Finally home after a long day of travel, slightly chaotic and eventful trip, a successful lung function test at the hospital & some great times with my fave people <33
Warnings/Contains: mainly fluff, really cute fluff as well (if i do say so myself), reader is a painter, lots of talks of love, domestic bucky, a little smut, unprotected sex, sex on the floor, passionate sex, i guess that’s it?
Word Count: 2640
based on the request: Hello darling, I was wondering if you could please write a Bucky x reader where the reader is a artist and maybe he asks her why she never paints him but she does she just never shows them to him😊 With like a lot of fluff. Sorry if it's to much but I think you would do an amazing job😊
This is such a good idea and i barely ever do anything fluffy it’s almost all dirty sex so lets see how i go w this one kids
You sat on your stool in front of your easel, right in the middle of your living room like always. The soundtrack from “Moana” played quietly in the background, you humming along to the songs as you worked.
The pink that coated the tip of your brush transferred onto your canvas, your tongue sticking out lightly in concentration. You listened carefully to the sound of boots hitting the floor as your boyfriend got closer to the door of the apartment.
“Honey, I’m home!” He called out in a sing-song voice whilst setting his bags down.
“I see that, love.” You giggled, looking up from your masterpiece.
“And what are you painting this evening?”
“Nothing that you’re allowed to see.”
He let out a deep sigh but couldn’t help the genuine grin that took up the lower half of his face.
“I’ll be making dinner, you keep making history.”
You shook your head and looked down to your lap. Your man was certain that you were going to be the next Monet. He had this great hope in you and it always flushed your cheeks when he expressed the immense pride he had in you.
You listened to him rustling around the kitchen whilst he whistled along to “We know the way.”
You craned your neck to get a good look at him tying his hair up at the base of his neck, his favorite way to work. Your favorite look on him. You took great displeasure in tearing your eyes away from him and back to your work.
The early morning sun streamed through the floor to ceiling window that took up a whole wall of your bedroom. You stood with your back to it and your easel in front of you, moving your wrist lightly as you made steady brush strokes.
Bucky lay on the bed in front of you, white duvet and sheet barely covering his body. His black boxer briefs were really the only sort of cover he had. He lay on his back with the flesh arm under his head and the metal one draped across his front.
You hummed a quiet tune as you let the art flow from your finger tips, eyes quickly flickering from the canvas to your beautiful boyfriend.
“Another work of pure magic?” The gravelly voice asked you from the mountain of pillows.
“How do you know my work is even good, let alone magic, when I wont even let you see it?”
He rolled onto his left side and propped himself up on the metal elbow. The flesh fingers carded through his hair and pushed it off his face as he smiled adoringly at you.
“You’re the most beautiful person I have ever met in my 100 years of life.” He spoke softly. “If you’re able to make art even half as incredible as you are, I know it’ll change the world.”
There was no blushing, no hiding your face. You simply beamed at the light of your life. You beamed at his kind words. You beamed at his beauty. You felt content in your heart, knowing that this was your life. This is what the angels thought you worthy of.
You must have done something incredible in a past life.
Bucky sat across from you at the dinner table, his nose was quite literally “in a book.” You had lent him your copy of your favorite book and to say that he was engrossed in it would be a great understatement.
You on the other side had your table easel set up, quietly making brush stroke whilst watching Buck at the same time. His little gasps and exclamations made you lift your head every now and then. You chuckled as you knew exactly what part he had reached.
“Babe this is just as good as when you showed me ‘The Green Mile’.” His head shot up, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes.
“Just wait for ‘The Usual Suspects’, babe.” You giggled at his wide eyes. “You’ll lose your mind.”
“Will that one make me cry too?”
You couldn’t help but feel your heart soften at his pure naivety. He had cried streams of tears into your chest when you both watched ‘The Green Mile’ and you reached the end. He was sat on the couch in pure shock for a good 20 minutes.
“No, sweetness.” You reached across the table and held onto his hand. “You wont cry, you’ll like this one.”
“Good, I couldn’t stop thinking of poor Mr. Coffey for days.” He gripped your hand and looked you straight in the eye.
“I know, and that is why I love you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Your big old heart.”
“Figuratively and literally.”
You threw your head back in laughter at his comment, nodding with a big smile. He chuckled with you, eyes following your moments with a smile just as wide.
