Bucky is a soldier. Was a soldier. Doesn’t matter. His eyes are trained, noticing the chain around your neck, dipping between your breasts—and he knows it immediately, like a feeling in your gut you can’t quite shake. His dog tags. Resting perfectly against your chest, sipping in your warmth.

That night, at the dinner table, he doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

The chain shifts every time you breathe, a tiny glint of silver peeking above the neckline of your shirt when you reach for the water pitcher. His gaze tracks it like a sniper scope. You pretend not to notice, of course, but your skin burns under the weight of it. Something’s different. Something’s off.

Later, when the house is dark and the floorboards creak under his bare feet, your bedroom door opens without a knock.

The dog tags are resting against your sternum; you fell asleep with them on, the metal now warmed from hours pressed to your skin. Bucky stands at the foot of your bed, chest rising slow and heavy, eyes fixed on that little flash of silver.

“Babydoll,” he says, voice rough like gravel. It’s the name he used to call your mother. You’ve heard it in old home videos, crackling through the speakers when he thought no one was listening. He hasn’t said it in years. Definitely not to you.

Not until tonight.

You sit up, clutching the blanket to your chest. “… Dad? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Just moves closer, deliberate. The mattress dips under his weight when he kneels on it, metal hand settling beside your hip, flesh one sliding up your thigh like he has every right to. Your heart stutters in your chest, breathing growing heavy. You should stop him. You don’t.

“Been thinkin’ about those tags all day,” he admits. His thumb brushes the chain where it disappears under the cotton of your night shirt. “Used to hang right here—” he taps the hollow between your collarbones, then lower, dragging the shirt down until the tags slip free and rest on top of the fabric. “—while I had my mouth on her. Your ma. She’d keep them on while I licked her open. Said she liked seein’ my name bouncin’ between her tits.”

His voice cracks on the last word, something feral building behind the blue in his eyes. You might as well have stopped breathing. Your dad has never spoken to you like this, let alone touched you the way he is now. Frozen to your own mattress, you barely gather the courage to say anything back.

“… I’m sorry. I didn’t know, you can have them back—”

“I don’t want them back.” He leans in, nose brushing your temple, inhaling like he’s trying to carry your scent into his bloodstream. “But they are mine. And right now they’re on my little girl’s pretty chest, keepin’ her warm the way they used to keep your mother warm when I fucked her slow when I came back home from missions. Same chain. Same name branded in the metal.”

His metal hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the chain. “You feel that?” A gentle tug; the chain tightens, tags pressing into your skin. “That’s me. Ownin’ you the way I owned her.”

You’re trembling now. You can’t tell if it’s from fear or something far more dangerous.

“Daddy—” Bucky doesn’t let you finish. He pushes you back against the pillows, mouth finding yours like he’s starving. Teeth and tongue and years of something dark that had been kept buried crack open all at once. You taste blood where he bites your lip, hear the soft clink of the tags when he yanks your shirt up and over your head, followed by his, and they dangle between your bare breasts.

“Look at you,” he breathes, reverent. “My babydoll wearin’ Daddy’s name while I—”

No other word follows. He just spreads your thighs with one metal hand, pushes your panties to the side, and sinks into you in a single hard thrust, groaning like a dying man finally finding absolution. The tags bounce between your tits when he begins to move, every snap of his hips dragging you across the mattress.

“That’s it,” he rasps against your throat, mouthing at the skin while his pace quickens. “Take it. God, babydoll, I know you can take it so well for Daddy.”

And you take it. Legs spread open, his arms hooked around your knees, keeping you close as he fucks into you deep, so deep you feel it everywhere, impaling you on his thick cock with every sharp thrust. When did his little girl become a woman like this?

It doesn’t matter. Never mattered.

You come with his name burning against your chest, and he follows right after, unable to process the sight of you whimpering for him without coming undone, spilling deep with a broken sound that’s closer to a sob.

After, he doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried inside you, face pressed to your neck, fingers tracing along the chain around your neck.

“Tonight, you’re not my daughter. You’re hers,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And now you’re my babydoll.”

The dog tags rest heavy between you both, silver catching the moonlight coming through the window.

And you know he’s right.

bucky’s already half-hard when he walks through the door. his cock twitches against his thigh like it’s got a goddamn beacon straight to you.

he hates that. he hates how his body betrays him, how every nerve lights up like christmas morning because it knows exactly where it is: home.

where his babygirl is waiting, probably sprawled out like a spoiled little kitten, legs open, mouth pouting because daddy’s late again.

the hallway smells like your strawberry shampoo and the sour-sweet tang of cherry lollipops and something warmer underneath—your cunt, already wet just from thinking about him.

he can taste it on the air. he hates that too. hates how good it feels.

he’s your father. your blood. he taught you to ride a bike, held your hair back when you puked peach schnapps in the rose bushes at sixteen. signed every permission slip, threatened every boy who looked at you too long.

and now he comes home praying you’re wearing something that barely covers that perfect little ass so he can pretend he’s not the worst kind of monster while he fucks you raw.

he drops his keys. they clatter loud enough that you look up from the couch and grin around the cherry lollipop bulging in your cheek.

“hi daddy,” the word drips off your tongue like you’ve been practicing it in the mirror just to watch him lose his fucking mind.

you’ve always known what it does to him. it’s a weapon and you’re a goddamn sniper.

he shrugs out of his jacket, letting it hit the floor like he’s too tired to care.

but really he started undoing his tie in the car, top buttons popping open because he was thinking about this exact moment—walking in and finding his daughter dressed like a walking wet dream in his old army t-shirt and those pink shorts that say juicy across the ass in glitter he paid for with his credit card like a complete degenerate.

you pull the lollipop out, tongue chasing the shine on your bottom lip like you’re auditioning for porn. “you’re late.”

“traffic,” he lies through his teeth.

truth is he sat in the parking lot at work for twenty minutes trying to think about baseball and taxes so he wouldn’t walk in with a tent in his slacks like a fucking teenager.

it didn’t work. it never fucking does.

when you stretch, the shirt rides up just enough to flash the soft curve under your tits.

no fucking bra. of course.

your nipples are hard little points poking through the thin cotton like they’re begging for his mouth.

his t-shirt. his name stenciled across the back like you’re his property.

he wants to bite your nipples until you sob, wants teeth marks so deep you feel him every time you breathe for a week.

“been waiting forever,” you pout, rolling the stick between sticky fingers. “got so bored i had to entertain myself.”

he knows exactly how you entertained yourself. knows you probably had your hand between your legs the second his car pulled out this morning. knows you sent him that video at lunch.

your fingers were buried knuckle-deep, voice breathy and broken, whispering daddy please come home i’m so empty without you. he knows he locked himself in the bathroom stall and jerked off so hard he saw stars, biting his lips so nobody heard him groan your name.

he stalks over, eyes locked on the candy, on the way your lips are swollen and cherry-red from sucking, on the tiny silver string of spit still connecting your mouth to the pop when you pull it away again just to torment him.

“gimme that.”

you tilt your head, like you're confused. you're probably not confused. you play this game very well than him. “there’s more in the kitchen, i saved the blue raspberry ones for you, promise.”

