✦ Pairing: husband!bucky barnes x wife!reader
✦ Genre: fluff, domestic married life, comedy, soft angst turned mush
✦ Summary: newlyweds you and Bucky get into your first dumb fight, and you decide to ignore him. He doesn’t take it well.
✦✦✦✦✦✦
You weren’t even sure what started it. Something small, something stupid. You’d been married less than six months, and it wasn’t even a fight so much as a flare of stubbornness that lit up between the two of you.
“You never listen,” you’d muttered, folding your arms after he rolled his eyes about how you loaded the dishwasher.
“Because you do it the wrong way,” he’d said with this infuriating shrug, like it was fact, not opinion.
And that was that. You stopped talking to him.
Bucky noticed immediately. At first, he thought you were joking. When you turned your head in silence as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, he blinked, confused.
“Uh… doll?”
Nothing.
“Sweetheart, c’mon, what is this?”
Still nothing.
It wasn’t until you walked right past him without a glance, grabbing your phone and curling up on the couch like he wasn’t even in the room, that realization dawned.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s givin’ me the silent treatment.”
The Winter Soldier, feared assassin, man who’d survived wars and Hydra’s torture chambers, could take a bullet without blinking but his wife not talking to him? That, apparently, was his breaking point.
The first hour, he hovered “You’re really not gonna talk to me?” he asked, leaning over the couch. “Over a dishwasher?”
Nothing.
“Doll, I fought Nazis. I fought aliens. You think I’m afraid of a little silence? Hah.”
The way he checked your face every thirty seconds gave him away.
The second hour, he started bribing you “Hey, uh, I ordered Thai food. Extra spring rolls. For you.”
You nodded thanks to the delivery guy, not to Bucky.
He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. That’s how we’re playin’ this.”
The third hour, he upped the dramatics.
You found him in the kitchen, standing with a bouquet of sunflowers he’d somehow gotten delivered. He held them like a man making a last plea.
“Look, I panicked,” he admitted, pushing the flowers toward you. “They didn’t have roses, and I thought maybe sunflowers are brighter, and you love bright things, and I love you, so—”
You took the flowers, set them in water, and walked away. Without a word.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
By dinner, he was a wreck.
You were scrolling your phone at the table, eating calmly. He hadn’t touched his plate. He just sat there, chin in his hand, staring at you like a kicked puppy.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, like the word itself might save him. “Please. Just yell at me or somethin’. Don’t just… not talk. I can’t—” He broke off, sighing. “I can’t stand it.”
You raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
That night, when you went to bed, you half expected him to sulk on the couch. But when you slid under the covers, you felt the mattress dip, then a heavy arm wrap around your waist.
“Not lettin’ you sleep without me,” he mumbled against your neck. “Not happenin’.”
You didn’t push him away. But you didn’t answer either.
He groaned dramatically, tightening his hold. “Doll, this is torture. Actual torture. You could stab me and it’d hurt less. Say somethin’. Anything. Please.”
Still, you stayed quiet.
The next morning, you woke up to a surprise.
Coffee brewed, pancakes on the table, bacon crisped just right. Bucky stood there in an apron that read “Kiss the Cook,” holding a mug out toward you.
“I googled ‘how to apologize to your wife after being a stubborn jackass,’” he confessed sheepishly. “This was step three. Step four was jewelry, but I thought maybe that was overkill.”
You bit back a smile, taking the coffee without a word.
Bucky’s eyes widened like he might actually die on the spot. “You’re killin’ me here. I’m not kiddin’, sweetheart, I’m losin’ years off my life. Just tell me I’m an idiot. Tell me you hate me. Tell me the sky is blue. I don’t care what it is, just—say something.”
You let the silence stretch, sipping your coffee with exaggerated calm.
Finally, his jaw set, and he stomped over, grabbing your face in both hands.
“Fine. You wanna play hardball? Then listen up.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me. I hate it. It makes me feel like I can’t breathe. You don’t talk to me, and it’s like I’m right back where I used to be—alone. And I can’t—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I can’t go back to that. Not with you. So if I gotta beg, if I gotta crawl, if I gotta spend every day provin’ I’ll never take you for granted—I’ll do it. But don’t shut me out, sweetheart. Please.”
You blinked up at him, stunned by the rawness in his voice.
And then, finally, you smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”
Bucky froze. Then his face broke into the brightest grin you’d ever seen. “She speaks!”
“You are ridiculous,” you repeated, smacking his chest lightly. “Flowers, pancakes, puppy eyes? All because I didn’t talk to you for one day?”
“One day too long,” he said seriously, before crushing you into his chest. “Don’t ever do that again. My heart can’t take it.”
“You’re such a drama queen,” you teased, laughing into his shirt.
“Drama king,” he corrected smugly, pressing kisses all over your face. “Mr. Barnes, drama king, husband of the year whatever you wanna call me, doll, I’ll take it, as long as you’re talkin’ to me again.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. And when he kissed you again, soft and slow and so very Bucky, you decided maybe next time you’d let him win an argument faster.
After all, watching your super-soldier husband unravel like that? Kind of adorable.
summary: Bucky's the perfect boyfriend — sweet and attentive and does anything to make you happy — so who cares that he forgets this one valentine's day? Especially when he spends the morning making it up to you, nestled between your legs.
pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x reader | word count: 5.4k
prompt: "wait, it's valentine's day today?!" as part of the dear my darling reader event! organised by the one and only @salty-tang
warnings: established relationship, dry humping, smut, oral (f. receiving), face-sitting, male self-pleasure, unprotected p in v, breeding kink, mating press, creampie, praise, overstimulation, pussy pronouns, slight size kink, cum-play, aftercare, tooth-rotting fluff
a/n: this is dedicated to the beautiful @pinksplace 🩷 dear sweet Pink, I hope you enjoy this lil valentine's fic as much as I always enjoy your fics! you are so incredibly talented! I was so excited to get to write this for you and had the best time doing so 🩷
masterlist
You wake up softly, slowly — the kind of morning where your eyes adjust gently to the light peeking through the blinds, and your body gives a small stretch as you wake. Bucky’s nose nudges against the skin of your neck before placing a soft kiss there. He’s shirtless against you — in nothing but his boxers — his skin warm against yours, dog tags pressing into your chest.
“Mm— morning doll.” He nuzzles his face closer, metal arm wrapping around your waist possessively as his leg slings heavily over yours, pressing you further into the mattress. You welcome the feeling, his weight grounding and safe. You push your knee up, grazing your leg across his before settling into the weight of him on top of you, tilting your head to press your lips to his forehead. The smell of his shampoo washes over you as his hair tickles your nose.
You crinkle your nose up and bring a hand to his hair, pushing it back as you place another kiss to his head.
Bucky groans against your skin — a low, content sound, like the safest place to be is right here, with your hands in his hair and his arm draped across you, the sweet smell of your jasmine body wash pressed against his nose.
“Buckyy,” you singsong, gently brushing your hands through his hair. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips brush against your skin.
“Hmm?” His hot breath fans over your neck, eyes still closed, nudging himself impossibly closer.
You love him like this.
All soft and sleepy and completely yours. You feel his heartbeat against your chest and smile.
Steady. Safe. Yours.
“You not sleep good baby?” You’re peering down at him, nose tilted towards his.
Bucky never really slept well, always waking in the night to his chest pounding or his body shaking. Before you, he barely slept at all. He’d be lucky to get an hour or two. But tucked against you — you with your soft hands and fierce protectiveness you wrapped around him like a security blanket, you who never complained when he woke you by mistake — just slowly lulling him back to sleep with gentle, deep-pressure strokes across his back and sweet nothings whispered against his skin — he allows himself to breathe, lets himself rest.
“Mm, slept okay,” he grumbles, turning his head in towards the pillow, shielding his eyes from the light. You can’t help but smile at how young he looks when he does that, nose and eyes scrunched, and a little crease in between his brows.
