˚·𓆩Ivy𓆪·˚

it wasn't his fault.

at least, that's what bucky would insist if ever questioned.

you had moved back in with him, framing it as wanting to get away from city life and easing back into the suburbs before you started your masters program. when in truth bucky knew you were worried about him, after your mother had up and left without so much of a glance back.

but if you were so worried about him…why were you so insistent on fucking yourself with a vibrator night after night?

maybe you forgot he had super soldier hearing, despite your attempts to stay quiet.

maybe you lost yourself in pleasure and couldn't quite help but let a noise slip out every now and then.

or maybe…you just wanted him to hear.

at any rate, bucky could now tell by the way you slipped off to the safety of your bedroom if he was in for a peaceful night's rest or one where he would spend half the night hard as rock, shame being drowned out by the incessant throbbing of his dick.

it always began the same. the click of a button, followed by a quiet buzzing, and then the soft sigh that spilled from your mouth like you just couldn't help yourself.

he shouldn't. bucky knew how wrong it was to let his mind wander. especially when it involved his daughter.

but the blood rushing to his cock had different plans entirely.

and truly…

what was he supposed to do? the sounds coming from your room were sweeter than sin and better than any porn he had ever watched.

it started innocently enough, he supposed. he would pretend not to listen. turned the volume up on the tv in his room to try to drown you out. tried noise cancelling headphones paired with calming music to meditate.

but it was like whatever frequency your muffled moans and sighs carried were sent straight to his eardrums and he was powerless to stop his body from reacting.

then it morphed into that as long as he didn't touch himself…there was no harm in it. he could imagine you, legs parted, back arched as you used the toy to make yourself come.

how the same eyes that would roll at him when he said one too many dad jokes were now rolling back in pleasure.

it was fine. his imagination could wander when he didn't act on it. everyone had urges…right?

but those lewd fantasies only served to add fuel to the fire.

like a pavlovian response, the second bucky heard the click buzz his cock sprung to attention. likely due to the fact it had been too damn long since he'd had any sort of relief, either by his own hand or someone else's after your mother had left. he had neither the time, nor really the provocation to do so. until you.

and while you groaned behind your shared wall, able to get yourself off because you couldn't possibly be thinking the same thoughts he was, he strained against his boxers, begging for stimulation. something. anything.

it turned him restless, causing him to stay awake long after you had satisfied yourself and drifted off to sleep.

night after night…

click buzz sigh

the tightening in his chest didn't lessen in the slightest. he could feel himself leaking, twitching at every sound. to the point it ached. from tip to base, even low in his stomach, every part of his cock hurt in yearning.

eventually, he began clinging to a pillow. something for his hands to grip so he didn't go back on a rule he had set. resigned to bucking his hips into the air so the slight friction from his boxers would provide some relief, with his ear pressed to the wall just to hear the sounds you were making.

"just like that…" you gasped, followed by a whine that sounded like you were biting down on your fist.

bucky, let out his own whimper, his arms banding along the now nearly flattened pillow. he could imagine you oh so clearly, once he got you underneath him. how sweet you would sound if he got his head between your legs instead of that toy.

the tension built low in his stomach with every breath, every gasp, every shaky exhale you tried to contain all sent phantom sensations to his sensitive cock. feelings that morphed to bucky imagining your fingers in its place. blatantly stroking slowly and giggling while he had to hold himself back from begging for more.

he groaned into the pillow, at the sound of your breathing increasing.

"you're about to cum aren't you?" he whimpered, muffled by biting on the fabric. the knot twisted in his stomach further, until he felt his release shoot free, coating the black material of his boxers and seeping through. but the ache didn't subside, even if his dick softened.

it was so wrong, so dishonourable that he was so affected as he was.

and it was only made worse when he watched you leave to go out with your friends one night. in a skirt that barely covered anything and a top that left little to the imagination.

it took all of the willpower he had to not demand you stay home. after all, you were an adult. and he had no reason he could admit out loud as to why he didn't want you to leave.

instead, he snooped. knowing he really shouldn't. but the magnetic pull of wanting a visual was entirely too strong. and if he were to really face it, snooping was the least immoral thing he could be doing at the moment.

your room was tastefully decorated. you had gotten rid of most things from your formative years, swapping it instead for knickknacks that indicated a woman now resided in this space. he pulled open your bedside drawer, and there it lay shamelessly.

a deep plum coloured vibrator, the source of all of your pleasure and his torment. it was cute, bucky thought to himself. average size, with a small attachment that would sit right on your clit. "lucky bastard," bucky grumbled, running a finger along the soft silicone.

slowly closing the drawer, his eyes were drawn to the bed. made with military precision just like he had taught you. but behind the mountain of pillows you likely used every day, was a larger satin pillow. something that was decorative, but still smelled like you. something that you wouldn't miss if he were to take it. and even if you did, why would you suspect him in the first place?

and so the arbitrary rules morphed again as he waited for you to return. which began with a bit more of a ruckus than normal. the stumbling and stuttered footsteps meant that he knew you had gone out drinking. so there was a chance you would be louder than normal, and that thought excited him more than he cared to admit.

it would be so easy to just go out and help you to bed. you were inebriated after all, and bucky just wanted the best for his daughter. but even he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back in your pliant state. one glassy eyed look, a bat of your eyelashes…he'd be gone.

so he stayed in his bed, naked and propped against the headboard with the door locked waiting for you to get into bed. head turned so his ear was against the wall to hear you better. his legs stretched long in front of him, cock already rising to attention. flushed with need, slowly dripping onto his belly at the thought of you, a little tipsy and messy, kissing along the sensitive head while your tongue darted out to give him a taste.

would you gag if he hit the back of your throat? or had you been blessed with no reflex just as your mother had been?

click buzz sigh

the three sounds pulled him free of his thoughts.

with his heart beating wildly in his chest, he slid his throbbing cock into the crease of the pillow just as another small sigh left your lips.

the nefarious part of him that knew he shouldn't be doing this halted, providing a new fantasy of what it would be like to sink himself into your tight heat and hearing that sigh up close.

he wasn't touching himself…really. the pillow folded in half was just to keep himself from barging into your room and proving that he could fuck you better than that toy could. and the satin pillowcase added just the right amount of soft friction, the picture of him pumping in and out out of you became clearer and clearer.

he timed his thrusts to what he could hear through the wall. speeding up as you did, pulling back when he heard you draw out a particularly soft fuck. at this point, he had heard enough that he was absolutely certain he knew just how you would like to be taken care of.

but he would have to save that imagery for the pillow. anything more would be entirely too shameful.

your high pitched whine cut through the rustling of his sheets and his own imagination. his cock now spilling profusely into the folds of the pillow, providing enough lubrication to slid

"that's it babygirl," bucky mumbled, unable to help himself. "i know you're gonna cum, give it to me."

his hands moved before his brain could catch up. one hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, pumping furiously as his other brought your pillow to his face. the faint aroma of your perfume and musk surrounded him in a heady combination. he couldn't help it, no matter how wrong it was.

rule broken and entirely forgotten about, he listened for your climax that wasn't far off based on how your breath was coming out in tiny gasps. hips bucking into his hand like he couldn't get enough, pillow cradled like a lover against his chest while he inhaled your sweet scent.

his own grunts couldn't be stopped now if he tried. the image of you bare, bouncing up and down on his cock while he met your thrusts was all he could see, the flutter of your cunt was all he imagined feeling.

and then…something new left your lips that he'd never heard during any of your sessions.

just as what bucky could only assume was your climax washed over you - loud enough that it couldn't have been an accident, clear as day…

"daddy."

the video brother!bucky sends you when you're out with friends (m!masturbation, p!ss play)

and the video you send brother!bucky next time he's out (f!masturbation, p!ss play)

dad!bucky making you wet yourself while he fucks you (riding, p!ss play)

dad!bucky who just wants to make sure you stay hydrated (bondage, p!ss play, wetting)

dad!bucky just wants to make sure you're full part 2 (p!ss play)

helping your big brother out is fine, right? (mutual masturbation)

dad!bucky loves when you piss on him part 2 part 3 part 4 (p!ss play)

brother!bucky taking care of you (spooning)

dad!bucky just wants you to feel good (missionary, clit play)

it's not your fault your daddy tastes so good (cum eating)

making your pathetic brother hold until he can't (p!ss play)

brother!bucky marking you as his (p!ss play)

riding dad!bucky (riding)

dad!bucky who pulls out (cum play)

brother!bucky who loves playing with you (pussy job)

“Sweetheart!” Your mom’s voice carries over the wind, arms already outstretched as she hurries down the steps in her slippers, not caring about the snow. Your dad follows close behind, grinning wide, pulling you into a bear hug that feels exactly like home.

“We thought the roads might keep you away,” he says, ruffling your hair like you are still sixteen.

“Never, Dad,” you laugh, hugging them back fiercely. But your eyes are already scanning past them, into the warm glow of the doorway.

And there he is.

Bucky leans against the frame, hands shoved in his pockets, the familiar half-smile on his face. But God, he isn’t the lanky kid you’d FaceTime on occasion. College has filled him out, broader shoulders under a soft gray sweater, dark hair a little messier. He looks older. Beautiful in a way that hits you like a punch to the chest.

He pushes off the door and comes down the steps slowly, snowflakes catching in his locks. “Hey, sis.”

The hug is meant to be quick, sibling-casual. But his arms wrap around you fully, pulling you in close, chin resting on your head for a beat too long. The warmth of him seeps through your coat, the steady thump of his heart pressed right against yours. When he pulls back, his hands linger on your arms, blue eyes searching your face as if he’s attempting to recognize if something changed about you. All you notice is the way his cheeks and nose turn a little red under the cold weather.