“don’t want blue.” he braces his hands on the back of the couch, caging you in, close enough that your bare knees brush the rough fabric of his work pants, close enough he can smell cherry and the hotter, wetter scent of you soaking through those ridiculous shorts.

“want the one that’s been in my little girl’s mouth all day. want the one that tastes like her spit.”

he sees the way your hips roll, just a tiny helpless grind against the couch cushion. you’re terrible at hiding how soaked you get for him. always have been. he can see the damp patch spreading on pink cotton already, dark and on display for his eyes.

“daddy,” you whisper, suddenly shy like you’re not the same brat who begged him to finger your ass last weekend until you cried. like you’re not the same girl who screams when he calls you his perfect little cumslut.

you pull it out, string of saliva stretching long and wet before it snaps. and hold it up between two trembling fingers like you’re scared to say no. you’re not scared. you’re dripping. he can smell your cunt begging.

he takes it and slides it past his lips without breaking eye contact. he sucks hard, groaning low because fuck, it tastes like cherry and the faint salt of your skin and something darker, something that’s just you.

his cock jerks so hard it hurts. he pulls it out, shiny with both of you now.

“jesus fucking christ. tastes like my babygirl’s mouth. tastes like sin.”

your cheeks heat up and your eyes are black with hunger. you shift, thighs rubbing together, trying to get friction without him noticing.

but he notices everything.

he drags the lollipop down your throat, painting a sticky trail over your collarbone, between your tits where the t-shirt slides down.

“this shirt’s fucking pointless,” he mutters. “why bother wearing clothes when it’s just us? when you know i’m gonna rip them off the second i walk in and fuck you stupid?”

“’cause you like unwrapping me,” your voice is small and breathy. “ youlike it when i pretend to be your good little girl.”

he grins. “yeah. i really fucking do.”

you lift your arms before he even asks, an eager little thing.

he peels the shirt up slowly, savoring every inch of skin. the soft curve of your waist, the way your ribs flutter when you breathe, the bounce of your tits when they finally spill free with your nipples tight.

he groans like he just wants to bite them until you cry prettily.

“look at these pretty fucking tits,” he rasps, cupping one, thumb flicking the nipple hard enough you yelp. “always so ready for daddy. always begging.”

you whimper, arching into his hand like a greedy kitten. “please—”

he drags the lollipop over your nipple in slow sticky circles, watches it pucker harder, glistening now.

your hips jerk again, more a helpless little grind against nothing.

“daddy—”

“shh, baby.” he leans down, sucks the candy off your skin in one hard pull, tongue swirling, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp and clutch his hair.

it tastes of cherry and salt and warm skin.

he could live off this. he could die happy with his mouth full of his little girl’s tits and her heartbeat hammering against his tongue.

he pulls back with a wet pop, and holds the lollipop to your lips shiny with spit and sugar and him.

“open that pretty mouth.”

you do instantly, tongue out flat like you were born to obey. he slides it in, watching your lips stretch, cheeks hollow as you suck.

you moan around it, with eyes fluttering shut.

“suck it like it’s daddy’s cock, sweetheart. get it nice and sloppy for me.”

you do. sloppy and eager and loud, spit shining on your chin, dripping onto your tits in sticky rivulets.

he watches for a second, transfixed, then drags his thumb through the mess and smears it over your bottom lip, pushes it into your mouth alongside the candy so you’re sucking both.

“good girl. fucking drown it for me.”

you nod, bobbing your head a little, gagging yourself on sugar like it’s him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes because you’re that desperate.

he takes it back, and trails it down your stomach, circles your belly button until you squirm, then lower even.

hooking his fingers in those stupid shorts, he yanks it hard.

you lift your hips like a good girl, aand let him drag them off.

no panties. never any panties when you know he’s coming home.

your pussy’s already slick and swollen, clit peeking out hard like it’s begging for his tongue.

he groans. “jesus christ. look at this perfect little cunt. my own daughter’s daughter’s cunt dripping for her daddy like a desperate whore.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, and you try to close your legs out of habit.

he wedges his knees between them roughly, spreading you wide enough your thighs tremble.

“don’t hide from me. never hide this pretty pussy from your father. i own it. i made it. i get to look whenever the fuck i want.”

he drags the lollipop through your folds slowly, coating it in you, watching it come away creamy.

your hips buck hard, a broken sound ripping out of your throat.

“please—”

“please what, baby?”

“put it in me, daddy. want something inside—want it to be you—”

he smirks. “greedy little brat.”

he circles your clit with the sticky candy until you’re shaking and crying, then pushes it inside. just the tip.

your pussy flutters around it, trying to suck it in deeper like it’s starving.

“more,” you beg. “daddy please—need it deeper—”

he gives it to you, inch by inch until the whole thing’s buried in you except the last part of the stick, your cunt gripping it like it never wants to let go.

a whine rips off you, like the desperate whore you are.

“hold still, princess.”

you try. but your thighs shake.

he leans down, and licks a long stripe up your clit while it’s still inside you, flicking the stick with his tongue so it fucks you shallow.

you scream, back nowing off the couch, hands flying to his hair and yank.

“daddy—fuck—i’m gonna come—”

“not yet, baby. you come when daddy says.”

he pulls it out f you, shiny and dripping with your cum, and shoves it straight into your waiting mouth.

“taste your cunt, babygirl. taste how sweet my little girl is for her dad.”

you suck, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had.

there are tears spilling over because you want to come so bad it hurts.

he stands up, undoes his belt with one hand. the clink is loud in the quiet room.

he just shoves his pants and boxers down just enough. his cock slaps heavy against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking, veins throbbing angry. he’s so hard it hurts, precum pearling at the slit.

you pull the pop out with a gasp. “daddy—”

“turn around. ass up for daddy. show me that pretty hole.”

you scramble like your life depends on it. drop to your knees, chest over the arm of the couch.

your asshole winks at him, so damn tight, begging just as much as the rest of you.

he steps up behind you, drags the lollipop—still wet from both your mouths and your cunt—over your asshole in slow circles.

“daddy—”

“not yet, princess. gotta earn daddy’s cock in your ass. gotta beg prettier.”

he gives you the candy to hold onto, while he fists his cock.

lining up, he slams into your cunt in one brutal thrust that punches the air out of both of you.

you both moan loud.

it is so tight. so wet. so fucking perfect it’s wrong. your pussy flutters around him like it’s trying to milk him already.

he bottoms out, balls pressed against your ass, and just holds there for a second, feeling you clench.

then he starts to move. he doesn’t go gentle. he grips your hips hard enough to bruise tomorrow and fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else ever.

the couch creaks with every thrust. your tits bounce hard, nipples dragging against the fabric. his balls slap your ass with every thrust.

“tell me,” he folds himself over you, chest to your sweaty back, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat loose but possessive. “who owns this pussy?”

“you—fuck—only you daddy—always you—”

“louder. wanna hear my little girl scream it so the neighbors know.”

“you! it’s yours—daddy’s pussy—daddy’s little cumdump—please—”

he bites your shoulder hard enough to mark for weeks, sucks a bruise into the skin.