You kiss it away.
“Valentine’s Day today…” you whisper, voice high, hopeful.
Bucky stirs before lifting his head from the space between your shoulder. His eyes blink the sleep out rapidly before meeting yours. His face is still soft with sleep — unguarded, slightly dishevelled, tiny creases on his cheek from the pillow.
God, he’s beautiful in the morning.
“Wait, it’s Valentine’s Day today?!” Bucky rubs at his eye, voice groggy and deep.
You smile gently despite the twinge of disappointment you feel.
“Mhm, you forget or something?” Your thumb traces his jaw lovingly and Bucky melts into it.
“M’sorry doll.” He kisses the inside of your palm resting on his face, eyes apologetic.
You don’t mind too much — not when he’s the perfect boyfriend in every other way.
Bucky’s attentive.
It’s instinct for him to pick up on small details. And ever since he met you, he’d been tucking away every single finding into his mind, filing them in alphabetical order, all kept as notes of how to love you right — care for you the way you needed. He’d notice the way you’d frown at people who were rude to servers, the way you’d flinch slightly at a raised voice or the way you’d curl into yourself and go quieter when you were burnt out. It was subtle; your smile not quite reaching your eyes, your breath slightly heavier, little sighs in between tasks and a slight wobble of your lip when he’d ask you what’s wrong.
He listens.
He knows the way you take your coffee, the way you don’t like the crusts on toast, the way you’ll have an extra sugar in your tea if it’s after dinner. He knows you like the fan on when you sleep, even when it’s cold. He always buys you the right jewellery, the right flowers — pink peonies wrapped in paper, tied with a soft pink ribbon.
Always plans out your birthday, takes you on dates.
Anything you want for, he gladly obliges.
Every whim, every crazy idea you have, every new hobby you pick up on a random Tuesday night, insisting — ‘Bucky, this is the one, I swear.’ Of course, it’s not the one and you pick up on another within a month and Bucky never complains — simply goes to the craft store yet again, picking out all the things you might need, handing them to you silently in a paper bag — yarn, crochet hooks and the soft little buttons you insisted you need for your plush penguin.
He listens to you talk about your junk journal, collecting silly items like the wrapper for his pastry or the tag from the new jumper he’d bought. He gets the hang of it, saving the movie tickets from your date, or the napkin from the coffee shop he’d been to and presents them to you. You’d tuck them away, face beaming, trying very hard to not squeeze his face between your hands.
You used to get anxious when first suggesting things to him — previous partners who’d get annoyed or frustrated that you’d started another DIY, who’d complain about the smell of hot glue or the half-finished projects scattered around the house. But you had quickly learnt that his silence only meant he was thinking of how to make it happen for you.
You wanted to turn the doorways in the apartment into archways? He’s helping you plaster and paint the walls. You want to paint flowers into the trimming? He’s washing your brushes and lining up stencils.
Anything to make you happy — to make you feel seen and heard and completely at home with him.
“S’okay Buck, I don’t really care that much about Valentine’s.” You lean forward, kissing him, before settling back against the headboard, pillows tucked in behind you.
“Let me make it up to you.” He’s slotting himself between your legs, head nestling against your chest, placing a kiss on your collarbone. His flesh hand is pressed into the mattress next to your head, bracing himself over you, his metal one squeezing your hip, thumb pressing into the strip of skin where your top has ridden up.
You arch up into him as he places another kiss to your sternum, your collarbone, then higher — dragging heat across your skin as your hands curl into the tendrils of his hair. You hum happily when his lips part against your throat, before moving to your jaw, placing soft kisses.
“Bucky.” You’re already needy — soft and wanting as he continues nipping at your neck.
You push back on his shoulders and Bucky gives, laying back for you to straddle him, knees pressing into either side of the bed. You feel your hips stretch at the sheer size of him.
Bucky looks up at you — your eyes sparkling and hair falling around your face, looking like the rest of his life. His chest swells at the thought — you with his ring on your finger, you round with his baby, in his home, in his bed — for as long as he’s lucky enough to be chosen by you.
And you’ll continue choosing him every single day.
A soft smirk plays at your lips, and he knows he’s gone.
Completely and utterly bewitched by every part of you.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I’ll never get used to it.” His calloused hand comes to brush the hair out of your face — cupping it firmly, thumb stroking your cheek as you melt into his touch.
“You gonna make it up to me, James?” Your voice is smooth, sultry against his ear as your cheek presses to his — the stubble scratching at your skin.
“Yeah baby, gonna make it up to you.” He swallows hard, hand seeking out your face, cradling your jaw — pulling you to him, kissing you deep and slow — tongue slipping into your mouth as he tilts your head for him, fingers pressing deliciously into the back of your neck.
The kiss quickly turns desperate — all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps — Bucky letting out a low groan when you grind your hips down onto him. There’s barely anything between you, his boxers and a pair of your sleep shorts. You’re completely bare underneath. Your hands cup his face, his running up and down your sides, palms warm against your waist.
His hands are so big, curling around the expanse of your ribcage as they inch closer to your chest.
He thumbs at your nipples through your thin pink top, before pinching them gently, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.
You gasp.
You lean into his touch, moaning into his mouth as you kiss him deeper, his fingers moving under your shirt, tracing the underside of your boobs before rolling your nipples between his fingers again, tugging at them gently.
“Mm— Bucky—” Your chest arches into his touch, your top somehow making its way to the floor, your breasts falling perfectly in front of him. You grind your hips down harder onto his growing bulge — thick and hard between your legs. The friction combined with Bucky’s mouth on your breasts makes your head go fuzzy.
Bucky loves the soft sounds you make before he’s even really started, always so pliant for him, your body molding to the shape of his, pressing towards him like you can’t get close enough — like you want to be consumed by him.
You kiss him again, guiding his jaw, nose pressing into his cheek. He hums into your mouth when your wetness coats through the fabric of his boxers, and you swear the sound could end you. It vibrates through you, travelling down your spine and melting into a puddle low in your stomach.
Bucky jerks his hips up to meet yours. You rock against him, hips moving in slow rolls against his throbbing length. Your hands twist into his hair as you kiss him deeper, letting Bucky guide your hips along his. You’re gasping against his mouth, wet hot desire pooling embarrassingly fast, soaking through your shorts and his boxers.
You reach down and pull his cock free, gliding your hand up and down the thick length, thumb spreading the pre-cum around his tip before brushing the underside.
“Oh fuck sweetheart.” Bucky pulls away from your mouth, leaning further into your touch, every part of him desperate for you.
“You wanna fuck me, Bucky? Hmm?”
“God, yes.” His voice traces over your neck. He can’t stop kissing you. Tasting you.
“I just, I can’t get enough baby. Let me taste you doll, please.”
Your eyes nearly roll back at the please. Your stomach flips at the way his head tilts back, looking up at you like you hold the answers to the universe.
The answers to him.
He doesn’t have to ask again before you pull your shorts off, throwing them to the side. He sheds his boxers quickly. You settle your hips back down flush against his, letting him feel your soaked folds against his hard cock.
Bucky lets out a low, visceral sound, gripping your hips tighter.
You can’t help but let your pussy drag up his length, once, twice — his tip nudging your clit, before catching between your folds. You let out a loud moan, grabbing onto him for balance. You push him down, hands dragging up the hard lines of his abs, through his chest hair before settling on his broad shoulders. You crawl up his body, letting your slick drag against the bare skin of his stomach, his chest.
Bucky moans at the feel of it, “So warm baby, so soft.” He’s not even saying it to you, more like muttering worship into the skin of your thighs.
His hands wrap around your legs and the way he looks at you can only be described as reverent. He kisses the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing slightly — his gaze never leaving yours.