“Missed you,” he says quietly, voice rough.

You swallow. “Missed you too, Buck.”

You were ten years old when you first dragged him outside in the middle of the night, a ratty old telescope from a garage sale clutched under your arm.

“Come on, Jamie! The Perseids are tonight!” You had whispered urgently, tugging on his pajama sleeve.

Bucky was six, all wide blue eyes and messy hair, idolizing you like you hung the moon yourself. You’d spread a blanket in the backyard, pointing out constellations you’d memorized from library books. “That’s Orion’s belt,” you’d say, tracing the stars with your small fingers. “And one day, people will walk on Mars. Maybe even us.”

He’d stare up in awe, small hand in yours. “You gonna be an astronaut, big sis?”

“Only if you come with me. Space is no fun if you’re alone.”

From then on, it was your thing. NASA documentaries on the old TV, books piled up on his bed, you reading aloud about Apollo missions until he fell asleep. He soaked it up like a sponge, that vast magic becoming his own escape. You never imagined it would stick so deep.

Now, as the four of you shuffle inside, stamping snow off boots, the house envelopes you in pine and gingerbread scents. The tree stands tall in the living room, half-decorated, strings of lights twinkling, ornaments waiting.

You dive into the boxes, pulling out the familiar decorations that have been a part of your family history for years now: the wonky clay star you made in kindergarten (your parents still keep this?), the shiny rocket ship Bucky was obsessed with one year to the point he stole it from the tree to hang on the side of his bed. Your parents take the lower branches, leaving the higher ones for the “grown-up kids.”

“Here,” Bucky says, appearing at your side with a delicate glass icicle in his palm. “This one’s always been yours.”

You smile, reaching up on tiptoes for a bare spot near the top. The branch is just out of reach, and you wobble slightly, but a pair of strong hands settle on your waist immediately, steadying you. When did he get so strong? You can swear he was still just a scrawny kid last summer—

“Easy there,” he murmurs next to your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Your breath catches. His grip is firm but gentle, thumbs brushing so slowly over the curve of your hips you think you’re imagining it as he lifts you just enough to make it easy. You hang the ornament, but neither of you moves right away. His chest is close to your back, the heat of him cutting through the holiday chill that still clings to your skin.

“Remember when we tried to put the star on top and you fell off the stool?” you whisper, turning your head slightly. Your cheek almost brushes his.

Bucky chuckles softly, his breath warm and a soft blush resting on his face. “Yeah. I was twelve. And you caught me before I face-planted into the tree.”

His hands linger as you lower back down, sliding slowly away only when your feet are steady again, even though he doesn’t fully step back. Instead, he reaches for another ornament, a little silver spaceship, and hands it to you.

“Found this one at a campus flea market,” he says quietly while your parents chat on the other side of the room, now busy putting up candles on the tables. “Reminded me of those nights you’d tell me about the moon. How Armstrong flubbed his line.”

His eyes soften. For a second you swear you feel something else crackling underneath, something that goes beyond sibling love or the holiday cheer. Something that runs deeper, warmer. “You made it all real for me. The stars weren’t just lights. They were places I visited with you in our parents’ backyard.” His voice drops a little lower then. “I wouldn’t be chasing this dream without you.”

The confession hangs between you, heavier than the tree you’re both adorning. “I’m proud of you, Buck. I really am.”

For a moment, the room narrows to just the two of you, twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes, the faint scent of his cologne filling your nostrils.

Your mom calls from the doorway, interrupting the heavy silence without quite realizing it. “Mistletoe check! We hung it in the archway again.”

You and Bucky both turn, realizing you’ve drifted right beneath it while decorating the nearby branches. The little bunch of green and white berries dangles innocently above your heads.

Bucky freezes. You freeze.

It’s tradition. A peck on the cheek for family, right? Then why does it feel like neither of you can move?

Bucky looks down at you, those blue eyes searching yours. His hand lifts slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You tilt your chin up without thinking, drawn by something magnetic.

His lips part, leaning in, just inches away, and you feel the warmth of his breath, the way his gaze drops to your mouth.

Wait.

What?

Your heart stutters.

At the last second, you turn your head slightly, and Bucky just barely grazes the corner of your mouth, soft and fleeting, sending a jolt straight through you. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispers, stepping back like touching you burned him.

You blink once, twice. “It’s… it’s okay.”

Half an hour later, dinner is served in the dining room: Mom’s honey-glazed ham, roasted potatoes, green beans with almonds, cranberry sauce. The table is dressed in red and green plaid, candles flickering, Christmas music playing softly from the kitchen speaker.

You sit in your usual spot, across from Bucky, parents at either end of the table. The conversation starts easy enough. Dad asks about your job in the city, Mom wants every detail about your new apartment, and you answer on autopilot, laughing in all the right places. But every time, your mind is somewhere else. Whenever you glance up, Bucky is watching you.

Not obviously. Never long enough for your parents to notice, to tap into any awkward tension that appears to simmer between the two of you today. But it’s the kind of quiet longing that feels a bit too intense to be just casual, that flickers behind his blue eyes whenever he passes the rolls, when you reach for the salt at the same time and your fingers brush. Each brush of hands feels like touching a live wire.

Bucky is quieter than usual. When Mom asks about school, he gives short answers.

“Classes are good. Got an A in orbital mechanics.”

“Internship applications are in for Johnson Space Center next summer.”

His voice is steady, but you notice quickly how his jaw tightens when your mom beams and says, “Our little astronaut! Your sister started all this, you know, she had you staring at the stars from such a young age.”

Bucky’s eyes flick to you then, something raw flashing across his face. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She did.”

Heat crawls up your neck, and you busy yourself cutting your ham into tiny pieces.

Under the table, his knee bumps yours. It feels like an accident, a shift in his position—until he doesn’t move away. The pressure is light, barely there, but there’s definitely intent in the way it remains placed there against your knee. Your breath catches, and you shift slightly in your seat, unsure if you’re pulling away or leaning into it.

The tension coils tighter with every minute. The conversation at the table continues with chatter about the neighbor’s ridiculous inflatable Santa, plans for Christmas morning cinnamon rolls; your parents laugh and sing along to the songs on the speaker while completely unaware of the silent storm brewing across the table from them.

The food on your plate seems to be the most interesting thing tonight as you try hard to focus solely on it, but you’re hyper-aware of everything: the way Bucky’s sweater stretches across his shoulders when he reaches for more potatoes, his leg still barely touching yours.

Halfway through dessert, Mom’s famous pecan pie, Bucky suddenly pushes his chair back. The scrape of wood on the floor makes everyone look up.

“You okay, honey?” Mom asks, concerned.

“Yeah, just…” He stands too quickly, nearly knocking over his water glass. His face is flushed, eyes a little too bright. “Remembered I have a lab thing I forgot to prep for. Gonna head upstairs and take care of it.”

Dad frowns. “On Christmas Eve?”

“Uh, deadlines don’t care about holidays.” Bucky forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He glances at you for half a second before looking away. “I’ll come down later when it’s done.”

And just like that, he’s gone up the stairs before anyone can protest, his footsteps quick and fading rapidly.

Your mom sighs. “That boy works too hard. Always has his head in the stars, literally.”

You linger in the kitchen for a few minutes longer than necessary after dinner, drying already dry dishes while your parents migrate to the living room with their coffee and the glow of the television. The abrupt way Bucky fled the table keeps replaying in your mind: his flushed cheeks, the clearly bullshit excuse. How he didn’t quite look at you properly.

Finally, you set the towel down. “I’m going to go see if Bucky needs help with the lab thing,” you announce casually. “Make sure he doesn’t spend all of Christmas Eve stressing.”

Your mom smiles over the rim of her mug. “Good idea, sweetheart. Drag him back down for a Christmas movie if you can.”

You nod, heart already racing as you head up the stairs. The hallway is quiet except for the faint murmur of the TV below. Bucky’s door is closed, but a soft glow seeps from under it.

You knock twice. “Buck? It’s me.”

There’s a shuffle inside, then a quiet. “Yeah. Come in.”

You push the door open and step into a room that feels like stepping straight into the night sky.

The entire ceiling is a glowing galaxy, thousands of tiny fiber-optic stars embedded in dark paint, swirling into a vivid nebula that shifts subtly in shades of deep blue and violet. LED strips hidden behind the crown molding cast a soft cosmic light over everything. On one wall, string lights form the outline of a constellation (you recognize Scorpius immediately). A sleek black telescope stands on a tripod by the window, pointed out at the falling snow. Posters of Saturn’s rings, the Hubble Deep Field, and a vintage Apollo 11 mission patch cover the walls. His bed is made neatly with a navy NASA duvet, the classic meatball logo emblazoned across it, and a few plush planets are lined up on the shelf above his desk like silent companions.

It’s overwhelmingly Bucky; nerdy, earnest, a little awkward in how perfectly curated it all is. Like he has never quite grown out of the wonder you instilled in him all those years ago.

Bucky himself is pacing a tight line between the bed and the telescope, hair a bit messier than when he was downstairs, sleeves pushed up.

“You didn’t have to come up,” he says quickly, stopping in front of his desk as he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m fine. Just… working on some data stuff.”

You close the door softly behind you and lean against it. “You’ve been acting strange all evening, Buck. Quiet at dinner, then bolting up here like you were running from the Devil.” You keep your voice gentle but direct. “What’s going on?”