“gonna come inside you. fill my babygirl up so good you’ll feel me for days. gonna plug you after so none of daddy’s cum leaks out that greedy hole.”

you sob, pushing back against him like you’re trying to take him deeper than possible. “yes yes please—breed me daddy—put a baby in me—make me swollen with it—”

the word breed snaps something feral in him. he reaches around, finds your clit puffy and slick, rubs brutal messy circles until you’re shaking apart.

“come for me. come all over your daddy’s cock like the perfect little slut you are.”

you do as told, pussy clenching so tight he sees stars, screaming daddy daddy daddy like a broken record, whole body seizing as you gush around him, soaking his balls and the couch and the rug.

he follows right after, buried to the hilt, spilling deep with a broken animal groan. pulse after pulse of thick cum floods you until it’s leaking out around his cock in creamy white.

his cock still twitches inside you, plugging every drop, while you both pant like you've run miles.

after a minute he pulls out slowly, watches his cum drip in thick white streaks down your thighs and groans at the sight.

he thumbs it back inside you just to watch you whimper with overstimulation.

he smacks your ass, a soft tap. “don’t move, baby.”

leaning over to you, he touches your hand, and you realise he's asking for the lollipop he'd thrust into your hand.

he drags it through the mess between your legs, coating it fresh, then taps your lips.

“open.”

you turn your head, with your tongue out. he slides it in.

“taste us, sweetheart. taste how good we are together.”

you moan and sucking eagerly, eyes completely fucked-out.

he watches for a minute, then hauls you up, spins you, sits on the couch and pulls you into his lap.

you straddle him, cum still leaking out of you in slow pulses onto his thighs and his cock that’s already filling again.

“gonna order thai,” he mutters against your tits, sucking a nipple into his mouth hard enough you yelp. “and you’re gonna sit right here on daddy’s cock the whole time. just keeping me warm and full of my cum.”

you laugh, and grinddown just to be a brat. “yes daddy. but what if the delivery guy’s cute?”

he smacks your ass again, harder now. “then i’ll fuck your ass dry while he’s at the door so he hears who you belong to.”

you whimper, but you still. mostly. just tiny little rolls of your hips that make him throb inside you.

he grabs his phone with one hand, the other sliding between your legs to play with the creamy mess he made, pushing it back inside every time it leaks.

best fucking day in years.

and tomorrow he’ll do it all again.

because you’re his. his babygirl. his everything.

his perfect little crime.

you open your mouth to speak for the first time in days, but your mouth is dry. steve notices and grimaces as you walk up the cold stone steps. “let’s get you some water.”

you nod and follow him into his massive kitchen. “don’t you dare move,” he says as he leaves you by the island and walks to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. you assess the room and locate the front door, remembering the night he brought you here. “do you want some fruit?” when he looks around the side of the refrigerator door, you’re gone—bolting across the kitchen to the living room.

“you little bitch,” he groans, running after you. you look back and hear a gut-wrenching crack as your ankle twists under your weight. you land with a hard thud on shag carpet. steve puts his foot on your head and presses it into the rug. “i told you not to move, little lamb. now look what you’ve done,” he hisses, eyeing your ankle twisted at a grotesque angle. “you forgot about the conversation pit and broke your ankle trying to run. you’re not going anywhere.”

you wail and scream as he pushes the heel of his shoe into your cheek. “please please please,” you beg. “let me go.”

he laughs darkly and kicks at your ankle, sending a sharp jolt of pain up your leg. you scream and clutch at your ankle. “i said you’re not going anywhere. and don’t count on a cast for that fuck-up. i thought i was done with my surgery cases for the day, but i guess not.” he glances over your leg and licks his lips. “i’m thinking right here,” he says, crouching down and tracing a line right above your knee. “you wouldn’t believe the creative things people do with patellas.”

“let me go!” you scream, throat rubbed raw from a lack of water. his hand claps down over your mouth.

“shut your fucking mouth, little lamb,” he whispers angrily into your ear. you try to bite one of his fingers and he scoffs, slapping your face. “fine, if you want to play rough…”

he yanks your shorts & underwear down in one swift motion before pulling his half-hard dick out of his scrubs. “you better bite your fucking tongue,” he rasps, spanking your ass and spreading your cheeks as he roughly presses two fingers into your cunt.

“ahhhh!” you cry out, not prepared for the intrusion. your ankle is radiating pain up your leg, and now your core is aching.

“you fucking slut…” he rasps, scissoring his fingers into you. “pussy s’wet for me. you’re so fucked up.”

you whine as your body betrays you, giving steve every indication that his advances are more than welcome. he spits into you and your body clenches as he pushes his dick into your ass with zero prep. any pain that was in your ankle is now searing into your center as he presses in balls deep with a whimpering grunt. you squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself to be anywhere else as he pulls out and pushes back in roughly to the hilt. “this is what little runaway sluts get,” he groans. “gonna fuck you and fill you up so you’re reminded of where you fucking belong. you won’t be able to walk tomorrow anyway.”

he keeps at it as his fingers work in your pussy. “don’t pretend you don’t love it. i can feel her pulsing on my fingers.”

you give up the fight and relax your body, letting him use you like a fuck doll. drool spills out of your mouth and pools onto the rug under you and you close your eyes. the large room echoes with the sound of steve’s balls hitting your ass with each painful thrust. “mmm, can feel her opening up for me, little lamb. good. fucking. girl.”

you tremble at his praise, coming on his fingers with a broken cry. “there we go. accept your fate, baby.”

a few stunted pumps of his hips later until he pulls out and invades your cunt, cumming deep into you with a soft whine. “take it all. gonna make more of my perfect girl, aren’t i?”

“thanks,” you whisper, pushing your plate forward to signal that you won’t be eating anything else.

“it’s so nice having you both home this summer,” your mom says, looking from bucky to you. his hand trails up your dress as he squeezes your thigh, fingers brushing the soft cotton of your underwear.

you straighten your spine and smile at your parents. “it’s so nice, yes,” you mutter. and really, you can’t complain; your parents are kind and supportive, but they are also incredibly unobservant. their nonchalance is a quality that bucky cherishes, especially right now when he has a finger hooked into your panties, delicately touching your swollen bud.

“well, mom and i are going for our nightly walk,” your dad announces as he collects your dinner plates. “you know, you kids should join us. the fresh air would do you both some good.”

“i’m kinda—ahhh—tired, dad,” you spit out. “sorry, i thought i was about to sneeze.”

bucky removes his hands and wipes it on your dress. “yeah, and i told steve i’d hop on rivals after dinner.”

“fine, but later this week, come with us, okay?” your mom says as she finishes her wine.

“sure thing,” he answers for both of you.

—

when your parents are gone, you both finish loading the dishwasher. bucky shuts it with a soft click. “so? what does my brave girl want?”

you swallow and glance quickly at his fingers that were circling you moments ago. he walks toward you and kisses your neck. “you want my fingers, sissy?”

“yes,” you beg.

“okay, but first i want some dessert,” he says as he opens the refrigerator. his eyes dart around, looking for something that he knows won’t be too difficult for you after already eating at dinner. barely eating. he pulls out the small basket of raspberries and sets them on the counter. “eat one with me.”

your mouth turns down subconsciously. you already ate 4 bites of chicken and 6 green beans. “buck…”

“you can do it. you’ll need the calories to burn when i take you upstairs anyway,” he explains, holding a single raspberry out to you. you take it begrudgingly. he pops his into his mouth and guides your hand to your lips. “open for me. it’s sweet like you. eat one, baby.”

you finally let the raspberry hit your tongue and bite down. the tart sweetness bursts into your mouth and you smile for just a flash, but he catches it.