He’s underneath you and you’re trembling — legs shaking on either side of his head as you hover over him. There’s something so intoxicating about having a man so big, so strong, completely taken by you. By your legs wrapped around his head. By the sweet smell of your pussy. Bucky pulls you down onto him, wanting nothing more than your full weight against him.
“C’mon doll, sit please.” His fingers dig into your thighs — metal and flesh — dragging you onto him.
You land with a broken little sound, still trying hard to not put your full weight on him.
He grips your thighs tighter, smirking before wrapping his lips around your clit, never easing you into it. The sound of it has your eyes rolling back — a low, wet pull — tongue flicking against your clit, and you collapse against his face.
“Fuck— Bucky— oh…” Your voice trails off into a moan as his tongue breaches your opening, slipping between the wet folds.
“Mm Bucky— you— mmph.” Your hips roll down against his face and Bucky groans — a low guttural sound that vibrates through you. He pulls your hips down, burying his face further into your weeping, aching cunt.
He knows every pull, every movement that makes your body tremble for him.
He lets his right hand reach down for his cock, his metal hand pressed into the curve of your ass, holding you to his face. His hand tugs at the length, stroking up and down as his tongue continues fucking into you.
Bucky looks up to take you in.
You’re a vision — skin flushed, dewy with sweat, brows pulled together in pure pleasure, chest heaving — his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.
And when your thighs tighten around his ears —
Bucky swears he’s in heaven.
The obscene slick sounds are muffled against his face, the sweet cadence of your moans echoing in his ears as you come against his face. Your orgasm washes over you in slow, soft waves, matching the pace of your hips as you ride it out, pushing his face further into your dripping cunt.
He pulls you off him and throws you down onto the bed before you even realize what’s happening. His lips are swollen, chin wet with your slick, beard soaked with you. He kisses you like he’s thanking you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into his mouth, hands already moving to his cock, guiding him towards you.
“Please Bucky, need you inside me.” You stroke him up and down, tightening your hand just slightly at the base.
Bucky wants to tease you, drag it out — but he can’t. Not when your voice is begging for him so sweetly, not when one hand is tenderly placed over his heart, the other still stroking him, coating the tip in your slick. Not when you’re looking at him like he’s your whole world and every dream you’ve ever had.
So he moves your hand, bringing it to rest on the large expanse of his back and pushes in with a slow, deep thrust.
“Buckyy— fuck—” You gasp at the stretch — the delicious burn of him pushing further and further into your waiting cunt making your eyes roll back. He lets you adjust, kissing you through it, fingers slotting between yours as he pins your wrists to the bed.
“So tight baby, fuck, she’s squeezing me so good—”
Your hips roll up into his, letting out a soft whimper when his tip nudges something inside you and Bucky moves. He starts thrusting into you — deep, slow strokes that have you burying your face in the crook of his neck, letting out muffled moans into his skin.
When he thrusts harder, faster and you let out a soft little whimper — Bucky doesn’t hold back. It’s like the sound of your voice flips a switch inside him that exists only for you.
Something raw and animalistic overtakes him. He feels it crawl up his spine, posessive and dangerous, wanting nothing more than to claim you, to mark you from the inside out.
He didn’t get like this all the time, but god when he had you like this — spread out beneath him, legs bent on either side of his hips, hands resting on his waist, panting and open for him, he couldn’t help what it brought out in him.
“Gonna fill this sweet little pussy up— fuck—” Bucky almost collapses forward when you clench around him, looking up at him with faux innocence, like you don’t know exactly what that does to him.
His pupils go wide at the sight of your lower lip caught between your teeth, thrusting into you harder. His hands travel up the lengths of your legs, before pushing your thighs out and into your chest so fast, you forget how to breathe.
“Fuck Bucky — slow—” You cry out as his tip drags against a spot in you so deep, you swear you can feel it in your throat. You pull him impossibly closer — Bucky letting his full weight rest against the backs of your thighs, pressing you into the mattress.
“Can’t slow down baby. Look at you—fuck—” His eyes roll back as he watches your mouth fall open, completely soundless, too fucked dumb for anything to come out.
His shoulders press into the back of your knees, hips slamming against yours so hard, his dick nudges against your cervix, over and over and over.
“You want me to fuck a baby into you, huh?” Bucky’s metal hand goes under your back, somehow pulling you closer to him. It’s too much — his words, the drag and stretch of his cock in your warm, wet walls, the feel of your slick dripping onto his balls, your body folded in half like this is what it was made for. For him. To be used and bred by him.
“Yes Bucky yes, please, please— want your baby.” You let out a sob, the pleasure twisting with the sheer emotion of being so completely his.
Your hands twist desperately in the sheets as your body rocks back and forth under Bucky’s weight — your mind turning to mush as his thrusts slow, letting you feel every inch of him sinking into you.
“Bucky— I’m—” Your voice comes out broken, desperate little inhales as Bucky fucks you somehow deeper.
“Yeah, my pretty girl gonna cum for me?” Bucky’s voice is rough against your skin, his dog tags swinging against your throat as your head tilts back, pressing your face sideways into the pillow.
“Oh— oh Bucky!” You practically screech when his thumb rubs tight circles into your clit, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.
“Look at me when I’m fucking you.” He growls, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze to his.
Your beautiful fucked-out gaze.
“Can’t— can’t— s’too much— fuckkk.” Your head threatens to tilt back, the pleasure building to the point you think you might just pass out, before Bucky grips your chin between his fingers.
“You can take it— cum for me doll, cum around my cock.” His thumb presses tighter against your clit, his dick hitting your soft spot with relentless precision.
You break.
Your orgasm hits you so strong, so sharp — your vision goes white. It spreads through your body like wildfire, clenching and pulsing, hips jerking up against his. Bucky fucks you through it, slow and controlled, murmuring praise, ‘So good for me baby, that’s it, that’s it— there she is.’
You whine, eyes glazing over, the overstimulation bordering on too much — one part of you wanting to pull away from him, the other wanting to slip further down the sweet spiral of insanity with him.
“You can give me one more. One more while I cum in this sweet little pussy. Gonna fill her up.”
Your knees are still pressed to your shoulders, the burn in the back of your legs only adding to the overwhelming pleasure as Bucky continues pounding into you.
“Bucky— I can’t— I can’t—” Your head thrashes side to side and Bucky grips your chin in his hands, so gentle compared to the way he was fucking you.
“You can baby, just one more, one more.” He kisses you soft and sweet.
And you nod, like he knows your body better than you do — because he does.
“She wants it, doesn’t she? She’s gripping me so tight doll— fuck—”
You’re babbling now, complete nonsense as you feel your orgasm building again.
“Oh fuck doll, gonna cum, gonna make sure it takes.” He thrusts into you twice more before you feel him cum, hot spurts filling you over and over until it’s dripping out around his cock.
“Take it sweetheart, it’s all for you. All for you.” He continues thrusting into you, riding out his orgasm, fucking his cum back into you.
“Bucky— I’m—”
“Give it to me doll, good girl— good girl.”
His thumb presses into your clit and you swear you black out as you cum, screaming his name like it’s the only word you know.
You’re both panting, completely breathless, your body still rolling with aftershocks as Bucky unfolds you, pulling out with a hiss, watching his cum drip out. He pushes his metal thumb between your folds, collecting what he can before pushing it back inside you.
“Bucky—” you whine, hips twitching around his thumb.
“Shh, shh, can’t let it go to waste, sweetheart.”
You lie there, too fucked-out to protest, letting him play with you. He places a final kiss to your clit before kissing up your body and resting his forehead against yours.
“You good baby?”
You nod, smiling up at him before kissing him, hand resting on the side of his cheek.
You barely register Bucky picking you up, carrying you to the bathroom with that super soldier ease. He holds you up while you shower — your legs still trembling, sore and sticky and thoroughly used. Bucky massages lotion into your thighs after, kissing your ankles, your knee— whispering praise into your skin.
