pairing: Killian Jones x Female Reader
WordCount: 514
Prompt: “He shouldn’t go after other people’s girlfriends!”
Warnings: N/A
A/N: 30 Days of 30 Drabbles for my 30th Birthday
Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!
Killian slammed the glass onto the bar, uncaring of the shattering pieces falling from his hand, blood-stained. He’d been struggling to maintain his composure all night. You’d attended Snow’s birthday party together. He’d been willing to celebrate the woman who’d introduced him to the love of his life. Besides, it provided the perfect excuse to show you off. He was the luckiest man everywhere he attended. He was the luckiest man in every world, every dimension, every version of Storybrooke to exist. Killian knew that.
As a result, he’d made sure everyone knew you were together, for a couple of reasons. One, he loved you, and he wanted everyone to know it. Secondly, it meant everyone else needed to keep their hands and eyes away from you. Which, as someone intimidating and with the capabilities, knew how to murder without getting caught, had been successful.
Until this evening, you’d gone off to dance with the other women, Killian hadn’t minded especially with the view so enticing. If he had the ability, he would have joined you, but he hadn’t been familiar with the moves currently on display. He’d hoped the music might slow down so he could have at least one dance with his beloved.
No. Instead, he’d observed a scoundrel flirting with his woman all night. Persistent too. You, Snow, and Emma had long since shooed him away several times. He’d observed him leave and circle back like a great white shark. Killian had long grown tired of the Scoundrel. A woman says No, you leave her alone. The way in which you all closed in together. None of you was looking for male attention tonight. You were attempting to enjoy yourselves. Killian was trying to observe you.
Killian tried. He’d attempted to count to ten and hold his breath. He’d attempted to realise how unbothered you were. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to make a scene, however, he’d had enough. Ignoring his bloody hand, Killian moved swiftly towards the scoundrel, pulling him back from the three of you.
“The women have expressed their interest in being left alone.”
“I’m not doing any harm.”
“You are when it’s my girlfriend you're bloody flirting with.” Laughter. The man laughed at Killian Jones, Captain of the Jolly Roger. With one swing, Killian landed the man on his back.
“Stay away from her, or so help me, and you’ll find yourself at the bottom of the ocean.”
“Killian!”
“My love, he shouldn’t go after other people's girlfriends, especially mine!” Killian shook his hand out a couple of times before you made your way over to him, checking out his bloodied hand.
“You're bleeding.”
“Yeah, I broke a glass a while ago. I’m fine.” You shook your head. Pulling him away from the crowd to ask the bartender for the first aid kit.
“We should go to a doctor, make sure your hand is not broken.”
“Trust me love. I would know if I’d broken my hand. Now come on. I want to dance with you before the night is out.”