You release his hand and brought yours to pick up your brush, quickly filling in a couple strokes of paint. Bucky put his focus back on the book and eagerly turned the page to immerse himself further in the story.
Bucky got a call from you whilst he was at work. You had asked him to come home slightly later than normal and he had spent the rest of the day trying to work out what you were planning.
Nonetheless he spent another hour going over mission reports with Steve and finally found himself approaching the door of your place.
You stood on the other side waiting patiently. You wiped your clammy hands against your baggy jeans, pulling your paint splattered shirt down slightly. It was technically Bucky’s shirt but he let you use it for your art.
You heard the door handle turn and you bit down on your lip in anticipation. Bucky stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. He was immediately met with the dim lighting. All lights were off and all your candles were scattered around the living room providing mood.
“What are you up to, doll?” He asked, walking over and putting his hands on your waist.
“Look around, what do you see?” You replied, mysteriously.
Bucky turned his head from left to right and was only met with bed sheets from the linen closet in the hallway. They were draped over a couple of your easels that were set up. Draped over one or two dining table chairs. Draped over your two arm chairs. Another two of them were laying at either end of the couch. He nearly missed the one that was draped over something on the fireplace mantel.
“I see our bed sheets all over the place.” He chuckled, trying to piece things together.
“Ok, well I see the greatest thing to ever happen to me.” You spoke up.
He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. You moved his hands off of you and walked over to one of the dining chairs. You took the bed sheet in two hands and yanked it to the side in one swift motion.
Bucky’s features softened and he looked directly at what you were presenting to him.
“This is what I see when I wake every morning.”
Before him was a canvas. On it was a white background with soft grey lines of definition. In the center was Bucky on his back, one arm behind his head and the other across his stomach. His lips were parted slightly and he had a look of peace on his face.
“This is what I see when I have my breakfast.”
One of the easels was rid of the sheet and on there was a sleepy Bucky with a spoon in his mouth and a coffee in his hand. He was standing in the kitchen with plaid pajama pants adorning his lower half. His metal arm shone under the glow of the morning sun and most of his hair was flipped over to the right side.
“What I see when you get ready for the day.”
Another chair was unveiled and it was the reflection of a mirror. Bucky stood with a goofy grin and a toothbrush in hand. He had the minty foam spread around his mouth and his eyes were screwed up in laughter. His damp hair was pushed back off his face and he looked ready to go and get anything done.
“What I see when I visit you for lunch.”
The sheet on the fireplace was lifted to reveal a painting that was based on a photograph. It was Bucky sitting on a sofa in the tower, Sam on his left, both with huge grins on their faces. Bucky’s metal hand was placed over his heart as he laughed straight from his heart. The idea of being surrounded solely by those who only wanted the best for him always made him beam.
“What I see when you return from a mission.”
This one hit home a little harder. Bucky was sitting on the kitchen bench in this painting. His tactical pants were still on but his top half was bare as the jacket was discarded beside him. He was covered in cuts and bruises, blood matting the ends of his hair and his lip was open. You had bandaged him up as much as possible but he just wanted a few moments to collect himself and take in what had happened that day. It was one of the darker days but that went along with him. Something you learned to love as you learned to love him.
“What I see when I tell you I love you.”
One of the sheets on the couch lifted and there he was. He was sitting right there, face on with the most beautiful smile taking over his face. It was hard not to smile when you saw it. He always got goofy when you announced your love for the man, almost like he couldn’t actually believe what you were saying. His hands were closed beneath his chin and he was resting his face on them. It had been an easy day and you got to spend as much time with him as possible. A good day.
“What I see when your dreams wont let you sleep.”
It was another darker one and it was painted from memory. The moonlight soaked room was the main background but in the center was the bed. Bucky was sat on the edge of it with a light sheen of sweat covering his entire body. His head was in his flesh hand and he was looking at his metal arm quizzically. His expression appeared to you like he was questioning why he even had the prosthetic limb. It didn’t matter to you why he had it or even that he had it. It was a part of him and you knew, in no uncertain terms, that you loved every part of him.
“What I see when you come home.”
A softer one was on the arm chair. It was an image on him in the kitchen. He was throwing random spices into the pan and whistling a tune at the time, Moana. His hair was tied back and he had a look of content on his face. He had a long day at work but he still managed to keep a bright face for you. Because of you, really. He always looked so nice whilst doing domestic activities like cooking. Maybe because you could see your future in his eyes when he did so.