And just as thoroughly as he ruins you — he takes care of you after, nudging his nose with yours, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you giggle, mussing his wet hair.
“I was thinking we could do panc—” You stop mid sentence, the thought dying in your mind as your eyes land on the scene in front of you.
The apartment’s been transformed.
The living room is covered from one end to the other in hanging flowers, pink peonies wrapped around clear string, giving the illusion that the flowers are hanging freely.
You turn back to him, mouth agape.
Alpine struts up to the two of you, head nudging against Bucky’s leg before coming up to you. You pick her up, scratching behind her ear as she purrs happily. Bucky shakes his head at the sight, still slightly betrayed by his own cat having chosen you as her preferred human.
You look up at the roof, noticing the strings have been hung clumsily with pieces of bright red tape.
You laugh at the sight, shaking your head when Bucky mutters, ‘was the only tape we had.’
You put Alpine down before looking closer at the garlands hanging from the roof.
There’s little polaroid photos of the two of you hanging between each flower, ones of you from before you’d started dating, from date nights or just a photo he’d sneakily taken of you while playing cards late at night. Fairy lights are draped around the room, casting the room in a warm glow.
“Bucky— what?” Your eyes are filled with tears, looking between him and the room. He guides you over to the kitchen with an excitement that resembles a small puppy.
The kitchen island is scattered with heart shaped chocolates wrapped in pink foil. There’s a plate of pancakes covered with a net food cover (more to stop Alpine than anything else), tiny fake tealights lining the edges of the counter, setting a warm glow over the food. There’s a vase sitting in the middle — one you had made — with a bouquet of the most beautiful pink peonies, stems carefully trimmed and a ribbon tied around the neck of the vase.
There’s a small open box next to it, with small rolled up notes in a jar that reads ‘reasons I love you’ in Bucky’s handwriting. A scented candle sits next to it, as well as a gift voucher for your favorite craft store that reads ‘for whenever your next hobby comes around’.
Your bite your lip, tears falling freely from your eyes now and you don’t know whether you’re laughing or crying. You turn to him, shaking your head.
“You— Bucky—”
Bucky stands there with a goofy grin, eyes twinkling, reflecting the fairy lights. His hair’s still damp from the shower, a few wet drops on his white t-shirt and he’s never looked more like home.
“You like it?” He adjusts one of the flower garlands, before stepping closer to you, hand resting gently on your waist.
“Bucky— I— I— when did you—” Your hands travel up his chest, one hand resting on his cheek, the other on his shoulder.
He smiles sheepishly, looking down.
“Last night, after you went to sleep. And then I got up early and did the pancakes.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, like your heart isn’t threatening to burst out of your chest at any second.
“Oh my god how did I not wake up?” You laugh wetly, looking around the room in disbelief.
“You were out like a light baby.” His forehead rests against yours, hands sliding fully around your waist now.
“It’s perfect Bucky. So perfect. No one— no one’s ever done something like this for me before.” You pause, taking a shaky breath, like if you breathe too loud, the moment might disappear.
“Why— why?” Your eyes don’t meet his.
“Because you deserve it.” He pulls your chin up gently so your eyes meet his.
He says it like a fact — no room for argument, no questioning. Just simple. Like it’s the only reason there could be.
“And I’d do anything to see that pretty smile on your face.”
You can’t help but smile then, eyes tearing up as he looks down at you with so much love, you feel as though you have to look away.
“There it is…my perfect girl.”
You hide your face in his neck, hugging him close, feeling his laugh rumble through his chest.
You pull back, smacking his chest lightly.
“Oh my god, why’d you let me go on about making it up to me?”
He smirks.
“Any excuse to get you to sit on my face doll.”
“Buckyy.” You roll your eyes, smacking his chest again before pulling him into another hug.
“What, like you were complaining? You were rocking against my face like I was your personal toy baby. All ‘mm Bucky pleasee.’” He mocks you, laughing when you groan into his shoulder.
“If you make fun of me one more time, I’ll literally never moan for you again.”
Bucky laughs, “Like you can help it.”
“I can. Try me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Bucky’s eyebrow cocks and heat pools low so fast at the sudden roughness of his voice, you don’t know how he does it.
One look and you’re a puddle for him.
But as much as you could probably go another five rounds with him, your stomach’s growling and the smell of the pancakes has your mouth watering.
“Mhm, but later, I’m hungry.”
He laughs, shaking his head and squeezing your ass before pulling away from you. He makes you a plate — pancakes and strawberries and maple syrup, topped with vanilla ice cream and presents it to you with a dramatic flourish.
“For you, my love.”
Your heart beats stupidly in your chest, like you’re five and it’s the first time holding a boy’s hand on the playground.
“Why, thank you.” You sit on the kitchen stool, giggling as he feeds you a strawberry from his plate.
You eat until you can’t eat anymore, laughing and talking about everything and nothing all at once. Alpine had jumped into Bucky’s lap at one point, trying to get his ice cream from his plate as he pushed it away from her. She had circled his lap before deciding there were better things to do with her time— jumping off to lay in the patch of sun shining through the balcony door.
“I still can’t believe you did all this.” Your hands wrap around your mug, the warmth lingering from the coffee.
Bucky knows it’s not because of him that you don’t believe it. He knows that deep down, you still don’t feel like you deserve it.
But he’ll keep reminding you.
As many times as it takes.
The way you do for him when his mind gets dark, when he disappears in his own head, when the memories of the Winter Soldier come back to him telling him he’s not worth it.
You remind him every day that he’s worthy of this love.
And he’ll do the same for you for as long as you need.
“You deserve it. I love doing stuff like this for you doll. It makes me happy.”
The air gets thicker — your eyes trained on your coffee, watching the little foam bubbles pop.
“You know, before I met you, I thought— I thought I only existed to show other people love…but with you— with you it’s like all the love I’ve poured into the universe put into one person and poured straight back to me.” Your hands are shaky around your mug as the words linger between you — somehow heavy and soft all at once.
“Doll—” Bucky sounds wrecked, chest tightening in that sweet, aching way, eyes tearing up as his hand comes to your face.
You put down your mug, turning your body into his warmth, hands sliding up his chest. He cups your face in both hands, the pads of his thumbs tracing back and forth over the apples of your cheeks, and rests his forehead against yours, taking a shaky breath.
“I love you Bucky.”
Bucky’s nose brushes yours, before tracing his lips up to your forehead, not quite kissing — just breathing you in like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he can’t believe it was even possible for him to be loved by someone like you — someone warm and patient and understanding.
He never could’ve imagined being here, back when you were his annoyingly cheerful, annoyingly pretty, neighbor — handing him freshly baked goods to “welcome him to the building”, like who does that? Of course, it had just been your excuse to get closer to him but Bucky hadn’t known that.
You’d wave hello to him in the hallways, coax more than a few words out of him in a way that no one else seemed to. You were easy to talk to. You never expected him to be anything other than himself. He remembers the first time he’d invited you to a movie night, heart pounding and face burning as the words hung between you. You’d nodded yes immediately, biting down on a smile.
And then quickly — without warning — you’d spread into every part of his life and turned it technicolor — coaxing all of his darkness out of the shadows, holding it in your safe, warm hands, gently picking at it, patiently untangling all the knots in his soul until it was something that made sense — something manageable. It didn’t mean it went away, just that he didn’t need to hold it alone.
You brought love and laughter and chicken pot pies and being with you was like stepping into the sun after years of being in the dark — blinding at first, then warmth — so warm and so fucking good and god, Bucky never wanted to be cold again.
His lips tremble gently against your skin, “I love you doll. More than you know.”
He presses his face into the crook of your neck, pulling you into him.
“My girl, my home.”
moodboard inspired by @juniebjonesin's gorgeous headers she always creates!!
