Religion
Bucky Barnes: You push your boyfriend too far.
CONTENT WARNINGS! all my fics contain dark content including, but not limited to, noncon, dubcon, and explicit descriptions of violence and abuse. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+, please!
Girls, this one is pure, absolute filth and nothing else. Like, oh my god, this is smut city.
There is little you enjoy more than spending time with Bucky. While you love everything about him, you can’t deny that, a little vainly, a big strength in the relationship is that Bucky will worship the ground you walk on. You’ve had guys like you in the past and of course you’ve dated, but none were as devoted to you as Bucky is, as starstruck and pathetic for you as he is. If you said the word, he’d lick the bottom of your shoe and thank you over and over for letting him do it. Of course, though, you wouldn’t exploit your power over him like that, though it is fun to imagine, to sort of push him a little sometimes, just teasing. Like when he drops to his knees at the foot of the bed, begging to taste you and swearing he’ll make you feel better than you could imagine, and you pretend to think it over for a few seconds. He’s shaking and desperately clawing at your legs. “Baby, please! P— please, I can’t— I can’t take it, I need to taste you, oh god!, please let me—” And lord knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.
He’s coming over tonight, and as a little treat, you decided to get some lingerie. You’re admittedly a little nervous about it—before Bucky, you never would have definitively classified yourself as ‘sexy,’ and always felt a little awkward with exhibitionism, but you’re feeling pretty good about this.
For your first set, you certainly went with an ambitious choice: you picked white lace because Bucky often calls you an angel, over and over, he’ll say it like a prayer. When he’s in you so deep you can’t do anything more than whimper and scratch your nails down his back, his pathetic voice reaches you through his pants and whines: “God, this… fuck, this is fucking heaven—” he breaks off to let out a strangled, broken moan that makes you let out a curse of your own and clench tighter around him, which only increases his whimpering and makes him double his efforts, dragging his thick length in and out of you like it’s the only thing he knows how to do “—You’re— fuck! — You… You’re my own… own personal fucking angel, baby. God, you must be an angel, this has to be heaven—” And you never know how he manages to go on and on when his voice is strained, his muscles taught with the effort of not coming within the first few minutes of being inside of you. You can’t remember a time when he hasn’t made you come at least twice before he dared focus on himself, never sliding in before you’ve come on his tongue and/or his fingers.
You pull on the bra and stun yourself with how bold it is, though maybe you just don’t know all that much about lingerie. It barely contains your breasts and consists mostly of thin mesh leaving little covered except beautiful lace trim running around the cups. When the bell sounds, you jump up and rush to the front door. Bucky is coming over for what is supposed to be just dropping off some books you left at his place, but once you saw the white lace set in the store earlier that day, everything changed.
With a deep breath, you open the door, posed casually but a little provocatively, with posture that makes your breasts a little higher and one hip raised.
“Hi, honey, I…” he trails off and you can practically see his mouth run dry. You have to suppress a smirk as his blue eyes scan you from down to up until they meet yours, and you swear you watch his pupils dilate in real time. But it’s you offering an innocent smile that sends him over the edge.
In a flash, he’s dropped the tote bag he was holding and is instead using that hand to grasp at your cheek, caging your face against his with one hand while the other desperately slides up and down your side before snaking around to your lower back and pulling you so your chest is to his, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s relentless; once his lips smash onto yours, you know it’s over, and the little game you had planned was spinning out of your control. But still, you try to have a little fun with it.
When you finally manage to break away from the kiss, its absence making Bucky whine, you let out a breathless chuckle. “Well, hello to you, too.”
His gaze rakes over your form again, up and down, and when his eyes meet yours again, he can’t even speak. He looks like he can’t even breathe, chest stuttering and eyes watering with the restraint it takes him not to pounce on you.
“What is it?” you ask, sweetly, pouting up at him and tilting your head to the side. When he doesn’t respond, you slide your hand over his shoulder, making him jump, and round so you can grip the back of his neck and pull him closer to you. “Words, Bucky. Use your words.”
That seems to snap him out of his silence, but definitely not out of whatever trance you’ve brought him into. He swallows thickly, and when he finally gets his voice to work again, it’s hoarse and raspy, and even still, he can hardly string a sentence together: “You— Fuck, baby, you gotta let me— I need to—” But his rambling is broken off by the soft rake of your fingers through his hair, which makes him shudder and his knees threaten to buckle.
He tries to kiss you again but you step back with a raised eyebrow, and when he realises you’re not letting his words go unspoken, he matches you step for step, still letting out moans of “I need to— Please let me— God, you look—” until he’s got you up against the wall. When you think the fun’s over, he drops to his knees in front of you and inhales your scent deeply. His arms clasp around your thighs, squeezing them together so harshly it would nearly hurt if it didn’t feel so good. He closes his eyes and dips his head, letting out a shaky breath and trying to regain his composure. When he looks up at you, his eyes are big and wet and it’s making it hard for you to hold out.
“Baby,” he whines, and presses himself against you with a moan which makes you gasp. If he had it in him, he might have made a playfully snide comment about how he’s not the only one so desperate, but you’ve never seen him like this. He’s completely out of it, he’s on the verge of weeping at your feet. “I— ohhhh…” he groans and squeezes you harder. “Let me worship you. Use me, baby, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, you’ve just— you’ve got to let me taste you, I can’t take it—”
“Bucky, honey—” you begin but are interrupted by his strangled moan. “Fuck!” you startle and need to lean against the wall for support. “Don’t… don’t make that sound.”