“look at me,” he says. “i need you to eat 5 more. if you do that for me, i’ll use my fingers and my mouth on you.”

“bucky, 5 is too many,” you say, voice cracking.

“baby girl, you can do it. i’m right here with you.”

he eats each one with you, taking his time, caressing your cheek as you swallow each one. “that’s a good girl.”

when you meet your quota, he scoops you over his shoulder and runs up the stairs to his bedroom, plopping you down on his duvet. “big brother is so proud of you,” he rasps, kissing your neck. your body is vibrating with anticipation as he kisses down your neck and chest, lifting your dress and pulling down your underwear.

“thank you,” you squeak out, knowing that without him things would be much worse. he knows just how much to push, and when to let you draw the line.

“i’m gonna make you cum tonight and take you to breakfast tomorrow like a normal couple, okay? you’re making progress, whether you feel like you are or not,” he says as he’s between your legs. “now look at me when i eat this pussy.”

What you don’t know is that a feeling of guilt curled with hunger started to boil in your dad’s stomach the moment he started seeing your body filled out. Especially your breasts. Full, soft, always bouncing a little when you walk around the house in those thin tank tops because “it’s hot, Dad.”

Bucky hates himself for it. He would cut those feelings right out of his stomach if he could. But the hate makes the want sharper, somehow.

It starts small, almost innocent in its insidiousness.

The first time he really notices is the summer you turn nineteen. You’re home from college for summer break, padding around the brownstone in bare feet and one of his old Army shirts that you stole from the laundry years ago. It’s worn soft, threadbare in places, and it hangs off one shoulder when you reach for a glass in the top cabinet. The motion lifts the hem just enough for him to see the curve where your waist flares into your hips, but it’s the way the fabric clings to your chest that stops him cold in the doorway.

You don’t really notice him standing there, coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth. You’re humming something under your breath, stretching higher, and the shirt pulls tight across your breasts, revealing you’re bare under the shirt—because it’s just home, just Dad. No need for a bra. The outline of your nipples is faint but still particularly obvious, and Bucky feels something wicked twist low in his gut.

Bucky turns away too fast, coffee sloshing over the rim and burning into his flesh hand. He doesn’t even feel it.

After that incident, it’s like his body was rewired to track you.

He starts noticing every single detail.

How your breasts shift under your sleep shirt when you lean over the couch to grab the remote during movie nights. How they press against the kitchen counter when you’re making breakfast, the soft weight of them resting on your folded arms. How they bounce, just slightly, when you come down the stairs too fast in the morning, calling out that you’re late for work.

Every one of those moments is followed immediately by an intense wave of self-loathing that makes his teeth ache. Bucky spends longer in the shower, punishing himself under scalding water, jerking off with his forehead pressed to the tile and your name in a silent gasp behind his clenched teeth. Metal fingers dig so hard into the wall they leave a small dent. He keeps telling himself it’s just biology. Just a sick glitch, because he’s been alone too long. A single father. He’s damaged, it’ll pass.

It doesn’t pass.

It gets worse.

You hug him every morning before work and every night before bed—always have. It used to be his favorite part of the day, the way you fit against him, small and warm, trusting, your head tucking perfectly under his chin. Now every embrace is torture. The moment your chest presses against his, he has to lock every muscle to keep from pulling you closer. Counts to five, forces a smile, lets you go before you can feel his body betraying him.

You, of course, have no idea.

To you, he’s just Dad—gruff and overbearing, stupidly protective. You roll your eyes when he insists on driving you to your friend’s place even though you’re past twenty now. You complain to your friends that he still treats you like you’re sixteen.

You don’t know that every time you say “I love you, Dad” before bed, he has to turn away quickly so you won’t see what those words do to him. Because he does love you. More than anything. Apparently, more than his own sanity.

The love and the hunger are braided together so tightly for him that Bucky can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. Protecting you and wanting you feel like the same impulse now. Keeping you safe, keeping you his.

He told himself he’d never act on it. Never. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into his own fucked-up world. Not you, soft, perfect you. But his restraint begins to fray bit by bit. And one night, after you come home from work wearing a low-cut sweater that shows the swell of your tits, Bucky decides he can’t hold back anymore.

Dinner is quiet. You’re chatting about your coworkers, something about a rude customer at the bookstore, and how your manager finally stood up for you. Your voice is light, animated, and Bucky nods in all the right places, murmurs “that’s good” and “sounds like an asshole” so you won’t notice the way most of his attention is fixed on the way your sweater dips when you lean forward.

Sometimes, the wide neckline will begin slipping off one shoulder, and he gets a glimpse of the smooth curve of your breast, the edge of a black lace bra he hasn’t seen in the laundry before. You bought it recently, apparently. Did you mean to show it off for someone else? The thought makes his fork pause halfway to his mouth.

He made lasagna tonight, your favorite since you were little. You eat two helpings, teasing him about how he always makes too much. Bucky watches your mouth as you talk, watches the way you lick a bit of sauce from your thumb without thinking. The motion is innocent, it shouldn’t do anything to him.

It does.

When you reach for your lemonade glass, he watches your throat move as you swallow, the small white pill he’d bought earlier already dissolved and tasteless. Bucky hates himself for thinking about this. Hates himself more for doing it.

You drink half the glass without pause.

Conversation keeps drifting between plans for Christmas, whether you want to put the tree up tomorrow. You yawn halfway through a sentence, eyes suddenly heavy.

“God, I’m sorry,” you laugh, covering your mouth. “I don’t know why I’m so tired tonight.”

“Long week,” Bucky says, his voice gentle. “You’ve been working a lot. Why don’t you head up early? I’ll clean up.”

You hesitate, because you always help with dishes, but another yawn hits and you give in.

“Okay, yeah. Thanks, Dad.” You stand, stretch, and then you’re crossing the kitchen to hug him goodnight.

He stands too, automatic. Your body fits against his like it always has, but tonight the contact burns. His arms come around you carefully, metal hand at the small of your back, flesh hand resting between your shoulder blades. He holds for the usual three seconds, then four, five.

You pull back first, smiling sleepily. “Love you.”

“Love you too, kid,” he says, and it sounds normal. Fatherly. Because you don’t hear the crack underneath.

Bucky listens to your footsteps as you shuffle upstairs, the creak of the third stair, the soft thump of your bedroom door closing. He cleans the kitchen slowly, wiping counters that are already clean, loading the dishwasher twice. Waits forty-five minutes, then an hour. Then another twenty minutes, just to be sure.

When he finally climbs the stairs, the house is silent except for the low hum of the heater. Your door is ajar the way you always leave it, old habit from when you were little and afraid of the dark. Bucky pushes it open soundlessly.

You’re on your back, one arm flung above your head, the other curled against your stomach. The sweater is gone, folded on your chair, and you’re in just the black lace bra and soft cotton shorts. The blankets are kicked halfway down the bed because you always run hot when you sleep. Your chest rises and falls slow and deep, drugged sleep pulling you under hard.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed for a long moment, breathing through his mouth like a man drowning.