@lolala1414 thank you for listening to me ramble about this story non-stop!!
taglist: @quantumbarnes @daydreamgoddess14 @matchaenthusiast1111 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @sassandscribbles @skxawngg @punkrockrr @heldbybarnes @mandoloriancookie @thisismysafeescape (if you'd like to be added, please leave a comment on this post)
Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. A Pinch of Body Insecurity. Size kink. Use of pet names.
Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.
Word Count: 7.4k.
note: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Plums". It was supposed to be a cute and fluffy fic, but it turned into pure filth instead. I'm sorry -not-
She looked up from the counter, and a welcoming smile spread instantly across her lips when she saw who had made the doorbell chime.
“You’re late. You’re lucky I set this bag aside when the distributor came this morning because they’re all sold out now.” She lifted a small paper bag from the shelf behind her, placing it on the counter between them. The deep violet of the plums peeked through the crinkled opening.
Bucky stood just inside the doorway, a little tense as he fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “Sorry. Something came up and... couldn’t make it earlier.” He mumbled.
That something had been him, forcing himself out of bed after three days of avoiding the world. Everything felt heavier these days, his body, his thoughts, even some goddamn things that weren’t so before. But he was here now, and that was better than nothing.
She leaned her elbows on the counter. “No worries. I know you’d never miss plum day on purpose.” She tried to tease him warmly.
Right. One of the rare occasions he’d missed plum day was when he went on that stupid mission, the so-called ‘walk in the park’ that turned into a bloodbath of agents and ended up with him being taken again by the same people who’d tormented him for nearly 80 years. Only this time, they didn’t just want their precious pet back, they wanted it better.
In five days of captivity, they not only strapped him to a modernized version of that damned chair. Oh no, they’d injected him with a cocktail of drugs that messed up his body in ways he was still discovering, even a year later. Like his fucked-up metabolism.
His gaze flashed to the plums, his mouth twitching just slightly. “You know me too well on that aspect,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the bag.
She observed him. “Do you need anything else?”
He hesitated, scanning the baskets of fruits lined up near the wall. “Yeah… green apples.”
She nodded, moving around the counter to grab another paper bag. As she started picking the bright green apples, she spoke over her shoulder. “I got a new kind this week. They’re a mix of green and red, still sour but with a sweet twist. Figured you might like them, so I’m throwing one in for you to try.” She dropped a smaller, two-toned apple into the bag. “No charge.” She winked.
His lips quirked, just for a moment, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Thanks.” He said gruffly.
She twisted the top of the bag, folding it neatly before placing it on the counter beside the plums. But she didn’t step back, and her fingers dithered on the edge as if debating something. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying the skin.
Always perceptive, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
Her head jerked up, eyes widening. “Huh?”
“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to say something or not.” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one leg. “Tell me.”
She huffed a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s... not very appropriate.”
One eyebrow shot up. “I’ve heard worse.”
She bit her lip again before glancing toward the back room. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a couple of crates. The distributor was in a hurry, and he just tossed the merchandise back there. It’s hard to move around.” She gave a half-shrug, sheepish. “I tried to do it myself, but they’re actually pretty heavy.”
He followed her gaze, and his expression softened. “That's all?”
“Well... yeah,” she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. “You already helped with the shelves last week, and the cooler the week before. I just... I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.”
His features softened even more as he huffed, twitching his lips in a half-smile. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to. Show the way.”
She gestured to the door behind the counter -the only door, really- and he shot her a look. She shrugged, grinning. “I know, I know. Real hard to find.”
He followed her through the doorway, ducking his head slightly as they entered the cramped back room. His steps faltered as his eyes saw the scene. Stacks of boxes and wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some leaning precariously against each other. It was like the distributor had been in a damn race to get out of there.
His lips turned into a deep scowl. How the hell did that asshole expect her to move this on her own? Where were the manners nowadays? He grumbled under his breath, weaving between the clutter as he started rearranging the crates into a more orderly stack. He made sure to place the heavier boxes at the bottom, the lighter ones on top, within easy reach for her.
She leaned against the doorframe, watching as the chaos turned into something more manageable. “God, I’ll kidnap you and put you on my bedside table.”
His head snapped up, brows drawing together. “Uh?”
She blinked, a faint heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s just... a saying we have. You know, to cherish someone.” She waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment. “Forget it. Thank you, really, for always helping.”
He chuckled. “Pretty sure your poor bedside table can’t handle me anyway.” His tone was dry, self-deprecating, like he was almost daring her to argue.
But her brain had short-circuited somewhere around ‘bedside,’ and before she could think better of it, the words just tumbled out: “But my bed sure can.”
He froze, fingers clenching around the edge of a crate. For a second, he didn’t even breathe. “Come again?”
She cursed inwardly. Did she… actually say that aloud? Oh my god. She could feel her soul leaving her body, her eyes darting down as her brain scrambled for something -anything- that could sound similar. She fumbled, words tripping over themselves. “I- I said... I wondered if... if you can open a can.”
Bucky blinked, and his expression changed from shock to confusion. “A can?”
She nodded furiously, feeling her face burn. “Yeah. A big one. I have- with peaches. And I don’t have an opener, so I thought maybe...” Her eyes flicked to his metal hand, then back to his face.
They stared at each other, the silence was thick and heavy. “You want me to open... a can of peaches.”
Her chin lifted defiantly, even as her face burned. “Yes. A big one.”
He looked at her, then tilted his head, his lips twitching slightly. “That so?”
“Yup. I figured you’re more than capable and I... really wanted to try them.” Her voice was firmer now, though her face was still in flames.
Bucky observed her for another moment, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he huffed, low and almost amused. “Alright then. Bring it over.”
She nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his piercing gaze. Her heart was still hammering against her chest, and her hands trembled as she rummaged through a cluttered shelf.
Eventually, she found the can half-buried behind a jar of jam, with its bright label slightly faded. Two forks were grabbed from a drawer without much thought, and her fingers clenched around them as she tried to calm herself. When she turned back, Bucky was stacking the last of the boxes, with his back to her.
Her eyes remained on the sight of his body for a beat too long, and her mind flashed back to her stupid, impulsive words. But my bed sure can. She almost groaned out loud, the embarrassment creeping over again. She would never live this down.
Clearing her throat, she approached him, holding out the can. “Here. I... uh... figured we could share. Since you’re helping me out and all.”
He turned, and his gaze dropped to the can before lifting to meet hers. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Peaches, huh?”
She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They should be good. Sweet. Soft, too... uh, juicy.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her face burned all over again. God, why did she have to say it like that?
Bucky just stared at her for a second, flashing his gaze to her lips before his mouth twitched. “Alright.” His voice was a little rougher, a little lower. He took the can and popped a metal finger through the lid, crumpling the metal until it popped off.
He handed it back, licking his finger for a brief moment, and she could swear she could have a stroke. “There you go. Good thing at least I’m as good as a can opener.”
She furrowed her brow, and the playful glint in her eyes faded. “Don’t do that.”
His shoulders tensed. What did he do to upset her? “Do what?”
“That,” she said, “Sell yourself short. That... self-deprecation thing you always pull.”
His jaw clenched, and his eyes drifted away from hers. “Just saying the truth.” Almost unconsciously, his gaze dropped to his midsection, to the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. To the proof that his body was failing him, that even with all the enhancements, he was broken.
“Bucky,” she said, with a softer tone but no less resolute. “You’re a damn Avenger. Half the days you come in here, you’re bruised and battered because you fight for people who can’t do it for themselves. You protect them. That’s incredible.” Her hand gestured to the neatly stacked crates behind him. “You’re kind... and good. Don’t diminish yourself.”
His eyes snapped back to hers, a glint of surprise breaking through his usual calm but hard expression. He wanted to deflect, to brush it off with a sarcastic remark. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the weight of her words. But the way she looked at him made the words stick in his throat.