He exhales sharply, eyes darting to the glowing ceiling like it might offer an escape route. When he looks back at you, his cheeks are flushed red again. You just raise an eyebrow, waiting.

Bucky’s gaze darts away again, to the telescope, to the plush Jupiter on his shelf, anywhere but you. He shoves his hands into his pockets, then pulls them out like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His shoulders bunch slightly.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stressed. School stuff. You know how it is.”

You don’t move from the door. Your eyebrow remains raised. “Bucky.”

He winces at the way you say his name, soft but firm nonetheless, the exact tone that shows you don’t believe his excuses. He starts pacing again, two steps toward the bed, two steps back, careful to not get closer to you. The nebula on the ceiling casts shifting blue light over his face.

“I’m fine,” he insists a little too quickly to be truly believable. “You should go back downstairs. I know Mom always likes to watch The Polar Express every Christmas. I’ll… I’ll be down in a bit.”

Despite his insistence, his voice cracks on the last word. You notice the way he shifts his weight, the subtle tension in his stance as he turns his back and pretends to adjust something on his desk. The starry blue glow in the room feels more intimate now instead of comforting.

“You’re not fine,” you say quietly. “You’ve been weird since the mistletoe thing. Talk to me.”

He lets out a shaky breath, fingers gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles go white. “I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m your sister. You can talk to me about anything.”

“It’s because you’re my sister that I can’t—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s messed up. I’m messed up. I hate that I even—fuck. Look, just… go, okay?”

Bucky never swears. Not really, not like this. The word is so rare from him it hangs in the air like a gunshot.

Something cold slides down your spine. The awareness, the realization as pieces click together too fast: the lingering touches, the flushed face at dinner. How he’d stared at you under the mistletoe before dinner.

You take one careful step closer to him, attempting to close the distance enough that your voice doesn’t have to carry.

“Bucky,” you call softly. “Under the mistletoe… did you want to kiss me?”

His whole body goes still. The silence is so thick you manage to hear the muffled laugh track from the TV downstairs.

“I did kiss you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“I mean…” You swallow, the words feeling dangerous on your tongue. “On the lips.”

He turns then, slowly, like he’s afraid any sudden movement will shatter the moment. His face is scarlet under the blue light, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted like he’s forgotten how to breathe properly.

“… Yeah,” he whispers. The confession seems to cost him everything. “I wanted to kiss you on the lips. And I hated myself for it the second I thought it. And then you turned your head, and I still—” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a second, voice muffled. “At dinner it got worse, and I couldn’t—I had to get out before—”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.

“Do you still want to?”

Bucky’s hands drop from his face. He stares at you like he’s not sure he’s heard you right, like he’s waiting for the moment you freak out and start yelling or running away. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

“Don’t ask me that,” he says, a little broken, terrified.

You take another slow step forward, close enough now that the soft blue light bathes both of you in the same glow. Your voice remains gentle, the same tone you used when he was little and scared of thunderstorms.

“I meant what I said, Bucky. I’m your sister. You can tell me anything. No judgment.”

His eyes search yours, pleading, like he’s looking for the trap he’s sure must be hiding somewhere there. When he doesn’t find it, his shoulders tense further.

“I still want to,” he whispers, the words shaky with shame. “I still want to kiss you so bad it hurts. But it’s wrong. It’s so wrong, you’re my sister, this isn’t supposed to happen—” His voice breaks midway, and he turns away again, shoulders curling in like he wants to disappear into the stars painted on the ceiling above.

You feel your own heart pounding, but you don’t let it stop you. You close the last bit of distance, reaching out to gently touch his arm. He flinches at first, then stills under your fingers.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Look at me.”

It takes a moment, but he does, slowly turning back, eyes glassy.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You can trust me. I’m right here.”

The words seem to undo him. His shoulders drop, the fight draining out of him all at once.

You rise up on your toes, just like when you reached for the high branches of the Christmas tree, and press your lips to his.

It’s soft at first, tentative. A question more than anything.

Bucky freezes, a sharp inhale against your mouth. For one terrifying second, you think he’s going to pull away. But then his hands come up, careful, afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. One cups your cheek, the other settles lightly at your waist. And he kisses you back.

Really kisses you.

You’ve kissed your fair share of boys before, some younger, some older, but none ever quite kissed you like Bucky does. His mouth is warm and careful against yours, years of closeness and distance and something neither of you dared name until now pouring into it and setting it ablaze. His lips are softer than you expected, trembling just slightly against yours. You feel the moment he lets himself lean in fully, the shuddering exhale he releases like relief, and you push him further, tongue slipping past his lips and tasting the sin in his mouth.

Bucky whines into your heat, fingers digging into your waist so hard it feels like you’re causing him some sort of pain.

The kiss deepens for what feels like forever, slow and impossible to stop, until your lungs burn and the need for air finally forces you apart.

You pull back first, just an inch, lips still brushing his as you both breathe hard. Bucky’s eyes are wide, pupils blown in the dim light, his chest rising and falling fast against yours. The hand on your cheek trembles.

“We…” His voice cracks. “We shouldn’t have done that. Oh my god, what did we just—”

“Hey.” You cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “Bucky. Breathe. It’s okay.”

He shakes his head, frantic. “It’s not okay! You’re my sister, if Mom or Dad ever—”

“They won’t,” you cut in gently, thumb stroking along his jaw. “This is just us. It can stay our secret. No one needs to know.”

His eyes search yours again, desperate for reassurance. Agonizingly slowly, the panic ebbs just a little. He nods, a shaky movement.

You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his, and tug him gently toward the bed. Bucky follows, but he’s so distracted he catches the edge of his own rug with his foot and stumbles, arms windmilling for balance before he catches himself on the bedpost.

You can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes. “Bucky, you okay?”

He lets out an embarrassed huff, cheeks burning darker as he sits heavily on the edge of the mattress. “Yeah. Just… graceful as ever.”

You sit beside him, close enough that your thighs touch. The NASA duvet is soft under your hands. You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, a casual sisterly touch if it wasn’t for the charged moment.

“Hey. No pressure,” you say quietly. “If you’re not sure, if it’s too much, whatever—we stop. No questions.”

Bucky stares down at his lap, fingers twisting together. For a long moment he’s silent, then he gives a small chuckle.

“I don’t want to stop,” he admits. “It’s just… I’m not—I mean, I’m not a virgin, okay? There was a girl freshman year, and… a couple times since. But it wasn’t… a lot. And it definitely wasn’t ever like this.” Bucky gestures vaguely between you, flustered. “So I’m kind of… I don’t know what I’m doing here. With you. And it’s all… a lot.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes something warm bloom in your chest. You reach over, covering his fidgeting hands with one of yours.

“It’s okay,” you tell him softly. “We’ll go slow. We’ll figure it out together.” You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just like when we were kids and you were scared to look through the telescope alone because you thought you were gonna see aliens.”

A shaky smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. Except this is… way different.”

“Way different,” you agree, smiling back. “But it’s still just the two of us.”

You shift closer, sliding one leg over his so you’re half in his lap, and kiss him again, slower this time, letting him feel that there’s no rush. His hands find your waist again, hesitant at first, then surer, pulling you gently until you’re fully straddling him. Under the quiet glow of a thousand painted stars in his ceiling, the two of you start learning a whole new constellation.

Your knees sink into the NASA duvet on either side of his hips, and Bucky’s hands settle on your waist like he’s afraid to hold too tight, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric of your sweater. You kiss him again, deeper this time, no hesitation, and he melts into it with a helpless sound that vibrates against your lips.

His mouth is eager but unsure, following your lead as you tilt your head and slide your tongue along his. When you nip gently at his bottom lip, Bucky gasps, a startled little whine that he immediately tries to swallow. You hadn’t expected the sound, but you smile into the kiss, fingers tugging gently on his hair as you pull back just enough to murmur, “It’s okay. They’re downstairs with the TV on. Relax.”

Bucky nods quickly, his cheeks flushed dark, eyes glassy. “Trying,” he breathes, voice shaky. “It’s just… you feel…” He cuts himself off with another soft whine when you roll your hips experimentally on top of him, settling your weight more firmly in his lap.

Just like clockwork, his reaction is immediate, expected: a growing hardness presses up against you through his jeans. His breath hitches, hips jerking involuntarily before he forces them still, hands gripping your sides like he’s anchoring himself.

“Sorry,” he whispers, mortified. “I didn’t mean—”

“Bucky, I said relax.” You kiss him again, slower, deeper, rocking your hips in a gentle grind. The friction draws a muffled groan from his throat, and he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, soft pain shooting through you. You pull back just an inch, lips pursing into a wicked grin.

“Is my little brother getting greedy now?” Bucky whines silently as if the nickname wounded him.

“Don’t call me that now.” He says with a grunt. You just chuckle and lean down again, teeth pulling on his bottom lip until his eyes are closing.

“You’re cute like this, Buck,” you say teasingly, releasing his lip before licking over it. “I like it.”

You take control because you can feel how overwhelmed he is: the way his hands hover uncertainly, the tremor in his thighs beneath you. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly to angle his head back, and trail open-mouthed kisses down his jaw to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He shudders, hips bucking up again, harder this time.

“Easy. There’s no rush,” you murmur against his skin, the words attempting to soothe his nerves. You roll your hips in a slow circle, pressing down just right, and he whimpers, desperate, burying his face in his neck in a futile attempt to muffle the sound.

“I can’t help it,” he breathes into the skin. “You’re—fuck—you’re right here and you’re so pretty and it feels—” Another roll of your hips cuts him off with a choked whine, fingers digging into your waist and urging you closer even as he battles to remain still.

