Bucky Barnes X F!reader - Blog Posts

lifelunasversion

5 months ago

Telling myself I don’t need to write about virgin Bucky who grew up in a strict household, never touching himself because he doesn’t want to commit a sin. Suppressing every single urge he’s ever felt his entire life. He gets to college and stays at his best friend’s place over the winter break which is great until his best friend’s single mom is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. She’s so sweet. So pretty. He knows he’s screwed when he has to excuse himself from the dinner table, taking a hot shower, struggling to get his erection to go away. He lets out a soft little whine, gripping his cock and balls, giving it a squeeze to calm down but it doesn’t work. He swears he’s going to cry, it was so wrong, he had to stop.

I don’t need to write about how he’s gonna end up in her bed. I don’t need to talk about how Subby and needy he is. Scared. Shy. Such a cute little virgin literally never touched in his life. We don’t have to talk about all the things mommy is going to teach him like how to touch himself, giving him instructions to follow like a good boy. We don’t have to talk about how badly he wants to be good, asking if you’re sure this is okay? Isn’t it bad, mommy? Is this wrong? Mommy, are you sure? No mommy, no one’s ever touched me there.

We don’t need to talk about the possessive, jealous daddy he eventually turns into, ruining her till she’s a mess of tears and his cream.

I don’t need to write about it.

sleepy

bucky x f!reader

wc: drabble! 665

a/n: why are drabbles so fun!!! reminding me i'm so alone lmao

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

Bucky has always been an early riser. Always.

It's ingrained in his bones– wake when the sun does, sometimes, rest when the sun does.

Until you, he never knew time could be a friend. Not someone to fear constantly looming over his shoulder. The sun wasn’t as cruel as he once revered it, his bones can breathe. Bucky sleeps now– sometimes, later than you. The sun be damned.

Watching him sleep was one of life’s little heavens. The once labored breaths that carried him through so much torment eased, gently warming the insides of his lungs and exhaling to tickle the skin of your neck. His eyelashes twitched faintly, caressing the flush of his high cheekbones as if the sunlight filtering through the curtains was made for him.

And those lips– perfectly pouted, pink, plump, precious– taunted you so cruelly. The sun teasing his skin peeking out of the sheets was always followed promptly by the pads of your fingers trailing his body. Now is no exception, dusting along the black and gold garnishing his bicep, ghosting over relaxed pecs. Your hand travels, tracing along the stubble of his jaw, feather-soft up to outline his mouth.

There is hardly a sight prettier than your sleeping super soldier coming alive at the delicate exploring of your fingertips. As much as you love him in the bliss of his slumber, it was torture knowing what a slowly rousing Bucky meant.

It isn’t until your lips meet the warm skin of his throat that he surrenders to the promises lingering in the morning air.

The black of his fingers slowly spread up your arm, goosebumps and a shiver answering his touch.

“Fivemo’minutes,” he grumbles. His eyes remain closed, but his body trembles in lieu of a slow-moving stretch, wrapping himself tighter around you and bringing your wandering hand to his lips.

Faint teases of the pillows of his lips pepper up your arm. “Jus’five, baby,” he mumbles dancing across your jaw, “w-wanna,” moving to the swell of your bottom lip, “...needa sleep,” he exhales against the corner of your slowly spreading smile, a low whine pressed one, two, three times, needily slanting his eager lips to yours.

You giggle against his mouth, hands carding gently through his short locks and scratching along his scalp, holding him close.

“Mmm. Don’t do tha– s’not fair, m’tryin to sleep baby,” time has also shown him: he’s a really terrible liar.

His body melts against you, sandalwood and warmth overwhelming your senses, his lips showing no sign of ever wanting to be anywhere else, doing anything else but tasting the beauty of another morning with his girl.

You pull away, much to his displeasure, a low moan echoing pitifully within his chest. He reaches for you, lips chasing after your evil little smirk he’d be greeted with if he just opened his eyes. “Oh, okay. M’sorry. Go back to sleep, fivemo'minutes, Bucky.”

One cerulean eye shoots open, a scowl meant to intimidate you mocks your chastising remark. Your eyebrow quirks up, lips curled into a grin that lets him know just how bad of a liar he is. Bucky attacks with a growl against your shoulder, his thick, chorded body pushing you onto your back as giggles and squeals light the room.

“Y’can’t do this to me,” his lips continue, caress after caress greedily melding against your own. And his eyes are open– sleepy, but open. The sun greets him like it always does. Twinkling, heavenly against the blue truths of his honest eyes watching you bathe in his love. “It’s Saturday, supposed to do nothin’ but sleep with my girl between my sheets,” his lips stop for a moment, sleep-ridden cheeks jutting out while smiling down so adoringly at you. Never stop. Thank you. Couldn’t want somethin' any more, five minutes is never enough.

Your fingers tangle within the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close. Your lips meet his. His eyes flutter closed. A relieved groan leaves his body.

The sun watches.