His fingers clenched around the can, the metal creaking under his grip. “Yeah, well... sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”
She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “Our own perceptions sometimes lie. Doesn’t make it less true.”
He stared at her, and his defenses faltered. The familiar cynicism was there, clawing at him, but her words were louder. His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You're always this stubborn?”
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Only when someone I care about is being stupid.” She seemed to realize what she’d said a second too late, her eyes widening before she looked away. “I mean... you know... as a customer. And a... friend.”
He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly as if he was trying to get a better read on her. “A friend to put on your nightstand.”
Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure.”
He leaned against the stacked crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over his next words. For a heartbeat, he thought about letting it slide, about keeping his mouth shut and pretending he hadn’t heard. But not knowing was worse than anything, enough to make him reckless. “Did you mean it?”
Her heart skipped, and the peach suddenly felt too heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to chew slowly, buying time. “What?”
“The... bed.” His gaze pierced her in that way that made her feel stripped bare. “Did you mean it?”
Oh. So he had heard her.
Her mind raced, her instincts screaming at her to laugh it off, to deflect with a joke or change the subject. But he just stood there, watching her, waiting. It was infuriating how still he could be, how his silence demanded more than words ever could.
His eyes didn’t waver, his face was impassive, but there was something in his stance, something almost vulnerable in the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he caught himself, stopping the movement.
She paused mid-chew, the peach now a lump in her throat. The hell with all. “What if I did?”
His expression didn’t change, but his posture did: his shoulders straightened, his arms uncrossed just slightly. He took a step closer, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Then I’d say... you’d better be sure.”
She swallowed, heat blooming up her neck. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I figured.”
His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t move as his fingers brushed her cheek, rough callouses skimming her skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, never breaking eye contact.
His thumb traced her cheek, and his gaze softened as his fingers craddled the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened; she could feel it in her ears, but she didn’t dare to look away. Not when his eyes were so impossibly blue, focused on hers in a way that stole her breath.
She parted her lips in a silent invitation, while her hand found its way to his chest, grabbing softly the fabric of his jacket.
For a moment, he just looked at her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened, “Tell me to stop if this is not what you want,” he murmured, but his hand didn’t move.
She shook her head, clenching her fingers on his jacket. “Not a chance.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his lips covered hers, firm and demanding, as he fisted her hair and pulled her closer.
She responded instinctively, pressing her body into his as her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He groaned against her mouth, circling his vibranium arm on her waist.
The world around her faded, the cluttered storeroom, the scent of the peaches, everything disappeared until there was only him. His warmth, his strength, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.
She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair, and he responded by deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she ran a hand along his slightly rounded cheek, tracing its curve with her thumb with a tenderness that made something clench on his chest.
“You are so damn handsome.”
His gaze widened slightly with surprise. The cocky 40s Sergeant Barnes wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing himself like this, heavier, slower, tired.
He swallowed as the weight of her words pressed against years of ingrained self-doubt.
She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “I can see the gears turning inside your head, you know?” Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and sure. “And, in a courageous and embarrassing -but it seems necessary-confession, I must say that I like this version of you. A lot.”
His body tensed beneath her touch. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one of them. People -some- admired him for what he could do. No one ever said they liked him like this.
He looked at her face, searching for doubt, for anything that suggested she was just saying it to make him feel better. His throat felt tight. “You don’t… have to say that.”
Her brows furrowed, and her fingers pressed just slightly into his skin. “I told you earlier that I mean what I say. You’re a soft wall of muscle.” She bit her lip as her eyes drifted over his shoulders and his chest, just long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like big men, so...”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. That... wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.
She felt the heat on her face but didn’t look away, just kept caressing his cheek. “In my eyes, you’re better than when I first met you.”
His heart skipped. “Better?” The tone was low, rough, like he was forcing the words out. “How?”
She traced his cheekbone with her thumb and felt all the heat in her body rush to her face again. She looked away, sensing the bravado faltering. “God, you’re going to make me say it. This is so embarrassing.” She took a breath, meeting his gaze again. “Sexier, Bucky. You look better to me because I find your bigger body more than appealing. Manlier. Is that enough clarification for y-”
She didn’t get to finish. His mouth was on hers again, more heated and demanding than before, as his grip tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his body.
A low groan vibrated in his chest, his lips moving hungrily over hers, and she barely had time to gasp before his tongue slid past her lips, tasting, claiming. Her back hit the wall as his body crowded hers, and she didn’t care, didn’t want space, didn’t want air, didn’t want anything that wasn’t him.
His heart pounded in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Her words looped in his mind, over and over again. Sexier. Manlier. More than appealing.
A hot rush of masculine pride coursed through his body. She wanted him like this, wanted him bigger, broader. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that, how deeply her praise soothed the bruised ego he hadn’t even admitted having.
She felt his growing erection pressing against her hip, and she gripped his shoulders, feeling him beneath. There was nothing soft about him, not in the way he kissed her, fierce and unrelenting, not in the way his body pressed against hers, hard and unyielding.
He parted from her, all dark eyes and heavy breathing. “You like this?” His voice was rough, deeper than before, his words dripped with hunger. “You like me like this?”
She swallowed, her pulse fluttering wildly. “God, yes.”
His lips curved into a grin, that old cocky sergeant slipping through the cracks of his armor. “Good,” he growled, as his mouth descended on hers again, his hand sliding down his thigh to grip it with bruising force to hitch her leg around his waist, pressing himself against her.
His mouth was at her ear now, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down her body. “Because I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about fucking you raw under this slutty green apron every damn time you hand me my plums.”
Her brain stuttered, eyes widening as she processed his words. In a million years, she would have imagined him saying something like that.
His hips rolled, grinding his hardon against her belly, and she felt every inch of his cock, hard and wanting, and god, she couldn’t help it, she whined. A desperate, needy sound that escaped her throat before she could bite it back.
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as his lips smirked again. “Always with a little extra product, always checking on me.” His teeth scraped her jaw, flicking out his tongue to soothe her skin. “Thought you were just sweet, nice. Turns out you were trying to fatten me up for yourself, huh?” His words were teasing, but his tone was rough and possessive.
He rocked his hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping, her fingers digging into his shoulders as heat pooled down her belly.
“Bucky-” Her voice was a breathless plea, her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to find words, tried to get a grip on herself, but his mouth was on her neck, sucking a hot, wet mark just above her collarbone, and she was gone, utterly, completely gone.
“You like that, huh?” His teeth grazed her skin again, his metal fingers clenching on her thigh, holding her in place as he ground against her. “Like knowing you do this to me? That every time I leave, all I can think about is coming back here, bending you over that counter, and fuck you right there, maybe squishing a fucking orange just to watch the juice dripping down your ass?”
Another whine slipped out of her lips, her body arching into his as her hips rolled instinctively to meet his. His words were like fire, filthy and raw, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.
His lips trailed up to her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “So tell me, sweetheart... how long have you been thinking about me ruining you right here in your little shop?”
“If- if we’re about to speak on hard numbers...” She tried to tease, but the words came out ragged, crumbling under a hard suck just behind her ear. Her body shuddered, another whimper escaping her lips before she could stop it. “I’d say... the first time you came here. You’d just moved in and didn’t... didn’t even have pans to cook. Remember?”
His mouth paused on her skin, lips smiling against her neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Came looking for fruit, and you ended up selling me that tray of already cut vegetables to make soup. Lent me that steel jar to boil ’em in.” His tongue flicked over the mark he’d made, soothing the sting before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you were too damn trusting. What if I didn’t come back?”
She let out a breathless laugh, grabbing his biceps. “I saw your hand. You forgot the gloves that day. And I figured... the Winter Soldier wouldn’t steal a steel jar.” Her lips twitched, and a spark of mischief lit her eyes. “If you did, well, the loss was on me. But if you didn’t...” She trailed off.