Then he moves.

He kneels on the mattress carefully, the frame creaking under his weight. You don’t stir. Bucky reaches out with his flesh hand first, trembling, and brushes a strand of hair away from your face. You sigh in your sleep, and your lips part.

His gaze drops to your chest.

The lace bra is delicate, almost sheer in places. He can see the darker shadow of your areolas through it, the soft peak of each nipple, and his mouth goes dry. He’s imagined this (God knows he’s imagined this), but the reality is worse. Better. Incredibly overwhelming.

Reverently, he traces one fingertip along the upper edge of the lace, just above the swell of your breast. You shift slightly, a small sound in your throat, but don’t wake. Encouraged, Bucky cups one breast fully, testing the weight, the way it fills his palm perfectly. His thumb brushes over your nipple through the fabric, and it tightens instantly.

When he leans down, the first press of his mouth is soft, lips closed, as if he’s just breathing you in. Then his lips part, tongue sliding over lace-covered nipple, wetting the fabric until it clings transparent. You make another small sound in your sleep, hips shifting restlessly. Bucky switches to the other breast, sucking slow, teeth grazing just enough to feel you respond.

His cock is aching, straining against his jeans. He adjusts himself with his metal hand, careful not to touch you with the cold vibranium yet. Not yet.

Bucky loses track of time with his face buried between your tits. He’s through, alternating sides, kneading with his flesh hand, and leaving wet marks on the lace. Your nipples are swollen now, visibly hard even through the soaked fabric. He pulls back just long enough to admire them like he’s proud of his work, chest heaving.

That’s when you stir more noticeably.

A confused whimper. Furrowed brows. Eyelids flutter but don’t open fully. Your body arches instinctively toward his mouth, seeking more even as your mind struggles through the fog.

“Dad…?” You mumble, voice thick with sleep. “Dream… weird dream…”

He exhales slowly before lowering his mouth to your ear, voice a soothing rumble, the same he used when you had nightmares as a child.

“Shh, princess. It’s okay. Just a dream. A good dream. Go back to sleep, Daddy’s got you.”

You relax almost immediately, the familiar voice and words pulling you under again. A small, sleepy smile curves your lips, breathing evens out.

Bucky waits another minute before returning to your breasts with renewed hunger, knowing now you won’t fully wake. Not tonight.

The lace is ruined now, clinging damp against your tits, but it’s still in the way. His flesh hand shakes as he hooks a finger under one strap, sliding it down your shoulder carefully. The cup peels away with it, exposing your bare breast to the cool air of the room. Your nipple, already peaked and sensitive from his earlier attention, tightens further. He keeps going until the bra is bunched uselessly around your ribs, your breasts fully bared to him, looking perfect as they heave slightly with each breath.

A wounded sound escapes him, something that sounds halfway between a growl and a prayer. He dives back in without the barrier, mouth laving your nipple with his tongue. No more teasing; his mouth latches with desperate fervor, sucking hard, teeth nipping just enough to draw a faint whimper from you. He kneads the other breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly to feel it twitch under his touch. You’re so responsive, even like this, body arching minutely, a flush creeping up your chest.

The ache in his cock grows unbearable the more he sucks on your tits, throbbing against the confines of his jeans, and he decides not to ignore it anymore. With his mouth still working on your breast, he fumbles one-handed with his belt, the zipper, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself. He’s rock-hard, pre-cum beading at the tip, veins standing out stark against his flushed skin. The metal arm braces beside your hip for balance as he shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs without disturbing you.

Your shorts are next. The soft cotton is easy to maneuver, and he tugs them down inch by inch with his flesh hand until they’re bunched at your thighs. No panties underneath; the sight of you exposed like that, bare and vulnerable, nearly undoes Bucky right there. Your pussy is soft, folds glistening slightly, maybe from whatever you think you’re dreaming about, or just the way your body is reacting to his touch.

He lowers himself carefully, aligning his cock against your slit without slipping inside, just resting the length of it there, hot and heavy. Your warmth seeps into him, slicking his shaft as he rocks his hips once experimentally. He stops, takes a deep breath; the contact is electric, and he almost cums right there just from that. When he starts again, he moves slow, grinding against you in shallow thrusts, the head of his cock nudging your clit with each pass. Your body responds instinctively, hips twitching, a soft gasp spilling from your lips, but you stay under, lost in the haze.

Bucky picks up the pace, mouth never leaving your breasts. He switches sides again, sucking greedily while his cock slides back and forth over your pussy, coating himself in your growing arousal. The friction is perfect—wet and warm, with the distinct taste of wrong that makes everything feel more intense. His metal hand grips the sheets to keep from grabbing you too hard. Sweat beads on his forehead drip onto your skin as he ruts faster, chasing the edge.

He’s messy with his mouth on your tits, saliva shining on your skin, little whimpers escaping him as he grinds harder. In his head, he imagines you waking up and using that sweet voice you always use when trying to get him to agree to something to say something filthy like “need your cock inside me, Daddy, please…”

But you don’t. You’re still asleep, under the effect of the pill he slipped into your lemonade, the only sounds the small whimpers you let out unconsciously. Doesn’t mean he’s not imagining it. Daddy, please. Faster, Daddy, I wanna cum.

It’s over too soon. The buildup from months of denial crashes through him like a wave. Bucky buries his face between your breasts to muffle his groan, hips stuttering as he comes—hot spurts painting your stomach, your mound, dripping down over your folds. He keeps grinding through it, milking every last drop, marking you in the only way he can without crossing that final line.

(Not yet, anyway.)

He takes a moment to admire the sight of your breasts, red and slick from his mouth, your lower half sticky with his release before cleaning you up as best as he can with tissues from your nightstand. Gentle wipes, careful, too careful, if one considers the depravity of what he’s just done. He tugs your shorts back up, fixes your bra, pulls the blanket over you.

One last kiss to your forehead, lingering too long, like the devoted father you believe him to be.

Finally, he slips out of your bedroom, leaving the door just slightly open, exactly as he had found it.

When he goes back to his bedroom, the guilt hits like a freight train. But underneath it, sharper than ever, is the hunger. Sated for now.

Fifteen minutes of stress relief, you promised yourself. This was nothing, this was normal for the two of you — despite the disgraceful circumstances it lead you two to digest after it somehow happened the first time. It's just the relationship you had with your brother.

a 'you scratch my back, i'll scratch yours', kind of deal that meant absolutely no real penetration.

no, because that would mean something.

worse, that could lead to something. as if you havent found yourself lying on your back with your brother between your legs, and suddenly finding yourself in the same predicament, swallowing around his thick cock as he released down your throat, making sure you catch every last drop.

finals have been kicking your ass. Bucky's not doing any better. and it's been a while since the last time anything between you had really happened, and it made your chest ache.

some kind of nauseating claim you staked on him as your infatuation grew. you hated the girls he dated, you never knew why that was until the first night. until the pain throbbed lower and lower and your fingers or pillow just weren't cutting it anymore.

the thought of him just up and leaving you hurt, much to your dismay.

how could he? to his own sister, too.

sure, maybe its the distance. maybe the fifteen to twenty minute walk from dorm to dorm was just too long to bear — the implications, the raw need to be walking, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets, shoulders up high and face tucked into your neck, thinking about the fact that you're on your way to fuck your brother.

yeah, maybe its the distance.