“This is the last thing I see before I go to sleep.”
This was something of beauty. It was another one painted from memory. It was Bucky lying on his right side in the bed you both shared. He was looking right at you with droopy eyes and a smile of both adoration and content. The blankets were bundled up around his bare chest and in the foreground of the painting you could see that he had been holding your hand as you both lay together in the bed.
He stood there, looking impressed? He slowly turned around the room trying to take it all in. He could feel his eyes well up slightly as he finally saw himself the way that you saw him. A thing of pure wonder.
“I never thought you painted me.” He stuttered, running his fingers along the edge of one of the masterpieces.
“Are you kidding me?” You softly chuckled. “I only ever painted you.”
He slowly turned his head up to look at you in the eyes. He could see his whole world looking back at him.
“Why?”
“Other artists paint what they deem to be breath taking. Why cant I?”
Bucky didn’t speak after that. He simply rushed forward and took your face between his hands. He meshed his lips to yours and pulled you back into the center of the room. In the glow of the candlelight, he lowered you onto the floor with him.
“I love you more than anything in this life.” He mumbled against your lips, quick fingers fumbling with your jeans.
“So do I, but I think the paintings kind of got that message across.”
He laughed into your neck, continuing with the kisses there. You slid your hands up and under his shirt, fingers running along his toned stomach and down to his pants. You exposed him enough to get the job done as he did the same with you.
“I get that sex on the floor isn’t as romantic as painting an entire relationship.” He trailed off with a blush.
“Anything you do somehow seems romantic, love.”
He slid his fingers into the top of your underwear and rubbed lightly at your clit, causing you to suck hard at his jawline to stop you from crying out loudly.
He lined himself up with your entrance and wrapped his arms around your back, holding you tightly to his chest as he thrust up and into you.
“Oh, Bucky!” You squeezed your eyes shut and slid your hands up into his hair, pulling tightly as he rocked into you.
This was some of the most intimate sex you’d ever shared. He was holding onto you with dare life and you could hear his heartbeat right next to your head.
He bent his knees and used it as leverage to try and get a better angle. It well and truly worked as he had you seeing stars. You called out his name in whisper shouts, trying to occupy your lips with any part of his skin.
He moved his hands down your back to your hips and rubbed his fingers on the exposed skin there. He also resumed his usual naughty habit of whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
“You’re my pretty little girl, aren’t you? So good for me.” He cooed, kissing below your ear. “You’re so talented, you know your way around an easel and around my body.”
You laughed but you knew it was true. You were oh so good at getting Bucky worked up in the right ways. Like now, you could feel by the way his cock twitched inside you that he was nearing his finish.
And so were you.
“I’m gonna come for you, Bucky!” You moaned into his chest.
“Good girl, let go for me.”
You tensed your whole body, squeezing Bucky’s cock deliciously and triggering his release as well.
As if it was like the movies you both found yourself finishing simultaneously. The apartment living room filled with moans that seemed to bounce of the walls and come back to you both.
You lay there in the center of the floor, you still laying on top of him. He softly combed his fingers through your hair as you came back to earth.
Ok so the Great British Bake Off has had an unexpected side effect on me. I absolutely love it. I also really love to bake, but I don't get the chance often. I'm making a strawberry swiss roll to take over to my grandma's on Friday and I just thought, "It'd be fun to try more of these recipes and food that I've never had." AND IT HIT ME. My grandma is from Liverpool, but she hasn't been back home for almost 20 years and it was ages before then too. I know she misses home and family a lot. Facebook has helped her keep in contact with them and she uses it all the time to talk to them, but it's not the same. She's been so far away from home for most of her life. Wouldn't it be nice if she could just have a taste of it? I'm not the best baker and I learn by trial and error. But I think it'd be great and maybe lift up her spirits a little if I at least tried to bake food that she'll recognize and used to eat when she was my age, food that she either hasn't had in years or has to eat the Americanized version of it. No, it won't be the same and maybe my Yorkshire puddings won't rise properly and my biscuits won't have the proper snap. But I can do my best! She won't ever be able to go home again because of her health, so I can bring a little something to her.