You keep the rhythm steady, grinding down slowly, feeling him throb beneath you with every movement. His breathing is ragged against your collarbone, little whines escaping despite his best efforts; and maybe you’re older, more experienced, but those needy sounds make heat pool quick in your gut in a way nothing has ever quite managed before.

“Feels good?” You whisper, nipping at his earlobe.

He nods frantically. “So good,” he manages. “Too good—gonna—” The sentence dissolves into another muffled whine as you grind down harder, but you don’t need him to finish the sentence to know exactly what he means. Despite how good it feels, how good he feels, you slow down, not wanting this to be over like this.

Your little brother deserves better than cumming in his pants.

“Bucky,” you whisper, lips pressed to his cheek. “Do you wanna go further?”

He freezes beneath you, breath sharp. His eyes are open fully, wide and dark, searching your face like he’s waiting for the catch.

“Further…?” he echoes, voice hoarse.

You rock once, letting him feel exactly what you mean. “Inside me,” you clarify with the usual softness. “All the way."

The sound he makes is half-whimper, half-groan, fingers flexing hard against your hips. For a second he looks completely overwhelmed, like the idea alone might undo him. You’re his sister, his older sister who has never been anything other than the kindest soul to him. How could he ever hope to deprave you in such a way?

And yet, he nods, small at first and then a little surer.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck, yes, please.”

His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. You smile, brushing a soft kiss to his mouth, feeling the way he melts into it—relieved, eager, still a little terrified, but undoubtedly yours.

Your hands move to the hem of his sweater, a silent request, and he obeys without hesitation, lifting his arms so you can pull the soft grey fabric over his head. It messes his hair further, strands falling across his forehead. Underneath the sweater he’s lean but strong. College added definition to his chest and arms that wasn’t there the last time you saw him shirtless years ago. You trace your fingers lightly over his skin, feeling him shiver.

Bucky tugs at your sweater next, nervous fingers fumbling until you help him lift it off. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on your skin, but his palms are warm when they settle on your bare waist, pulling you close again.

“Are you cold?” He asks with a gentleness that doesn’t belong in the bed where two siblings are about to break family boundaries. You bite down on your lip, reaching behind yourself to unhook your bra, letting it fall away. Bucky’s breath catches sharply as he looks at you, wide-eyed, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Not when I’ve got my little brother to keep me warm.” You guide his hands to your breasts, showing him it’s okay to touch you. And he does—hesitant at first, thumbs brushing over your nipples with a feather-light touch that makes you arch into him. Your soft moans spur him on, and his confidence grows; he cups you fully, learning the weight and feel of you with worshipful strokes.

“You’ve got the prettiest tits,” he says, almost out of it, as if it’s a thought that somehow made its way past his lips. You look down at him, grinning, and his cheeks flush darker as he realizes he’s said it out loud like an idiot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

One thumb presses against his lips, your sign to shut him up. “You’re not gonna apologize for complimenting me while we’re doing this. Keep going.”

Bucky swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under your gaze. His eyes are locked on your breasts, hands cupping them reverently, and thumbs circling your nipples with a tentative pressure that sends sparks dancing down your spine. “They’re perfect,” he murmurs, like he’s confessing a secret he’s held onto for too long. “You’re perfect. I always thought you were beautiful.” He leans forward in a sudden fit of courage, and he kisses your collarbone, licks a stripe down to your nipple. “And today you walked in with snow in your hair, and that smile, and you looked—you look—like a Christmas miracle showed up on our porch.”

Heat blooms in your chest at his words, and you arch into his touch, encouraging him. His confidence builds with every soft gasp you let escape, his palms kneading gently, exploring the soft curves. You lean down to capture his lips again, the kiss turning needier, tongues tangling in a rhythm that’s equal parts familiar and forbidden.

Clothes come off in quiet urgency after that; your pants peeled down, his jeans and boxers pushed off with a little awkward laughter when they get caught on his ankle. You both pause for a moment, bare under the glowing stars, taking each other in. Bucky’s flushed from chest to ears, hard and aching between his legs. Long and thick, curved slightly, the tip flushed and glistening with need. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, and Bucky's hips buck into your grip with a strangled whine, his head falling back against the headboard.

"Shh," you soothe, thumb circling the sensitive head, spreading the bead of precome that gathers there. He nods frantically, but his body betrays him, a needy sound rumbling from his chest as you pump him slowly, feeling him throb in your palm.

“Condom?” you ask softly, practical even through the haze.

He nods quickly, reaching for the nightstand drawer with a shaking hand. You help him roll it on with slow, deliberate strokes that make him whine again. When he’s ready, you guide him to you, rising up on your knees as you position him at your entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” you whisper.

The first press is slow, the stretch burning in the best way as you sink down, inch by inch. Bucky's mouth falls open in a silent gasp, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "Oh god," he breathes when you're halfway, voice cracking. "You're so… tight—"

You pause to let yourself adjust, breathing through the fullness, then lower further until he's buried completely inside you. The sensation is overwhelming: him filling you so perfectly, the heat of him pulsing within your walls. For a moment, neither of you moves, just savoring the impossible closeness, your foreheads pressed together, your hands braced on his chest, feeling his heart thunder under your palms.

Then you start to move.

A slow roll of your hips at first, testing the angle, and Bucky’s eyes flutter shut. “That feels so good,” he whispers, hands sliding down to grip your thighs to help guide you (and because he has no idea what else to do with them right now). You rise and fall gently, building a rhythm that has him trembling beneath you. Every downward slide draws a gasp from him, his hips starting to meet yours in tentative thrusts that grow bolder with each pass.

You lean forward just a little, and your face hovers just above his. You see him open his eyes then, blue hues meeting yours in search for something he’s not sure he can ever find anywhere else.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, even though it seems like it’s hard for him to even manage to get the words out. “You’re so fucking beautiful, I—” But he can’t finish; you sink down harder, and his words dissolve into a broken moan he barely muffles against your shoulder.

His eyes are glassy, lips parted, and brows drawn together in overwhelmed pleasure. You watch him with reverence, lips curled into a sweet smile even as you gasp for him. Every time you clench around him, his hips buck up involuntarily, driving him deeper and pulling another desperate sound from his throat.

Bucky’s hands roam, up your back, down to grip your ass, urging you faster without quite taking over.

"Faster?" you ask, voice breathy, giving voice to his request, and he nods desperately.

"Please—yeah—"

You oblige, speeding up gradually until the soft slap of skin on skin fills the quiet room, mingling with his increasingly frantic whines. He's trying to stay quiet, biting his lip, turning his face into the pillow, but the whines slip out anyway. One of your hands reaches for his face, thumb trying to release his lip from the confines of his teeth.

“Let me hear you,” you murmur, moving your hand to lace your fingers with his against the mattress. “I wanna hear how good it feels.”

He nods shakily, and when you grind down again, the sound he makes is raw—half-sob, half-moan—muffled only slightly by the pillow he turns his face into. His free hand cups one of your breasts, thumb flicking over your nipple in time with your movements, and the added sensation sends jolts straight to your core, making you grind down harder.

You gasp his name softly under your breath, a moment of unraveling even while you try to stay in control, and that only seems to undo Bucky. His hips start moving in earnest now, meeting every downward stroke with an upward thrust, driving deeper, harder. His whines turn continuous, breathy and desperate, eyes locked on yours like he’s afraid to look away.

You kiss him messily as you both near the edge, teeth and tongue and shared breath. The rhythm falters, turns frantic, while Bucky’s whole body is trembling, thighs shaking under yours.

“Close—” he gasps against your mouth. “I’m—please, fuck, cum with me—”

And God knows he doesn’t need to ask twice in that pleading voice.

When it hits, it's like a supernova: pleasure exploding through you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as you come undone. Bucky follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a choked cry. His back arches off the bed as he pulses inside you, spilling into the condom, and his hips jerk in uneven rhythm. For half a second, stars burst behind your eyelids; not the bright blue LED ones on the ceiling above, but the kind that makes you float away.

You collapse against him, both of you panting, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and each other. In your haze, you feel his arms wrapping tightly around your body, holding you against him, and his lips press the softest kisses to your hair, to your temple.

Bucky is the first to break the walls of silence. “Merry Christmas.”

You lift your head to look at him, hair messy, lips swollen, and just smile. “Seriously?”

He gives you a crooked smile, cheeks a little flushed. “What? Can’t I wish my sister a Merry Christmas?”

You giggle at him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone that makes him shiver. “We just fucked. You’re being a nerd.”

Bucky’s chest rumbles with a shy chuckle beneath you, his arms tightening just a fraction, like he’s still afraid this moment might slip away if he lets go.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice fond. “Guess I am a nerd. Always have been.” His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, careful. “But you’re here. With me. So… best Christmas ever.”

it was the only way. at least, that’s what he reminded himself with every thrust, every slam of his hips to yours, balls slapping your reddened ass. his hand came down with another harsh slap. your whimpers muffled by the glove shoved into your mouth, saliva coating the flaking leather.