His eyes darkened, and his grip on her thigh went tighter as he pressed her harder against the wall. “If I didn’t?”
She swallowed, feeling her heart hammering against her chest. “Then... I would have set some points with a handsome man.”
“Sneaky,” he muttered, brushing her lips, a teasing, fleeting touch. “You were setting a trap for me from the start.”
Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to earn her another low, hungry sound from him. “Can you blame me?” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his. “You were brooding and grumpy... and so damn gorgeous.”
His eyes flashed with something wild and primal sparking in them. “And now?” His voice was low and dangerous, his metal fingers flexing on her thigh, holding her in place. “Now that you’ve got me? This bigger, grumpier version?”
She didn’t hesitate, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Now?” She leaned in, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth before she pulled back. “I’d say it was a pretty good investment.”
His lips were on hers again, swallowing her gasp as his body pressed against her, heavy and hard and perfect. He kissed her hard, rough and hungry, while rocking his hips against hers, and she moaned, digging her nails into his scalp as she arched into him. He tore his mouth away, his eyes pinning her in place as they landed on hers. “Last chance, sugarplum.” His voice felt vulnerable beneath the heat. “You want this?”
She held his gaze and pressed herself against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest in an enticing motion. "I want you to ruin me, papa bear."
He froze. Every muscle in his body went still. His eyes widened, and his pupils dilated even more as her words penetrated his fogged brain. “...What did you just call me?”
Her heart plummeted. Oh god. Why? Why did she have to let that slip out now, of all times?
She could feel her face heating up, as a wave of mortification crashed over her. “Um- uh...” She looked away, fingers fidgeting nervously. “Too soon?”
For a heartbeat, he was silent, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as he processed the information. But then a low sound escaped his lips, something between a groan and a growl. His head dropped to her shoulder, pressing his forehead into her as his body shuddered against hers. “Fuck,”
She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it. “S-sorry. I don’t... I don’t even know where that came from, I-”
“Don’t.” His voice was firm as he lifted his head. “Don’t take it back.”
Her mouth went dry, and her body arched instinctively into him as his grip on her tightened. “You- uh... liked it?”
His mouth shifted into a feral smile, grazing her earlobe with his teeth before he murmured, “You have no idea.” His nose brushed her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers. “Say it again.”
Her heart skipped a beat, face flaming. “I-” She hesitated, but the way his body trembled, the raw need in his eyes, the way he was holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish... it buried any scruple she had. She leaned in, brushing his lips with hers as she whispered, “Ruin me, Papa Bear.”
He swore under his breath, crashing his mouth into hers again with bruising force. His hands gripped her tighter, possessively, desperately, and she moaned, opening up to him, letting him in. His tongue swept over hers, hungry and demanding, and she melted, her body molding to his as he consumed her.
He broke away just long enough to start tugging at her apron. “Take it off, or I’ll-”
The faint chime of the bell at the front door hit them like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes widened, and he stilled, his fingers clenched around the knot of her apron. The door to the storage room was wide open, and the front door? Neither of them had bothered to close it since none of this was supposed to happen.
His jaw clenched and he lifted a finger, pointing at her with a look that could melt steel. “Don’t move.”
She barely had time to blink before he was striding out of the storage room, his hair slightly mussed and the clothing crumpled. He got out to find an elderly woman standing uncertainly by the counter, clutching her purse tightly in her hands.
His expression softened -just a bit- as he forced a strained smile. “Hi, ma’am. I’m afraid it’s closed.”
The woman’s brows knitted together. “Oh, but I just wanted to-”
“Lemme accompany you out, yes?” He cut in, his voice dripping with forced politeness. “An emergency came up, and she’s... not here. I just stopped by to lock up.” His words were rushed, his body practically blocking the doorway.
“Oh, I see...” The woman glanced around, clearly confused but too polite to question him. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”
“Good idea,” he agreed, already guiding her toward the door, hovering his hand protectively behind her back as she shuffled out. The door shut with more force than necessary, and the chime echoed high in the now-empty store. He twisted the lock and stood there for a moment, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.
In a flash, he was back in the storage room, fixing his eyes on her with a hunger that made her knees weak. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between them. His fingers went immediately to the buttons of her blouse, and his mouth trailed kisses over every newly exposed inch of skin.
He almost groaned when he saw her bra clasp at the front. “You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before popping the clasp with an impatient flick of his fingers. The fabric fell away, and his mouth and hands were on her before she could think: warm palms against her bare skin, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He latched his mouth to the delicate skin just above her collarbone, swirling his tongue, teeth scraping, tasting the salt of her skin.
She was driving him insane. Every little sound, every shiver, every way her fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer.
Her hands were just as eager, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. She hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers grazed his belly, flicking her eyes up to his. But there was no discomfort there, only hunger. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, her breathing ragged. Her fingers splayed over his stomach, and the warmth of her touch sank into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.
He kissed her harder, deeper, pressing her back against the wall as his body settled heavily against hers, his bigger form pinning her in place. She gasped, hitching her leg around his waist again, pulling him closer, grinding her hips against his, and he nearly lost it.
His lips trailed lower, over the swell of her breast, and his stubble grazed her sensitive skin as his tongue flicked over an already pert nipple. She cried out, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as her body arched beneath him, desperate, needing more. He was only too happy to oblige, closing his mouth around her, suckling greedily as his hand moved to the other, kneading, teasing.
“Bucky... please...” Her voice was a broken whisper, as her nails dug into his shoulders and scalp, and her body writhed against his.
He dragged his mouth back up to hers, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, teasing the edge of her panties. “Want papa bear to touch you, sugarplum?” he growled, rough and low, “Want me to prep you nice and deep and then ruin this little pussy?”
His words made her shiver, then her whole body tensed at the need in his voice. She could barely breathe, could barely think, as her mind spun while his fingers danced along the delicate lace of her panties, teasing, taunting.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yes, please.”
A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, “That’s my good girl.” His fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging her panties down slowly, deliberately, grazing his knuckles on the sensitive skin of her thighs. He wanted to savor this, to watch her come apart for him.
He lifted her easily, her back hitting the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. The feeling of her pussy against his stomach made him swear under his breath, his head dropping to her shoulder again as he struggled to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control.
His metal fingers pressed her hips into the wall, to accompany his body, pinning her in place as his flesh hand slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked, and he groaned, feeling his cock throb painfully against his jeans. “So fucking wet for me... all that from just a little kissing?”
Her head tipped back, hitting the wall, lips parting in a breathless gasp as his fingers found her clit, circling lazily, teasing only to dip them lower, slipping them inside her, stretching her, pressing his thumb down on her clit.
He watched her face as he started to move his hand, pumping slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make her shudder. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Such a greedy pussy, taking everything I give you.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “You’re mine now, sugarplum.”
Her body clenched around his fingers, a whimper escaping her lips, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on, tightening her muscles as he pushed her closer to the edge.
“Gonna come for me?” His fingers started to move faster, harder, while his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. “Gonna fall apart on my fingers before I even get to ruin you properly?”
Her whole body tensed, and her head snapped forward, pressing her forehead into his as she shattered with a force that stole her breath.
“That’s it... that’s my girl,” he whispered, slowing his fingers, easing her down from the high, brushing his lips against hers in a surprisingly tender kiss.
He adjusted his grip on her body, grinding his clothed erection against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how ready. “And now, I'm gonna give you what you wanted,” he growled.
He slid his fingers out of her and fumbled with the zipper of his pants. "Look at the mess you did here, all this cream on my zipper." She just moaned and ground herself against the back of his hand, thrilled by being pinned to the wall by his weight alone and his vibranium hand on her asscheek.