12:34 am.

sleep never came easy during the winter. the darkness throwing you off your regular routine, making you pass out at four in the afternoon, only to wake up at six, barely satisfied and too achy.

you swivled in your desk chair, pen tapping rhythmically against the notebook, laptop screen burning into your retinas until it stuck, leaving square colours into your vision.

usually when shit got this bad, and the stress hit deeper — when you held your head in your hands and whined for a good ten minutes — the tension pools somewhere else. like the first couple drips of rainwater within a canyon before a tidal wave surges.

crossing your legs, rubbing your thighs together, sitting with one heel against where you really need as you slyly pump yourself against it, just isnt cutting like it used to.

you cant help but let your mind wander.

its been a few months since the last time you properly saw Bucky, since he properly touched you.

the calloused pads of his fingers stroking ever so gently, so so tantalisingly soft, dipping into the seam of your cunt before trailing back to your wanting clit, circling.

you watched the muscles in his arm, how they bulge as he collects your wetness, how they move as he groped, you payed extra close attention to the long vein that popped out from his soft skin.

at some point your eyes wandered, a point second where your eyes met his and he was staring directly at you. no falter, no mistake.

mouth open just, breath deep and panting, his eyes darkened with a burn you didn't want to acknowledge, so you turned away. flopping back against his sheets to stare up at the cracks in his ceiling, wandering if it could break and fall right here, right now. break the two of you out of this curse.

the memory of bucky hurts you, a pain in your chest like he has his hand in your ribs and is clenching at your heart, trying to get your attention.

you're too sick to think otherwise, chalking it down to a strong familial bond, not some deluded mental state.

your phone is warm in your palm. do not disturb on, as if anyone outside of your family actually spoke to you.

your thumbs seem to move on their own. your messages only coming to fruition once you click send.

"Goddamnit." you whisper, placing your phone face down on your desk. hands raised behind your head, elbows up as if to surrender, fingers pulling at the roots of your hair to ground yourself.

12:56 Message Sent: can i come over rq?

12:56 Message Sent: kinda urgent… stressed out, yknow.

your heart feels too full, too large for the boundary of your sturnum. if you look down now, you know your shirt would be moving in time with each beat.

each minute passes by too slow. each second bating your breath, quickening your heart until it didn't feel like yours.

you felt trapped within your skin.

a freak, an alien within the body of a human. a mask. an imposter.

a soft tzz clears your brain. body jerking towards your phone, the bright blue light of the screen like a beacon of hope.

01:02 Bugy: doors open

01:05 Bugy: come whenever. you dont need to ask

no introduction necessary. you're both already well acquainted.

you said you wanted to try something new. get closer. you've seen it in twitter videos — that made Bucky chuckle.

it felt like routine now. getting undressed within eyeshot of your own brother, it didnt feel taboo, the knot in your stomach only just starting to fully grow as his icy blues tracked your body. all the while he starts shucking off his dark grey sweatpants.

you almost wanted to scrap the plan all together, just making him sit down while you rub yourself eagerly like a bitch in heat against his cock through the darkening fabric. holding onto him so closely until all your head could conjure was Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

but no, the Barnes' were stubborn folk.

you lay there, bare as the day you were born, legs open, cunt glistening within the soft yellow lamps of your brothers dorm room, watching as he stepped closer.

his cock always shocked you. yeah, its been a while since the last time, but God.

his skin was so soft, velvety. you loved watching how his veiny hand pumped up and down the shaft, swirling his fingers and palm against his head, a whiny breath always catching at his lips as he gave the flushed sponginess some extra love, before tugging himself, soaking with his pre.

"Christ you're soaked," he quipped, situating himself over you, one hand placed beside your head as the other dragged over himself, squeezing a bead from his slit and onto your pussy. his knees knocked your thighs open, holding them up and unlocked. "You really haven't been gettin' any, huh?"

"You're an asshole, y'know that?"

his smile bloomed, a wolf, he was. "So i've been told, by many, many women. ‘Cus i actually have a life."

"James—" you start to whine, brow crinkling with annoyance, now turned into a deep kind of bliss as he runs his head so teasingly meek over your clit, barely caressing the nerves, but fuck, it got you pulsating. Smearing himself all over your folds.

"Fuck, keep going, keep going."

letting out a snort, he kept his hand on his cock. running it along your seam without a rhythm, harassing your pleasure like a brother would do. dipping the tip, only just into your tight, warm hole, and slathering wetness around. his slit catching onto your button, making you gasp, hands clutching at his shoulders, eyes wandering up to the ceiling.

he took your attention and ran. circling the bud around his head, fucking into it, until it was too much to him.

groaning a quiet "God — fuckin.." until he starts to fuck his shaft against you. hips digging into your own, his whole cock flush against your heat, enveloping himself in your cum.

up and down, up and down, his hips moved, trying to keep a sane rhythm. his forehead stuck to your shoulder, breath sticking to your skin as you start to finger at his hair.

"S'good, so fucking good." was all your brain could conjure with the excessive love your clit was being butchered with. stars covering your pelvis with each downwards push Bucky gave. his own moans vibrating through you at each slick sound your sexes make with each other.

without a warning Bucky's hips rutted faster. the slipperiness of your cunt creating easier leverage for his cock to slide against you, battering your poor bud, again and again. the pain covering the bliss, and the bliss covering the pain.

so many feelings all at once.

"Fuck, Bu-ucky—!"

the pounding of your brothers cock, your clit pulsating in time with his pull, the clenching of your hole as it begged for some kind of relief, your hands tugging at the soft tufts of hair, his panting breaths sticking to your shoulder.

faster and faster, and faster, his hips moved, chasing his own release. you could feel yourself slipping into a deep state of euphoria, legs shaking from the adrenaline, mind numb and eyes glazed over. fucked dumb by nothing but your brothers cock on your cunt.

you could almost hear the words "take it, take it" murmured like a mantra into your sticky skin, like he wants the warmth to envelop you, like he needs the words to dissolve inside.

the ending felt so close, the tingling sensation at your fingertips, clenching at your stomach, knot pulling tighter and tighter, until —

"Bucky!" you yelp as you feel his bulbous tip breach your entrence, hands gripping his shoulders like you arent sure wether to savour the painful stretch or push him off completely. "What the fuck! The one goddamn rule, God — you fucking dumbass!"

"Jesus Christ — calm the fuck down, its not my fault you're like a damn slip and slide," he retaliates, positioning himself back over you as you shuffle your hips, "Anyways, it was just the tip. Stop bein' such a baby about it, s'not gonna bite you."

he positioned himself back to his rightful place. cock slick with your combined arousal nestled within the warm embrace of your pussy lips.

"James," you warned, tone thick with attitude. it makes your brothers head whip up, a devious grin painted on his face. "If i even feel one nudge, so help me Go—oh, fuck!"

He stayed staring at your blissed out face, smug expression never faltering as his hips rock back and forth, soft tip of his dick nudging at your raw clit, holding the muscle down with just his thumb as he works himself through your wetness.

he tongued at his teeth, bated breaths fanning your face as he worked you through so devastatingly good. Bucky couldn't help but laugh breathlessly at your demeanour, "There we fuckin' go, shut you right up, huh?"