“i just love you so much, baby,” he mumbled through a grunt, palms burning against your waist, fingers digging into your skin. not to hurt. to ground himself. to remind himself you were real.

tears streaked your cheeks, puddling on the gritty floor.

it was wrong. you knew it was. but every time he muttered, “mine. all mine, baby. please be mine” in your ear, heat coiled in your belly. your back arching. hips meeting his every thrust, begging for more.

maybe you had done it on purpose. entertaining another man’s attention because you knew it would set bucky off.

pleasure skittered across your spine. you shattered with a muffled sob, face tight, brows knit as you coated his throbbing cock. squeezing him so tight he whined, spilling into you a moment later, rocking his hips slowly, coaxing you through the aftershocks.

panting unevenly, brow beaded with sweat, you both groaned as he slowly pulled out. your combined releases sliding down your thighs.

lost in the haze, you barely registered his whispered words of praise.

you did so good, baby.

love you so much.

your wrists were unbound, the glove pulled from your mouth. your legs trembled, knees giving way. he was there to catch you. gathering you into his arms and carrying you to the cot in the back corner. the frame creaked as he carefully laid you both down, tucking you under his chin.

“i’m so sorry.” his voice broke, tears stinging his eyes. “did i hurt you? please tell me i didn’t hurt you.”

curled against his chest, his heart thrumming in your ear, you hummed contentedly. “you never hurt me, jamie.”

a breath of relief left his chest, his large hand spanning your back, the other carding your hair as he pressed gentle kisses to your temple, the red marks on your wrists, feeling your pulse flutter against his lips. “i don’t know what comes over me. i just can’t…i can’t imagine you being with someone else.”

you tilted your head back on the pillow, eyes meeting his, thumb tracing his stubbled jaw. “i’m yours forever, jamie.”

he nudged your nose with his. “i’m yours forever too, babydoll.”

you and bucky finally get the beach house to yourselves

(missionary, pearl necklace, ball licking)

over the clothes doesn’t count!

(riding, dry humping, cumming in underwear)

‘just the tip’ leads to fucking it back in

(just the tip, backshots, creampie)

just helping each other out

(spooning, mutual masturbation, sub!bucky)

you’re being too loud! it just feels too much

(missionary, hand over mouth, overstim)

anal doesn’t really count, right?

(anal, f!masturbation, (slight)spanking)

getting his thigh wet while he’s trying to work

(thigh riding, kissing, soft!bucky)

alone time in the shower, no big deal :)

(handjobs, ass play, sub!bucky)

too sleepy to move, bucky’s fine with doing all the work

(backshots, creampie, (slight)spanking)

using his pocket pussy cus he cant have the real thing

(handjobs, titty sucking, sub!bucky)

“Ew, you're so gross, Eddie. No wonder you’re failing, I bet all you can think about is porn!”

He shrugged and closed the magazine, folding it and putting it on the sofa beside him, “Maybe that’s true”, he grinned and snuffed out his cigarette.

Curiosity got the better of you. “Do you always look for porn stars who look like your sister?” 

You and Eddie have always had a weird relationship. Growing up, he was your first kiss, he'd always let you practice on him. Who better than your brother to learn from?

He snorted and shook his head, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Well, yeah, that’s why you asked.

A faint smirk grew on Eddie's lips “If you help me with my studying, I'll give you an honest answer,” he signed a cross down his chest and kissed his finger “Swear it” he scooted over eagerly, making room for you, patting the cushion, motioning you over. 

You already knew the answer.

You palmed your face in annoyance. I mean, it's not like you had anything better to do. Eddie barely let you leave the house alone, he claimed Hawkins was too dangerous for you. It was somewhat true, you wouldn't say dangerous, but conversations always ended with the topic of Munson being your brother.  

You gave in and got up, prancing over to him, and plopping yourself down on the sofa. “So what's your test on, English, math–” You were rudely cut off by Eddie's hands grabbing your cheeks. “Mmm, I wanna study you for a bit first”, he purred, kissing your lips, just like when you were younger.

“Eddieeee”, you whined with smushed lips, using your manicured hands to push at his chest.“Get off me!”.

“You don't wanna have some fun?” he questioned, letting go of his grip on your face, his brown doe eyes staring at you, looking way too innocent for what he's saying.

You thought about it for a moment, like actually considered it. Eddie is handsome, his stupid big eyes and curly hair making him look so cute… You were more like lovers than siblings at this point, for fuck sake you shared a bed! It's not like Eddie hadn't jerked off in the same room as you before, gotten boners from spooning together, you really didn't have an excuse not to do this.

“But I've never–” you got cut off once again by Eddie pressing a finger to your lips.

“Just let me guide you, baby”, he shushed you, and peppered kisses all over your face, slowly trailing them down your neck. You whined into his kisses, and you felt your face flushing. All of this was becoming increasingly overwhelming.

You caressed his cheek, gently soothing your thumb over the pinkness that was showing, “Waitwait– I wanna um” with each word you paused, running your hand down his chest and stopping at his boxers.

Eddie blinked at you, his pupils dilated and his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes flickering over your hands as they fumbled around shakily, freeing his aching half-hard cock. He was big and thick, you didn't even know where to start, or if your mouth would fit over his length.

You sank to your knees in front of him, resting your elbows against his thighs. You’ve never taken anything this big before. Sometimes, you’d suck off your dildo, but it’s nothing compared to this!

You gave his cock an experimental pump with one hand, and Eddie let out a breathy groan and smiled at you. His cock twitched in your hand, getting harder by the second.

“Fuck you're so cute”, he teased.

You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, you stuck your tongue out and ran it from his tip to base, running it over the prominent girthy vein as you went down. Eddie held back another moan, biting his lip, his eyes drowning in yours, like two paints mixing. 

His cock was warm with a slightly salty aftertaste. You started to lap at the pre-cum leaking out of his mushroomy tip—you took him in your mouth, slowly–very slowly, trying not to gag around his length.

Eddie let out a groan and put his hand on your head, resting it there for the time being.

You pulled off with a wet pop. “You’re really getting off to your sister, sucking you off?” 

“Don’t act all innocent, I bet if I flipped you over, you’d be soaking wet”, he purred. 

“Pervert”, you mumbled. He wasn’t wrong, your thighs felt sticky, and you had a strange feeling bubbling in your tummy. Intimacy was all very new to you.

You put your mouth over his cock again, sinking, you reached halfway until you started choking and needed air. Eddie’s grip on your head tightened, and he swiftly pushed you down further, bottoming out. Your eyes became watery, and you gagged at the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“Lay your tongue flat, baby, it feels good like that”, he cooed in between shaky breaths.

You relaxed your mouth around his cock, you took deep breaths through your nostrils and glided your wet tongue gently around his base. Eddie let out a sharp groan and bucked his hips up, he was getting close.

He used both of his hands to fuck your head against his cock, using your body like an aggressive sex-doll. Your jaw ached from taking his length, your scalp burning from his grip. Every time he bottomed out, his pubes would tickle your nose, adding to the overstimulation.

With one big thrust, his hips stilled, and he cried out, filling your throat with his cum. You pried yourself off of his cock, coughing breathlessly, spilt and cum dribbling down the corners of your mouth and chin, the stickiness of it all making you gag.

Eddie was quick to stroke his thumb over your messy face, wiping some of the spend onto his boxers.

“Can you— give me a— a warning next time?” You sputtered out.

Eddie gave your head a pat, that cliche move every big brother does. “Sorry, sweetheart, I got carried away”

You figured all men were like this, horny, impatient and secretly having incestuous relationships with their sisters, boys will be boys. 

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.

every night, bucky would sit in the corner of your room, boxers pulled down, stretched around his thighs, his fist closed around his cock.

your room was a cathedral of innocence. butterfly artwork. snow globes. plushies that he always teased you about, saying an adult woman still cuddling teddy bears was silly.

guilt sank into his chest with every slow, deliberate drag of his hand, veins pulsing in time with his heart, his lip caught between his teeth, barely muffling the whimpers that clawed at his throat.

maybe he wanted you to hear him. to open those pretty eyes, rimmed with thick lashes, all wide and doe-like, to tell him that what he felt was welcome.

or perhaps what he really wanted, was for you to also be plagued by this lust that wove through his veins like liquid fire.

precum gathered on his fingers, coating his shaft, the sounds of slick covered skin were like music to his ears. if only he could hear those sounds from burying his cock deep inside your velvet heat.

he wasn’t sure how long he could simply sit on the side in your fluffy pink chair, surrounded by plushies, unable to fully experience his desires.

his muscles were drawn taut, teeth pressing into his lip hard enough to taste iron, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

but it wasn’t enough. it was no longer enough to be at a distance.

the temptation was too strong to resist.

hand still covered in precum, chest expanding with shallow breaths, he released himself from the chains of restraint and crawled onto your bed.

the mattress dipped as he slowly moved closer, terrified to wake you.

when he drew back your crumpled floral sheets, a helpless sound caught in his throat. you weren’t wearing your typical sleep shorts. no. just a pair of pretty pink panties with a little satin bows. a sinful sight that made his cock twitch. your ribbed tank top was stretched across your chest, bunched up just enough to see your abdomen. he swore he was looking at an angel.

he couldn’t help himself, running the pad of his thumb over the cotton panties. his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. anticipation like a thread pulled taut.

palms pressed to your inner thighs, he carefully nudged them apart, granting him access to a sight he had only ever dreamed of seeing, your cloth covered cunt already drenched.

was it him that already had you wet? god he hoped so.

as he settled between your legs, a sleepy moan fell from your parted lips. it was such a heavenly sound, his eyes practically rolled back into his skull.

the scent of your arousal drew him in like a magnet, his nose brushing the wet fabric, inhaling deeply.

his cock twitched painfully, throbbing against his abdomen, beads of precum dripping to your sheets. but he didn’t care. he had to have a taste of you.

the first drag of his tongue over your clothed slit nearly undid him. a groan rumbled in his chest, knuckles blanching as he fisted the sheets, desperately trying to hold himself together.

even with this delicate barrier, you tasted delectable.

the second time, tastebuds catching on cotton fibers, you moaned again. subconsciously arching into him, begging for more.

bucky could never let his sister want like this. even through the fabric, he could see her pulsing, pleading with him to pleasure her.

he slowly pulled aside the damp cotton, revealing your folds coated in dew, like delicate petals.

his heart pounded against his ribs as he dragged the flat of his tongue from entrance to clit, unable to withhold the moan that followed. a gravelly, needy sound that made you stir and whimper softly.

he froze as your legs shifted.

when your lashes fluttered open, he held his breath.

your gaze met his. but you didn’t pull away, or scream. in fact, you looked relieved to see him, your brother, between your legs, like a starving man at a feast silently begging to indulge.

but it was him that felt true relief when you nodded, granting him the permission he craved.

at your altar, he worshiped you with every drag and flick of his tongue, with every time he circled your clit, hot breath fanning your skin.

your sounds of pleasure were the sweetest melody. a moan when he sucked your aching bud, a muffled whimper when he ran the tip of his tongue over every dip and ridge, his name falling from your lips as he circled and punctured your entrance.