“Bucky... please...” Her voice was breathy, broken, her body trembling as his metal hand squeezed her ass, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
He hummed, while his fingers continued to play with the wetness she’d left on his pants, dragging her up his length, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse under his denim. “You’re so needy for me, sugarplum,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “So wet, so… ready.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, her mind was blank with need as he finally spread his thick thighs, squatting a little, and sat her on them, tugging down his zipper, and freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He wrapped his hand around himself, his eyes never leaving hers as he stroked once, spreading her slickness all over his length. “You see this?” he growled. “This is what you do to me.”
She bit her lip, her eyes zeroed down, watching him pump himself slowly, hypnotized by the pornographic sight of his cock glistening with a mix of their arousal.
Seeing her heated gaze, he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You made this mess... now you’re gonna take responsibility for it.” It was all the warning he did before hooking the backs of her knees on his forearms, pressing his hands on the wall, and surging forward, burying the thick head of his cock in her entrance and pushing himself inside her in one slow, stretching thrust.
Her mouth fell open, and a choked moan escaped her lips as he filled her, inch by agonizing inch. Her back arched against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on his arms, nails digging in as her body stretched to accommodate him.
He was relentless, his eyes watching her face, noting every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every shudder as he sank into her. “You feel that?” His voice was a rough whisper, his breath hot against her lips.
She could only nod as he pressed his hips even deeper against hers, burying his cock to the hilt. “Bucky! Oh, God...” Her legs trembled, thighs spread wide over his forearms, helpless to do anything but take everything he gave her.
He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, grazing her skin with his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check against the heat of her body. “Fuck. You feel so damn good... driving me crazy, sugarplum.” His words were rough and breathless, his control slipping with every second he stayed buried inside her.
Her walls quivered around him, clenching instinctively, pulling him in, holding him close. “Bucky... move, please...” she pleaded, trying to roll her hips to create some friction, to ease the maddening stretch.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers almost dug into the bricks, and he began to move in slow, heavy thrusts that made her whole body rock against the wall. Each time he withdrew, she felt the loss, the emptiness, and each time he filled her again, her world shattered a little more as she felt his cock stretching her, filling her, owning her. “Oh God...”
He could feel himself losing control, as his thrusts grew harder and faster, pinning her like a ragdoll against the wall, relishing the needy moans and whimpers escaping her lips.
A hand flew to his head, tugging his locks as he wrecked her. “Fuck, Papa Bear. You feel so good, so heavy, so… fucking… big, you turn me on so much.”
Her praise wrapped around him, squeezing him just as tight as her body did, and his head spun with primal satisfaction. He groaned as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her, flooding her with precum, and growing even harder inside her. “Yeah? You like this thick bear covering you, pinning you, breeding you full?”
Her head thudded back against the wall as she tried to tighten her legs against his forearms, to arch her body to join his thrusts, digging her nails into his forearms. “Yes, god, yes... love feeling you like this, love how big you are...”
“Fuck, sugar,” his bruised ego drank her words like a man dying of thirst. Each confession went straight to his cock. He could feel her body yielding to him, taking everything he gave, and it made him lose his rhythm, made him rut into her like an animal, making her back slide up and down the wall with every hard thrust.
He lifted his arms to spread her wider, to take him deeper. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “You’re mine now, sugarplum. Fuck, ‘m gonna fuck you so good... gonna make sure you remember this every time you close your eyes.”
She whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Bucky- Papa- please! don’t stop...” she pleaded, fisting her fingers into his hair.
His mouth curved into a half smile against her throat. “Not planning to, sugarplum.” He rolled his hips, grinding deep, making her back arch and her legs quiver. “Not until you’re dripping with me... not until you’re so full of my cum you can’t stand.”
Her body convulsed, one hand remained fisting his hair, and the other dragged her nails on his broad back, “Fuck! Yes, want it so bad...”
He lost whatever thread of control he had left. His thrusts grew brutal, punishing as his cock stretched her, pounding into her with a force that bordered on savage. He watched her face contort with pleasure as the base of his cock ground deliciously against her swollen clit. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her eyes rolled back as he drove into her, harder, faster. “You’re gonna take it all, every drop...do you understand?”
She could only nod; her words were lost to the raw, consuming pleasure.
He was so close, muscles tensed to the point of aching, his breath ragged as his cock throbbed, his balls tightened, ready to spill. But he held on, watching her, waiting, needing to see her fall apart first.
“Come on, doll. Give it to me, come all over my cock... let me feel it,” he growled, as his wide shoulders caged her in. “Bet you’ve never been this full before. Never had someone this big ruin you like this.”
Her nails raked down his back, desperate, her eyes rolling back as she tried to meet his rhythm, but she was utterly at his mercy. “F-Fuck, Bucky... so... so big...”
“That’s right,” he rasped, a savage smile flashing across his face. “Too big for this pretty little pussy, huh?” he lifted her higher and marked every word with a harder thrust.
Her entire body seized up before she felt herself shatter, arching against his body and squeezing him, milking him so tight he finally let himself go.
“That’s it... make a mess... make a fucking mess for me, doll... fuck!-” his cock jerked, pulsing, as his release came hot and violent, spilling thick ropes of cum inside her. He kept grinding his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, stirring his load inside her until it was too much to contain. The excess bubbled out around his shaft obscenely, warm and sticky, dripping down her thighs and landing on the floor.
He nipped at her collarbone, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he gently withdrew them from the wall. He eased her thighs down just enough to let her hook them around his waist, and his eyes turned toward an old chair in the corner of the room.
Without a word, he began to move with firm steps despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. As he walked them over, each stride pressed him deeper inside her, drawing soft whimpers from her swollen lips.
Reaching the chair, he sank heavily, the wood creaking beneath their weight. She straddled him, still nesting him deep inside her, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, tangling her fingers in his hair. His hands went on her hips, keeping her close, unwilling to break their connection just yet.
His head fell back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself breathe. “You feel... too damn good. Could stay like this all day...”
Her fingers started to brush his hair gently. “Then don’t move, just stay. You made sure that no other clients visited today." She slightly pinched his stubbled full cheek. "And, it's not fair you didn’t remove any of your clothes besides your jacket in all this ordeal."
He huffed out a low laugh that rumbled against her chest. “Yeah? That bother you, sugarplum?” His hands slid up her back, splaying wide as he pressed her tighter against him. “You wanna see all of me?”
Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I think it’s only fair,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I wanna see what I’ve been getting my hands on... what I’ve been wanting.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to his still-clothed body, darting her tongue out to wet her lips.
His eyes flicked away for a beat, his shoulders tensing a little. There was a moment, a fleeting second, where his hands stilled on her body, where his fingers dug just a little too hard into her hips.
Old doubts swirled in his mind, flashing to his reflection in the mirror, the soft curve of his belly, the heft in his chest that wasn’t just muscle anymore.
But then she moved, running her hands up his chest, her eyes wide, pupils blown as she whispered. “I want to see you, Bucky.”
His heart thudded hard, but he felt himself relax, the tension ebbing away as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Alright,” he murmured. “You asked for it.”
In one swift motion, he gripped the hem of his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He forced himself to sit there, exposed, waiting for the flash of judgment, for her gaze to catch on his soft middle, or the faint stretch marks on his hips.
But her eyes were wide with interest as she took him in. Her hands roamed over him, tracing her fingers on his skin, lingering on the scars, the old wounds. She palmed his chest, brushing her thumbs over his hardened nipples, and his muscles jumped under her touch.
“Better?” his voice rough, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her explore him.
She bit her lip as she kept worshipping him. “Better... but I’m not done yet.” She added as she trailed softly the scarred flesh where his prosthesis joined his body with her tongue.
His cock twitched with interest inside her, still hard, still nestled so deep. His hands gripped hard on her hips, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with fire, sugarplum.”
She smirked, rolling her hips slowly and deliberately. “Then burn me up, Papa Bear.”