You know he’s really gone when that earns not even a smirk from him. “You’re an angel,” he continues, “Oh, god, you’re a fucking angel, you’re my religion.” He pauses from his prayers to press wet kisses over your thighs, breathless as he pants against your soft skin, “Let me— I’ll do anything you want, fuck, I’ll let you do anything you want, whatever, just— just please!” You can feel his tears drop onto your skin and reach your hand down to tilt his chin up.
“Poor darling…” you coo sympathetically at him, bottom lip puffed out and eyebrows pulled into a show of concern. “You need something from me?” You swear you’ve never been like this, but this desperation is sort of bringing out a little bit of a sadist in you. Bucky just helplessly stares up at you with red eyes, and with the way you’re getting a little desperate yourself, you don’t have it in you to draw out your teasing any longer. “That’s alright, honey. I know what you need.” When you lean down to kiss him—softly, intimately, tenderly and slowly—the broken whimper he lets slip past his lips and onto yours lets you know neither of you can hold out any longer.
Suddenly impatient, you grip his shirt collar and tug him to stand, immediately crashing his lips onto yours and walking your bodies to your bedroom where he all but crashes on top of you as you fall to the bed, saved at the last minute by sticking his hands out on either side of you, but his arms are wobbly, his entire body is trembling like you’ve never seen before. And just as you’re about to ask him if he’s okay, he dives to suck on your right nipple through the mesh of your bra. You gasp and slide your fingers into his brown hair, sputtering out, “B— Bucky—” and that makes him stop.
He removes his lips and presses his forehead into your chest, looking down. Suddenly, instead of that whiny pleading, his voice is now deep and dark. “Don’t say my name like that, or I’m really gonna fucking lose it.”
You bite your lip to hide a smile, but it doesn’t work. Deciding to see just how far you can take this, you raise the pitch of your voice, turning to being the beggar now. “Bucky,” you moan, breathlessly.
That’s his undoing.
His head snaps up and he lowers himself to kiss you deeply again, one hand twisting at your nipple while he grinds himself down onto you for some relief of his own. He’s so hard it’s genuinely painful and makes him let out a sob when you slide your hand down to run your palm over his clothed crotch.
When he breaks the kiss, you think he’s pulling up for air (because lord knows you need it) but he instead dives straight for your nipple and tears the mesh fabric away with his fucking teeth, letting your tit spill out. You gasp at the display but your disbelief is immediately swallowed by intense pleasure as Bucky sucks just right, causing you to throw your head back and arch up further into his mouth. He finally slides a hand between your legs and pushes two thick fingers inside of you, making you let out an earth shattering cry and grip onto the back of his neck tighter. He responds to your moan with a groan of his own and speeds up his work. He’s too far gone to hear you breathlessly moan about how you’re on the verge of coming, and so is slightly surprised when he suddenly feels you clench around his finger. Swirling his tongue around your nipple, he moves to add a thumb to your clit but you’ve already come undone underneath him, your body sensitive to aftershocks as evidenced by your yelp when the pad of his thumb connects with your button.
He wants to look up at your flushed face but knows he can’t or he’ll really lose the minute amount of self control he’s barely holding onto right now, and so instead, he slips off the bed and onto his knees, quickly pulling your legs to rest over his shoulders without any hesitation. He hears you suck in a deep breath like you’re about to say something but the words die on your tongue, overtaken by the torturous moan that escapes you when his greedy mouth attaches itself to your weeping and over-sensitive cunt. Your thighs lock around his head making him brace his cold metal hand over your warm belly to keep you from squirming at his filthy ministrations.
You don’t know how long he’s got you there, you lost count after your fourth orgasm which he rode out just as he did every other despite your wriggling and protests and the tears streaming down your face. When he finally looks up, it hits you that there’s something deeper going on.
“But I haven’t even fucked you yet, angel, god!” He groans and presses himself into the mattress, letting out a whimper. “Please let me—”
You want to say no but you’re lightheaded and dizzy and you can’t get your brain to form the thoughts, let alone get your mouth to say the words. You’re groaning while he’s undressing and before you know it he’s ripped your panties off of you and pressed his tip against your entrance. He nearly fucking falls forward when his leaky cock only lightly nudges your folds. “F— fuck! Oh! Baby, angel, I— I need to— I’ll fucking die if I don’t, I’m so serious, babe, I’ve gotta— I’ve gotta—” He chokes on air, cutting off his words as he slides into you, bottoming out almost immediately due to your earlier slick still coating your walls (and his face). When you wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze him even tighter, he’s one million percent sure he’s never been closer to God than he is at this moment.
Through the haze, he finally makes out a sound, a voice — You’re sobbing beneath him, and your hands are weakly pushing at his shoulders, trying to get him to relent. You’re saying something about it being too much or too big or something but he can’t focus on a word you’re saying over how good you fucking feel, and he tells you: “Baby, I— I can’t hear a word you’re fuckin’ saying, I— Shit! I just— I can’t—” Both of you have tears streaming down your faces; you’re overstimulated and want him to stop but he’s only just getting started. It’s never going to be enough now. And as much as he hates to say it, you’re kind of ruining the moment.
“Mmm, just sh— shut up with that, okay?” He presses a hand against your mouth and uses the other to pin your free hand to the bed. “You fucking knew you were driving me crazy, you knew what you were doing, so you’re not a fucking victim, alright?” He accentuates that with a harsh thrust that has you arching your back and letting out a scream muffled by his hand. “I was wrong, baby. You aren’t an angel, you’re a fucking devil sent here to destroy me, but, god, I’d still do anything for you, do anything to be inside you, to taste you, fucking hell, you can burn me to ashes if you just let me fucking have you!”
✪
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Read more here: Bucky Barnes Masterlist
If you liked this, try Polaroids.
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