Through the unwavering, aching bliss that dribbled through your entire body, you grabbed the chance to roll your eyes and grunt in a mix of euphoria and annoyance.

"Fu-hucking asshole." words spilling from you as your mouth took shape into an 'O', Bucky situating himself on your cunt, rutting against you so, so fucking well. you hated it.

"Asshole?" he pondered as if deep in thought, hips still moving with purpose, still tapping your nub, making your tummy feel warmer and warmer with each spread of his blushing head. "Maybe next time, sis? Havent even gotten to the good part yet,"

and with that his thumbs spread you open, both pads pulling you apart like annotations, pulling back all of you until the high you felt crawling up your spine, finally felt closer and closer. spreading through the joints in your body, crying out in pleasure.

"I mean, fuck, just look at her crying. must've been desperate, and for me of all people? how fucked are you?"

"so fucked", you wanted to say, though all that spilled out of your spit ridden lips were a jumbled of murmured hums.

fucked up, fucked up, fucked up.

You shut your eyes, begging for the bliss to calm once you got the sight of Bucky out of your vision, only for it to highlight the ache of his cock bullying your nerves. God, fuck him.

"Yo-You agreed…" your hands find their way to your eyes, covering them, digging the heels into your sockets to blanket the oncoming wash of white about to flush you wholly. Fuck him.

"You… You're the — agh, fuck — the one fucking me… huh? Fuckin', fuck me…"

he huffed, amused.

oh goddamnit —

"What was that?"

Too fucked out, you slurred under your breath. "Fuck… Jus' fuck me, dumbass." your mind running on only two things. Bucky and Bucky's cock slipping over your sensitive bundle over and over again.

He's basically there, your thoughts fizzled, the bliss taking over, eyes still sheathed with your hands as he worked with stifled chuckles that puffed out hot against your chest.

Without a single word, just one tiny hummed 'okay, fine' , you felt it.

hot, stinging breach, singing through every nerve through your body and synapse in your brain.

Full.

So fucking full.

the stretch. the unsettling mix of both pain and pleasure washes over your body like a baptism.

you couldnt move. everything felt too much and too little at the same time.

Bucky kept moving, keeping the same unrelenting pace kept before on your clit, now sheathed fully inside you — forbidden, a place only for you and your person, not Bucky. not the guy you shared a womb with, not the man who'd walk into your room without a word to turn the big light on, only to leave immediately after. certainly not the man who you grew up with, under his shadow.

Now under him. his full, sinewy, muscular body. you've noticed it before, sure. but now it's taking you're entire being not to run your fingertips up his abs, and track his adonis belt.

God, please stop this before its too —

his smile gleamed, he watched you move your hands, holding them just above your head. eyes darkened by sweet desire and sickness, some deep need to get this over with. but it just felt too good to stop.

"s'tight… Jesus, you're so fucking tight…" his words seem to jumble, you couldnt help but smile at how fucked out and tipsy he was with the connection, with the gamble, with the depraved nature of this night.

you've never heard your brother so soft before, it was nice.

Bucky sat back on his haunches, keeping up the pace, though the plap-plap-plap's became more palpable, sputtering against your skin as he moved. his heavy balls smacking against the damp skin of your ass, the swift zips of stings trailing you both over.

his palms trail your body, intimate as ever, you couldnt help the goosebumps that lace his venture. nipples peaking as they trailed lower and lower to where you prayed silently for him to go. slowly, drawing it out, his left hand tugged the soft skin of your mound up, and without a warning, he thumbs at your clit.

you hate the precision. how good he is. how he seems to know your weak spots so well. you try not to think about how you arent the only one, how someone got there before you, but you cant help but thank them for creating such a God — in body and soul.

you barely feel your climax wash over you. twitching under his touch, jaw slacked in a silent cry as he keeps busy. tirelessly moving his hips in and out, stuttering with the suffocating pulsations he rings out of you with each definite swipe of your clit.

he's too entrapped with you to realise how close he actually is.

the warmth surprises the both if you. dual gasps and jerks as the two of you spasm at the release.

Bucky, none the wiser with his cock enveloped in the warmest, tightest pussy he's had in however long, he keeps bucking his hips. fucking his cum back inside you.

"Wait — wait! Shit, fuck!"

he stops. moving himself from your enclosed heat with a groan, cock softening in the coldness of his room.

"Fuck."

the two of you stare at the mess inbetween your thighs. wet, creamy, white. whoever said it was the colour of innocence was a liar.

"I hate you."

his eyes, widened with shock and disbelief, scanned yours. face stern, uncharacteristically still. tired eyes, mouth still in a line.

you realise theres only three things you shared now. Your blood and DNA. Your bated breaths, chest's expanding like you've ran an entire marathon, hearts beating so hard they may aswell explode out of your ribs to save yourself from the stress of the future. and finally, your swapped releases. your own trail, once glistening around your brothers shaft like a beacon of release and relaxation, now dried with his own cum that trickled out of your still rhythmic pulsing, as if your body knows it doesnt want it — shouldn't want it. like it knows it has to get out.

Fucked up.

without another word, you picked yourself up, clumsily standing on your legs like a newborn fawn, knees and thighs numb from the position beforehand. picking up your clothes, pulling each item onto your body as if to hide the evidence.

You didn't look at him. "M'going back home." you murmured, voice barely a whisper, before you exited your brothers room. leaving him dazed, and stark naked on his bed.

the walk back wasn't real. you dont remember the spotlights of the streets flagging your every move like they knew your brothers cum was sliding through your panties and dampening your thighs.

the urge to slip into an alleyway to dig into your cunt to get it out was so strong, you almost hesitated twice before ultimately waiting for the warmth and sacredness of your dorm room.

the bathroom was cold. or maybe that was you.

pulsating each glob out into the basin until nothing splashed, but still that wasnt enough. your body seemed to work on autopilot as your fingers scooped around your walls, flicking the load into the water with the rest.

fucked up.

“still hurting,” you whine, looking up at him with wanting eyes.

“good thing mom and dad are staying in the city tonight. i can take care of you. do you want to sleep in my room?” he takes the paddle brush from the vanity and starts to brush your hair, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“i don’t want to ruin your sheets,” you mutter.

“hey, look at me,” he says, turning your face up toward his. his blue eyes are soft and caring. “if that happens, it’s nothing some cold water and a spin cycle won’t fix. besides, i love when you spend the night in my bed.”

you sigh and tilt your head back so it rests against his stomach. he bends down and kisses your forehead. "c'mon sis, let me make you feel better."

you stand up slowly and tuck the towel under your arm, covering yourself as you follow your brother to his room hand-in-hand. it's a routine by now... bathe, towel on the bed first, then your naked body on top. bucky loves to see you spread across his sheets. he knows every freckle and scar that marks your body like the back of his hand. you've shared everything in this life, so what's the harm in this, really? the guilt and shame that used to bubble to the surface during these moments has evaporated and been replaced by familial love that has blossomed into something more. something that aches when you're apart.

"so beautiful," he whispers against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. "open up for me, pretty baby."

you spread your legs and he smiles, hooking one over his shoulder.