“bucky,” you choked out on a fractured breath. “please, let me feel you.”

heat skittered across his spine, but he wasted no time crawling up, crashing his lips to yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste your sweet nectar.

when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, he murmured against your kiss-swollen lips. “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

your fingers threaded through his hair, slivers of moonlight making your eyes shine like beautiful gems. “me too,” you whispered, nudging his nose with yours.

bucky huffed a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to your cheeks, forehead, then your nose. “i’m going to make you feel so good, angel.”

his calloused thumbs caressed your jaw, your lower lip. a lazy roll of his hips dragging his thick cock through your slick heat, drawing a groan from you both.

his swollen tip popped past your entrance, a shaky gasp catching in your throat. “bucky…” you keened, clutching his biceps like an anchor. “you’re so big.”

“i’ve got you, baby.” he kissed the tears that slipped from your eyes, murmuring into your ear, “let me make love to you.”

goosebumps dotted your skin, heat flourishing in your core, your walls fluttering as he pressed in deeper, until he was, at last, buried to the hilt.

your muscles trembled. the stretch almost unbearable. and yet, pleas for him to move tumbled from your chest.

his hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, feeling every inch of your velvety channel molding to him, drawing him deeper. fingers pressing into your thigh, he coaxed your leg to wrap around his waist, the angle allowing his tip to collide with your cervix, drawing out delicious moans with every thrust.

the room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by high-pitched whimpers, guttural groans, and whispers of each others names.

tingles crept along your spine, the pressure building, heat crackling between your joined bodies.

“come for me, baby,” he exhaled against your neck, biting the delicate skin and soothing the marks with his tongue. “be a good girl for me.”

his lips hit yours once more, muffling your fractured sob as pleasure crashed over you. fireworks exploded behind your eyes. a wave of white-hot liquid fire flooded your veins, your body trembling, walls seizing around his cock as he coaxed you through every shudder.

he knew he was close. his voice cracking as he choked out his words. “where do you want me to come, angel?”

fucked out, eyes glazed over, tongue thick and sticking to your mouth, you whimpered, “inside me, bucky. please.”

his restraint snapped, his thrusts turning erratic, punching the air from your chest, dragging along your gummy, sensitive walls. spurts of cum spilled forth, filling you to the brim, your releases coating his balls.

“fuck,” he grunted, his hips stuttering, muscles twitching as he collapsed onto you, panting unevenly.

dewey with sweat, chests heaving, and bodies tangled with each other, you both melted into the embrace.

“stay inside me, please,” you whispered shakily.

he kissed you slowly, pouring every ounce of devotion into the slant of his lips and slide of his tongue. pulling back, he turned you both to your sides, drawing you close, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth. “i will,” he promised, tucking you under his chin, and holding you like the most precious thing on earth.

“i love you,” he murmured.

you hummed softly against his neck. “i love you too.”

“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.”

you didnt realise your father would be home early.

you sat on the leather couch, dress on, makeup not too over the top, just enough to make people double take.

you hadn't told him about the date. some boy your friend gave you the number to, you hit it off unfortunately well and a couple drinks and maybe a night in sounded like the perfect time.

that was until you heard footsteps.

the click of his oxford shoes on the tile making your heartbeat faster.

fuck.

you promised to never keep secrets from your daddy, its something that drew the two of you closer together. you'd tell him anything, ask him questions — embarrassing or not — he cared enough to answer, sometimes even demonstrate.

you had been sitting against the squeaky material waiting for six to arrive, slowly, minutes going by like hours, your leg moving restlessly up and down until you could get up and have some fun.

"What's you so dolled up for?"

your dads voice threw you out of your mind, snapping your neck to turn towards him.

shirt sleeves tugged to his elbows, first couple of buttons undone from his neck, tie loose and his hair disheveled. he'd ran his hands through it one too many times.

bad day.

shit, hes had a bad day at work.

"Going out."

"Oh yeah? With who?" he didnt move, just stayed in the doorframe, leaning against the wood like a predator. arms crossed against his chest. you couldnt help but look at his hands and muscles work as he moved them.

"Just a friend." your voice gave you away. you werent the best at lying, thats something Bucky liked. how your voice quivered, how you looked anywhere but him. you squirmed. he likes a squirmer.

he huffed amusingly, "this friend gotta name?"

you exhaled impatiently, you can already feel yourself getting worked up. stomach tingling, knees weak. your teeth just happen to find your lower lip.

"just some guy —"

before you could finish, he spoke. form straightening, hands in pockets, his eyes looked almost primal.

"Some guy?" he stepped into the room, inching closer and closer to your space, your warmth.

bucky could smell the perfume you had just sprayed, lingering on each pulse point like a tease. He knew you knew what was going to happen. it was your own private game you two liked to play.

"Get up," bucky snapped his fingers, the same hand running through his salt and pepper beard. "panties off, on my thigh, you know what to do."

while he sat down next to you, muscular thighs spread apart for you like some perverse version of the gates of heaven, you scrambled up, losing your underwear in the mix, and perched on his leg.

"Go on, princess, you think you can do whatever you want? go ahead," he gestures to where your cunt sat, warm, already dripping, "see where it gets you."

oh, you were.

you moved slowly at first, letting your body relax, and back arch as you found the perfect spot. the tiny ridges of the pant leg grazing agonisingly right against your clit. you sighed sweetly at the sensation.

"Is… Is this oh—okay?"

"You tell me, sweetheart. Keep going."

you stayed like that, easing yourself faster and faster until the fabric of his slacks burnt deliciously between your thighs, tugging yourself back and forth, ass clenching with each push closer to his body.

the want ached through him, god it was so so wrong. to want you like this, to crave you like this. but this is the closest you'll ever come to that strong of a bond. one wrong move and it'll shatter into a million tiny pieces and your life would never be the same. ruined for anybody else.

bucky was snapped out of his lingering, forsaken thoughts when you started to clutch at his shoulders, squeezing tighter and tighter. warm breath mingling into his cotton button-up, wanton sighs escaping your lips as you tried to keep your vulgar voice in. he could feel himself slipping. cock, already rock hard, now twitching in the confines of his briefs, spurting from every lewd squeak you made.

the sounds clicked around your throat, wet and soft from thick spit threatening to dribble out the corners of your mouth, as you chased your final ending. humping faster, bucking your hips harder. as much as your dear father loved seeing you all desperate and pliable, dumb all from him, he moved.

his two large hands, warm and cold, fire and ice, clutched at your hips, squeezing them, letting himself really feel, savouring the warmth of you before he let it all go.

this was punishment after all.

whining from the loss, he hauled you up a few inches.

"Wha-? hmph…" the only thing you could give was a few disapproving grunts. no more warmth, no more pleasure, no more daddy.

he seemed to grin at your dismay. pearly whites bared in a smile enough to kill any woman around. sly, devious. what a cunning man.

"can't let you finish that easy now, can i, princess?" the words flow like warm honey from his soft lips. you want to kiss them and shut him up, keep rolling your hips in retaliation until you got what you want — punishment be damned! if you had to spend the next month unfinished and worked-up, with bruises on your ass, so it be.

and you tried. tried slipping through his fingers, squirming against his iron tight grip with a few tired sighs. palms squeezing his shoulder as you tried to wiggle. but bucky, as always, was the strongest man you knew.

"now, sweetheart, lets not get ahead of ourselves," he pushed you away, only just, and took a glance at the mess you made on his expensive slacks. his smile grew. such a good girl, he thought as he tutted. sucking his teeth with such fake annoyance, you ate it all up.

"such a pretty mess you made… do i do that to you?" his hands regripped, jerking you slightly, a move to get you to comply.

you sniffle softly, "Yes."

god, the burn was real now. just the sheer breadth of his meaty thigh splitting your own open, the sweet ache of your gracilis making the whole ordeal sting — but daddy always loved toying with you.

your whole body wobbled as his vibranium hand found its way to your neck, warmer from the body heat. his palm flirted at the skin, stroking gently before finding purchase. fingers weaving through the fluff on the back of your neck, thumb petting the softness of your cheek. you couldnt help but lean into his touch.

"yes who?"

tease.

your thighs quivered, any more taunting and your whole body may disintegrate into dust. your body flushed warm with his touch, his voice — his husky voice. the kind that soothed you to sleep every night. it was like he was conditioning you this whole time, to find comfort and solace in the words he said. it was working so goddamn well.

your eyes closed slowly, sleepy or lustrous, perhaps both. your throat worked slowly around the words, swallowing at the vowels and syllables, until you finally caught up.