"is it too much?" you whisper, feeling the wetness between your thighs as you're exposed to the cool air. his eyes flash darkly up to yours and then back down, taking it all in.

"you're never too much for me, angel. don't worry about anything," he murmurs, running his nose up the seam of your thigh. "just close your eyes and let me make a mess."

you lie your head back against his pillows and shut your eyes just as you feel the first lick, followed by a deep hum. he moves up the bed, pressing your thighs to your chest and fucking you with his tongue. he works a circuit with his mouth like a figure eight starting at your clit with a wet pop before moving back down to your tight heat and up again. it's torturous, but the way he's making you pulse around him is helping the pain of the cramps. "thank you buck," you manage to whimper, fisting at his hair.

"mmm, you're welcome sis," he says into your pussy. he looks up at you with a devious smile and looks like a wild animal that's feasting on prey. his lips and cheeks are painted red and his pupils are blown wide. he licks his lips and closes his eyes, savoring you. "i'll always take care of my girl."

"bucky baby, make love to me," you whisper, holding his face in your hands. he wipes his mouth with the towel and pulls down his sweatpants. you've memorized every vein, but it never ceases to make your stomach flip when you see his dick hard and flushed just for you. he leans down and kisses you, his tongue sliding softly against yours.

"you taste like me," you whisper with a shy laugh.

"good," he says, lining himself up at your entrance as you wrap your legs around him. "i don't want to ever taste like anyone else. just my--" he thrusts into you, "angel girl."

his mouth is all over your neck and breasts, sucking and kissing like he'll never have you again as he keeps up his steady rhythm. "fuck baby, you feel so good... hnghhh... i..."

"come on me," he grunts, sucking a hickey into your breast. "come on my dick pretty girl. don't hold back on me."

his hands finds its way onto your clit and he rubs it with the perfect amount of pressure. you wrap your ankles around his waist, locking him in as your orgasm builds. "don't stop," you whimper. "don't stop, i'm gonna!" you grab his ass, pushing him deeper inside of you and keeping him there while you clamp down around him. bucky lets out a soft moan as he twitches inside of you, releasing his spend. you both stay like that for a few moments, breathing into each other's skin and playing with the other's hair.

"you're so pretty like this," he says.

"like what?"

he smiles and kisses you before answering, "under me. taking me. it's where we both belong."

"i love you," you whisper as he pulls out carefully before scooping you into his arms.

"i will always love you," he says, planting a kiss on your shoulder. "how are you feeling?"

"much better," you admit, nuzzling into his chest. your cramps are gone for the moment, at least.

"good. now you stay here. i'll be right back to clean you up and bring you whatever you need. you want to sleep in one of my henleys?" he sits up and gets out of the bed, pulling on his shorts.

you nod and he smiles, pulling one off a hanger in his closet. "don't go anywhere, angel. ever."

"'N he's no fun, Buck," you whine, small body pressed against your brother as you sit on his thick thighs. "Didn't even want to dance."

Bucky chuckles, his calloused hands lazily curled around your waist as he watches at the television behind you.

"Ain't deserve ya, baby," Bucky mutters, cursing under his breath when his car crashes into a wall. "Damn, bastard."

You pout at your brother, leaning back slightly as your ass slips further down his legs and closer to his crotch.

"Buck," you whine, tipsy from one to many drinks but neither you nor Bucky cares. "Do you even listening?"

"Course do," he grumbles, fingers tightening around the controller in his hands as he tries to maneuver the car back onto the road. "Jus' got my ass kicked. But as said, he ain't good for ya anyway."

You huff, leaning into him once more as you let your fingers trail down his shoulder and along his arm.

Bucky's veins bulge through his skin, thick muscles working as he keeps playing whatever game he plays.

You don't really care, not after your date which definitely didn't went as you expected. The boy had eyes for every girl but you, he might have paid for lot of drinks, but he didn't care one bit.

Not like your brother does. Never like Bucky does.

"Told ya, stay home. Woulda ordered pizza and we coulda watched movies," Bucky says, sighing softly when he drives the car over the finish line as first player. "Got ya, idiot!"

He throws the controller to the side, fingers curling around your waist to pull you flush against his thick chest.

"No one will care for ya like I do. How many stupid guys do ya need to get that, baby?" Bucky asks, smirking softly when he feels your hips soft and slowly moving against his.

You huff, face hiding in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. A soft moan bubbles up your throat when you feel his sweatpants rubbing right against your panties covered pussy.

Bucky's cock twitches underneath his pants, a soft groan leaving his lips as you keep jumping against his bulge with such innocence as if you don't notice what you're doing to him.

"He can't take care of ya like I can," Bucky tells you, his fingers digging into your hips to help you rub your pussy over his dick. "Can he, sissy?"

You whine, feeling the thickness of his cock pressing hard into your cunt, rubbing back and forth along your wet cunt.

"B-Buck, please," you whimper, fingers curling into his shoulders as you press yourself more onto his cock.

"Answer me, can he?" Bucky growls, stopping your hips movements. He huffs when you whine instead of answer.

Your brother lifts his hand, then brings it down on your ass harshly, leaving a stinking pain in your soft flesh.

"No," you whine, pushing your hips forward to escape another slap he might have to offer. "Jus' you, Buck."

He hums in approval, letting you hump against his thick cock. Bucky's ocean blue eyes are lust filled when they meet yours but somehow he keeps managing to have that soft touch visible in them.

"Tell me who ya belong to," Bucky demands, his hips bucking into yours, perfect angle to rub against your sensitive clit. "Who owns you, baby?"

"Y-You," you moan, hips canting into his to get the perfect angle perfectly. "Please, gonna cum. Please, Bucky."

He chuckles low in his throat, one of his hands turning slightly. Bucky's thick fingers slide underneath your skirt, pushing it up until he's able to see your panties.

So innocent and sweet - his favorite.

How can you let anyone see those sweet panties. You don't wear lingerie not even for a date, but those sweet cotton panties in that soft blue.

Bucky hooks one of his fingers into the fabric and pulls it away, only to let it snap back into places.

"Ow!" You whine, the fabric slipping between your folds to add even more friction of your clit. The coil in your stomach tightens with every rut against him, pussy weeping and soaking your panties.

"C'mon ask me, sissy," he chuckles, watching the patch of your arousal on his gray sweatpants.

"Can I cum?" You whimper. Bucky grunts, his thumb pressing down onto your clit as you can't help but let the coil in your stomach snap.

"Cum," your brother orders, grinning as you throw your head back.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, cum dripping out of you as you keep rutting into him.

Giving you a moment to come down, he runs his fingers through your cunt, painting his fingers in your slick before he brings them to his mouth.

Bucky's tongue darts out, moving along the length of his fingers with a groan as he licks them clean.

"Mhm, such a sweet pussy you got, sissy," Bucky mutters, licking his lips before he sighs with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "How about you thank me for letting you cum?"

Nodding down at his bulge in his sweatpants, you immediately obey and let your hand wander down his thick chest and abs toward to slide it underneath the waistband of his pants.

"Such a good girl. No one's gonna love you like I do, baby," Bucky mutters, watching your fingers intensely. "Only ya big brother knows how to love you right and best."