"Yes, daddy."

"That's my girl," just when you thought the gentle abuse was over, bucky pushed again. shuffling himself on the sofa, making the leather creak beneath him, and widening his legs. your breath hitched. "On the floor for me, babygirl,"

"come on, please?" you whined, but you did as you were told. slick thighs slipping against each other as you dropped to the floor between his knees.

his cheeks start to colour with your vexation, such a little brat he's turned you into. he didnt give into your complaints though, he tried not to at these times. bucky is always in charge and he always made sure you knew.

he shuffled once more. strained cock unmistakably thick in front of you, his heady scent all that filled your senses — but that wasnt what he wanted, not right now at least.

his warm, calloused hand tugged at your hair, startling you as he pulled at you to his thigh. the one you rode. the one you were mere seconds away from soiling properly.

he pointed to it with one thick finger. "Y'see that?" he said authoritatively. a shiver ran up your spine.

your voice trembled as you stared at the dampness. "Y-es, daddy."

the puddle was noticeable. a dark black patch in the middle of his thigh, it looks as though you had already finished. so worked up for your daddy, you ruined his expensive clothes.

"Clean it up."

"What?"

his face stayed stoic. the kind he only used to command, the kind he used when you did something wrong. you were in trouble, you knew that, but this? cleaning him up, you only did that when he finished in your hands. clean up meant to lick your fingers clean first, and then take his half-hard dick into your mouth, tonguing up all the saltiness you could gather. soft, wet mouth over his skin, his tender flesh that homed him all. he made sure you lapped over his heavy balls too, hand in your hair and all — usually until he was stiff again, especially if he had an extra hard day at work.

never a piece of clothing. he loved when you made a mess on him, especially his thighs, sometimes even his shoes. going to see a boy must have furiated him.

you're his little girl. his. he cant have you running off to some limp dick who knew jack shit about pleasing a woman — especially you. you deserve the best after all.

"Clean it up." he repeated. voice fair and steady, though his eyes bore into yours, blues swallowed by the vast darkness of his pupils as he watched you, eyebrows raised in confusion and concern. mouth parted only just, lips slick and tipped down slightly as you adjusted your position.

you sit on your knees, both hands on his thighs, one above his knee, the other fairly close to his erection he could swear you were teasing him too. you leaned yourself down, tongue darting out.

you swiped at your own arousal, sweet and musky, you could feel the scent of laundry detergent in the back of your throat, but it was all gone by the second, third, fourth lick, and all you could taste was the mingling taste of both you and bucky together. the saltiness of his skin, sweat and just him, that stuck to the cotton, and the flavour of you that you only had the pleasure to be aquainted with while his mouth was on yours.

you lapped greedily at the spot, dribbling through the frabric like you were desperate to get a taste of what was underneath, but it was nowhere near as bad as the hunger you felt between your thighs.

sore and aching. tender with the remnants of the soft stitching that held the trousers together — you wanted it back, you wanted to climb back into your father lap and take, and take again, until all you felt was the fuzzy numbness of your want and desire. but you loved your dad, you had to make him happy.

he cooed at the warmth seeping around his thigh. how your hands clutched, fingering painstakingly as you licked and licked at yourself. the hand closest to his cock shuffled closer, pinky running along the seam, barely grazing the mound his hardness created. he cant fuck you. absolutely not. but maybe just…

"Good girl, good girl," he preened. his hand, still within the strands of your hair, pulled your head back up to look at him.

the two of you wore similar expressions. out of breath, eyes glassy, pupils darkened with a sick, sappy desire. disgusting.

"C'mon, onto daddy's lap. That's it."

you pushed your way up before he could even finish the sentence. knees parted and bracketing his hips. bare heat sat straight atop his own, causing the two of you to exhale harshly together.

your stomach pulled taut. you weren't sure if it was out of pure want, or the knowledge of what you two had was wrong. but either way, it made you throb like nothing else.

bucky leaned back, taking you in fully. your disheveled dress, the one you wore specifically for… Adam… Aaron… you couldn't even remember now, nor did he care to know, one strap fell dreamily against your bicep, and the skirt was left crumpled up your thighs as you sat.

he got the perfect view. how the outline of his dick sat perfectly between your lips, he could feel you soaking the fabric again. the man clutched your hips, fingers splaying wide, holding your ass open like he just couldnt help himself, until they finally found purchase on the exposed skin of your knees.

"Take it, babygirl, enough punishment. Wanna watch you get daddy off."

like a gunshot at the starting line, pavlov'd into submission, you started.

hips bucking into his warmth, trembling hands grasping at his shoulders as you worked, up and down, against the throbbing heat you shared.

nothing but the heady scent of two bodies, and the sweet whines of you both filled the room. sweet, tiny moans spilled from each of your opened mouths. hips working in tandem, bucking up, trying to get inside you, go home. and yours pulling him in hopelessly.

your teeth bared as you chased your end, crying out with each force you gave to your dad below you.

the band pulled further and further, you felt it wind in your stomach, the mound of your pussy tingling with each second closer. the dribble of your arousal helping each climb, slicking his clothed dick.

your breath hitched. close, you're so close.

"Da—" you swallow, catching your breath, eyes wandering to the ceiling as you catch yourself, "Daddy, m'gonna cum…"

bucky wasnt doing all that good himself. brows taut together, eyes latched into where the two of you met — wrong, this was fucking wrong. but he couldnt stop, not now, not ever — and his palms stuck hotly to the exposed skin of your ass.

he chuckled breathlessly at you. how your hair mussed, how your head lolled with each buck you shared, especially as he humped his hips up into you. your eyes glazed over with a heat you've only ever felt with him.

"Hold it. Let your old man catch up, sweetheart," he groaned lowly, fingers tightening their grip on your cheeks, holding you down. he thrusted harder. "Almost with you."

You whined needily at each slap of his thighs, how he dragged onto you with precision, with a sharp kind of demand you only knew from authority. but each thrust was bared with love, a deep kind only shared between a relationship like this.

you shook in his hold, limbs sore with each second you tried to keep your orgasm in, hold it for the moment you wanted to share with your father. and luckily that moment was perfectly close.

his hands urgently left your behind and planted on your hips, his left thumb immediately pulling the soft flesh of your mound, before his right started to circle your clit. you had no choice but to gasp at the sudden touch, your orgasm washing over your whole body in a cloak of warmth, flashes of white veiling behind your eyes as you cry out.

bucky finished with a groan, hips boring up once, twice, before twitching into a stream of hot cum. dampening the spot of his crotch worse than you had with his own thigh.

you laid your head down on his shoulder, the two of you catching your breaths. chest to chest, heartbeats easing in sync. you could feel him soften. warm hands wrapping around your midsection, stroking up and down ever so gently.

he inhaled your scent. a gentle fruitiness of the perfume you chose for the night you were supposed to have, citrusy yet soft, mixed with the coconut of your conditioner. he pinched at your side and shuffled, causing you to hum.

"You're my good girl, you hear me?" he sat upright, keeping you in his hold tight. your own hands wrapped around his neck, holding him closer. your breaths mingled on each others necks.

"M'sorry, dad."

"No, no," he stroked your hair so delicately, wrapping the pieces around his fingers. "you apologised enough princess. lets get cleaned up, huh?"

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.

you walk into the living room after hearing the front door click shut.

your dad bucky slumps down onto the couch with that heavy sigh he always lets out when he's had a rough day.

he's still in his suit from whatever meeting dragged on too long. he's got his tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, showing those thick arms that make your stomach twist in that wrong way it shouldn't.

he's chubby around the middle now, not like the old pictures, but it suits him. it makes him look solid and more real, like you could grab onto him and not let go.

his face is tired, but when he sees you standing there in your little shorts and tank top, something shifts in his expression.

theres a flicker of guilt mixed with want that he tries to hide by rubbing his hand over his beard.

you know that look. you've seen it building for months, ever since things started getting weird between you two.

those accidental touches turning into lingering ones, the way he'd stare a bit too long when you bent over or hugged him goodnight.

it's wrong, you both know it. he's your dad, married to your mom who's off doing whatever tonight, probably out with friends, leaving him here pent up and frustrated.

but you can't help it, the pull is too strong, and right now he looks like he needs taking care of now more than ever.

you pad over to where he is, feeling that familiar heat starting between your legs just from being close, and drop down onto the couch next to him. it's close enough that your thigh presses against his.

"rough day, daddy?" your voice is soft but already edging into that teasing tone you know gets him riled up.

he grunts, then nods once, and leans his head back against the cushion. "yeah, kiddo, these meetings drag on forever. your mom's not home yet?" he asks like it's casual. but there's clearly that undertone, maybe like he's checking if you're alone.

"nope, just us," you murmur, and slide your hand onto his thigh. when you further go high up, you can feel the muscle tensing under your touch.

he doesn't push you away, but just turns a little toward you, and you can see that conflict flashing across his face again.

"we shouldn't," he mutters, but his hand comes up to rest on your knee anyway.

you ignore the words, because that's the kind of game you both play.

leaning in closer, your chest brushes his arm, and you whisper right there by his ear, "but you need it, don't you daddy? look at you, all wound up."

he shifts in his place, like he's trying to adjust himself without making it obvious, but you notice the bulge growing in his pants, straining so hard against the fabric.

it's always like this, the forbidden part making it hotter, knowing he's your dad and he's letting you do this.

you slide your hand higher, cupping him through the pants, feeling how full he is, those big balls he's got. it's probably achin from neglecting himself.

mommy doesn't take care of him like she should, and that jealousy spurs you on.

you unzip him slowly, watching his face as you pull him out. his cock is thick and hard already, veins standing out, the head flushed dark.

but it's his balls that draw you in. they're hanging low and they look swollen. the sack is covered in soft hair, looking like they haven't been emptied in days.

you wrap one hand around them gently at first, and massage them slowly. rolling them in your palm, you feel the weight and the heat radiating off his skin.

a smile forms on your face when he groans, hips bucking a little. and his hands come up to your tits right away, groping them through the thin tank.

his big palms squeeze them, thumbs rubbing over your nipples till they are poking hard against the fabric.

"fuck, baby," he mutters.

you lean in closer, and your lips brush his ear, "poor daddy, these feel so full. mommy doesn't help you empty them anymore, does she?"

your fingers knead his sack firmer now, tugging lightly, separating the balls to massage each one and you feel them shift under your touch.

he's breathing heavier now, as he yanks your tank down and exposes your tits. skin on skin, his calloused hands are rough but needy, groping them bare shamelessly.

you feel yourself getting wetter, and that ache build deep inside. your pussy throbs as you work him, slick starting to soak into your panties, making them stick to you.

every squeeze you give his balls sends a jolt straight to your clit, like you're connected, his pleasure feeding yours simultaneously somehow.

you shift on the couch, thighs pressing together to ease it a bit, but it only makes you hornier, imagining him inside you later maybe.

but right now it's about him, taking care of your daddy like only you can.

mouth latching onto one tit suddenly, he sucks hard, tongue swirling around the nipple, making you gasp and arch into him.

"yeah, suck on them, daddy," you whisper, filthy encouragement spilling out naturally, "bite a little if you want."

like he was waiting for those words to leave your mouth, he does. his teeth grazes your sensitive skin, hard enough to leave a sting.

his free hand gropes the other tit, pinching and pulling, like he just can't get enough.

your hand on his balls keeps massaging them steadily, pressing up behind them where you know it feels intense, feeling them draw up tighter the more you work them.

your other hand wraps around his cock finally and a soft hiss leaves his clenched teeth.

stroking slowly from base to tip, your thumb smears the pre-cum that's already leaking out, making it slick.

he's thick in your grip, and you jerk him off lazily at first, matching the rhythm of your massage on his sack, up and down, twisting a bit at the head.

"look at all this pre, daddy," you murmur into his ear, "you're leaking for your little girl already."

he growls around your nipple, and sucks harder, popping off to switch to the other one, leaving the first wet and shiny from his mouth.

you're soaked now, pussy clenching on nothing, wetness dripping down your thighs a little as you grind subtly against the couch cushion for friction.

it turns you on so much, feeling him throb in your hands, knowing you're the one making him lose it. not mom, not anyone else. you.

his balls feel even heavier as you roll them, skin soft and loose at first but tightening as he gets closer, that fullness making your mouth water.

more pre-cum spills out, a thick bead forming at the slit, and you can't resist. you lean down to flick your tongue against him. the taste is salty and bitter, pure him.

you lap it up slowly, swirling around the head, sucking just the tip for a second while your hands keep working. one is jerking the shaft firmer now, faster, the other is squeezing his sack rhythmicly, urging him on.

"tastes so good, daddy," you mumble against his cock, lips brushing the sensitive skin, "all this for me?"

he bucks up into your mouth a bit, hand tangling in your hair. "shit, yeah, baby, don't stop."

you pull back up, not wanting him to finish too soon here, and go back to stroking hard, hand still slick with his pre-cum.

pumping him while you massage his balls deeper, your fingers feel every ridge and every pulse.

he's groping your tits rougher now, mauling them almost, sucking back and forth between them.

he's leaving marks probably, but you're both too far down the road to even care about it.

wet trails from his beard scratches your skin. and you love it, the messiness, the greediness of it, the way he's letting go of that tiredness, that guilt fading into pure need.

your pussy's dripping badly now, panties already ruined. you want to reach down to relieve yourself d but both hands are on him. frankly, you can't stop, but the ache is intense. your clit will probably be swollen, begging for touch, but you ignore it, and pull your whole focus on him.

"these big balls of yours," you whisper again, "so full for your daughter. gonna empty them all for me, daddy? shoot all that cum i've been milking out?"

your hand on his cock twists faster, jerking him off properly now, because you can feel that he's close. while the hand other cradles his sack, tugging down to delay a bit then squeezing up, feeling them churn.

pre-cum keeps flowing, coating your fingers, making everything sloppy. and you lean down again to lick another drop straight from the source.

he curses, and his hips jerk up on its own. sucking hard on your tit till it hurts so good, your dad's other hand pinches the other nipple.

you're humping the air now almost. it's so wet it's embarrassing, arousal slicking your inner thighs, with your pussy lips puffy and sensitive.

every stroke you give him makes not only him, but also you to throb harder.

"feel how wet i am for you, daddy?" you ask, even though he can't touch yet, "milking you like this gets me soaked."

he pops off your tit, "show me later, baby, fuck," and dives back in, groping both tits together, pushing them up to bury his face between.

because right now it's about his pressure and his relief. not yours.

your hands speed up, jerking him faster now. slick sounds fill the room, massaging his balls constantly, rolling, squeezing, feeling them pull up tight against his body, ready to blow.

"come on, daddy, give it to me," you urge him, "let your little girl milk all that cum out of these heavy balls."

he's close now, you can tell. his cock is swelling thicker in your grip.

you lean down one last time as the first spurt hits, thick ropes shooting out across your hand, his soft stomach, some hitting your arm even.

you lick it off quickly wherever you can reach, tongue lapping the cum from his tip as it pulses, swallowing what lands in your mouth.

then you clean his shaft slowly, tasting every bit while he shakes and groans through it.

you don't stop licking him till he's fully spent, gathering every drop, smearing it on your lips, savoring the mess he made just for you.

he's panting, hands still on your tits loosly now, just holding them, stroking them.

that tired look comes back but it is satisfied now.

his eyes are on you like he can't believe this happened, but doesn't regret it either.

“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."

uncle!lee who’s always had a slight infatuation towards you. how you act, how you carry yourself — its different.

you’re not like other girls in town. hard headed, tough, sarcastic. the mouth of a sailor, if not worse.

as you grow he cant help but wonder how he could wise you up a bit, shut that mouth of yours and turn you into a perfect little plaything for himself.

your friends would tease you for your odd closeness with your uncle — your family thought it was adorable, never actually batting an eye to your soft adoration and his firm protectiveness. but the older you got the more you realised that affection settled lower and lower inside of you, churning into something darker, something sinful and borderline disgusting.

uncle!lee who always drove boys away from you. no one really wants to be caught up with the sheriff, especially Lee, and particularly when the two of you have an extremely close bond!

uncle!lee who just wants you to have the best in life. the best house, the best family, the best husband… hell, he’s just looking out for you. the way he keeps his eyes on you, stalking like a hawk during shifts or even on random Tuesdays, watching your figure as you grab him a coffee.

how your hips fill out your new jeans, how the skirt of your new dress billows in the wind — he catches himself begging the gust to blow just right to show a little more thigh, maybe a peek at your panties?

uncle!lee who takes you in his cruiser first. somewhere real private after he picks you up from around the creek.

bucking his hips up into your soaking heat, tight as a vice around his thickness.

you tried to tell him it wont be safe, word in small towns spread like wildfire, if someone were to find out your close little bond with your uncle was more intimate than it should be, you both would never hear the end of it!

but you both were so rung up, a little needy, and desperate.

he held your hips tight, fingers squeezing into the plush flesh as he rocked you back and forth while he thrust up into you gently. his cock was big, beautifully thick and veiny, the head flushed a soft pink when he sat you down on top, letting you sink down.

“Tha’ s’it babygirl, doing so good f’me…” he whispered into your neck, peppering soft kisses against your skin, dragging his lips when you moved in specific angles, catching himself begging off guard, short circuiting his brain as you whined and moaned at the aching stretch mixed with his soft praises.

“Good girl, good girl… takin’ it like a champ.” drawing out the words as he felt your walls clench, signalling your impending release.

"Uncle Lee," your voice breaks into a whisper. "this — huh — this is so bad, what if we get caught?"

"I know, baby — shit, i know… just cant help myself, can i? prettiest damn thing in the whole town."

uncle!lee who has you sneak out to his house to fuck most of the time, but when hes especially restless he’d come pick you up, saying he’s just dropping you off at a friend’s place. when in reality hes got your ass hanging out the back door while he’s pounding into your tight little cunt.

uncle!lee who draws out your sessions just to watch you writhe and squirm, overstimulated on his cock in the back of his cruiser. its messy, of course it is, but you’re an exception to his little pepsi cup rule.

he loves looking back and finding small stains of your shared release, thinking back to when he had your legs spread on his lap, back to his chest as he teased your clit while jerking you on his dick. he can already feel his cock stiffen in his slacks while he’s on shift.

uncle!lee who loves your messy mouth, all covered in spit and precum dripping down your chin and in thick globs at the base of his cock. he loves to push and pull at your head, forcing you to choke around his girth, ruining your throat.

uncle!lee who especially loves to hang his balls over your face, making you lap at them with little kitten licks and hold them in your mouth until you cant breathe. Often having holding you against them telling you, "breathe in deep, sweet girl, yeah — just like that," feeling your palms against his meaty thighs as you take his orders. "Smell that? thats what a real man smells like."