#flour sack baby

[simm-mouse]

I promise I'm not dead! My phone broke and work has been busy lately. But I'm back with concept stuff when I tried to draw Nyon for the first time

Needles Sims 4 edition wouldn't exist, since Nylon Spandex here is living a more stable and healthier life, well as stable as it can be living his mother Olive. Well at least not as an imaginary son of his anyway. I think Nirvan, yes I changed Nyon's name. I'm sorry I can't guys, I keep calling him Nylon Spandex😭😭💀💀💀. But Nirvan fits more to me with the meaning attached to Buddhism. He technically is reborn from the original one from the gallery

Anyway, Needles would appear as a regular sack of flour. Like the old school cliche flour sack baby project for parenting class. I can see Nirvan taking parenting classes during highschool to be a pro. Even here he is not good with names, so the flour sack is named Needles.

But for fun, I did draw concepts of Needles L&D edition. He has Curious blood in his veins🔭🤓! That's the only way he'd exist

I realized while drawing this that I never made a colored version of teen Needles. So here's my struggle until I draw a better concept. Neymar means Neptune and Mars, a very Curious name. Took me a half hour trying to find a name😭😭. Don't call him that though, it's NEEDLES ONLY HE WILL FIGHT YOU!!😡😡😡😤😤😤

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

this swap au has me all messed up because tycho is such a sweet little guy in the original timeline and then this is nervous's alternate universe insane clone child

what being part of the muenda/specter bloodline does to a guy

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just want you to know that in light of your posts about the Zen'in Clan trying to make Megumi kill one of his dogs, I now have a headcanon that when the white dog dies at the detention center, Naoya sends him a card saying "Congratulations on finally getting your dog killed!" and half of the Zen'in Clan have signed it. Someone doodled the white dog with lil X's for eyes. A true family bonding moment for everyone but Megumi.

You’re actually really close because in the backstory that lives in my head, the sword the Zenin clan always gives him to kill the dog is the black blade that he uses in canon. It’s the Ten Shadows’ sword that they typically receive when they kill the dog and ergo come of age. Megumi goes back to his room after the detention center and finds it on his bed. Yuuji’s blood was still on him. He doesn’t know how they found out so quickly or how they got into his room, but he never feels safe in that room again.

But he kept the sword, and he didn’t tell Gojo where it came from. It was meant to be a reminder to himself.

Next time, when it comes down to it, he needs to be the one to die. And then he would never again have to feel the way he did when he saw that fucking sword and realized that someone like Itadori Yuuji died for a person who didn’t even want to be alive.

[heavencasteel420]

I really want to write the Chrissy/Jonathan flour baby story as well because they end up having to tell the home ec teacher that the flour baby disappeared, and the home ec teacher (especially exasperated because they’re the only two seniors in the class) is like, “This is unacceptable. What would you do if your real child disappeared?” And Jonathan is like “well, historically” and they don’t even have to do a makeup research report because the home ec teacher is so mortified.

[heyhopperart]

Chagatai's that type of ba ba

[unevenshelf]

Doing the baby project for school rn. I’ve somehow overestimated how often a newborn needs a diaper change and underestimated how sore my left arm would be.

[fleabuki]

wanted to share some drawings that ive done over the past few weeks

first we got needles

(i drew this with barely any light so i didn't see a lot of what i was doing 😭)

then we got some vidcunds

(the first one is partially unfinished, and the second one is him with the jojo siwa karma makeup bc he was a bad girl 😈⛓️💔)

and then i drew tank for the first time yesterday

(it was supposed to be general buzz grunt with big naturals but i decided to scrap the idea)

[stiltonbasket]

bakery teen xiao-yu has one of those floursack baby projects? Floursack baby is doted on and spoiled. wwx and lqr bring out the old family baby clothes and gear for floursack baby. floursack baby is hanging out in the bakery! there's a photo with wangxian titled "our first grandbaby <3" nie zhuyan is looking at all of this in confusion and envy of the floursack baby. He wants xiao-yu cuddles!

This would be really cute but it would also be really funny if the Wangxian family had fun playing with the floursack baby while Xiao-Yu is just "... 😐" about it. He spends the week of the parenting project cuddling Chunyang and Jin Ling's baby sisters (a.k.a., the real family babies) while Sizhui and Wangxian look after the floursack baby.

At school, Xiao-Yu leaves the flour baby to Nie Zhuyan, who's doing the project with him. NZY is very happy about this.

[twinterrors29]

Jedi Padawans have the classic sitcom bag-of-flour baby assignment to ensure they're prepared to look after young ones in emergency situations

this assessment is not one of the many canceled or postponed during the war

which means that when Ahsoka is abruptly deployed dirtside along with her Master, Grandmaster, and the 501st, she had to scramble to find an appropriate babysitter for her sack of flour

desperate, she tossed it to Commander Cody, who was staying aboard the Negotiator to oversee the campaign, with only a frantic list of the required steps to take care of it while she was gone

when she returns several days later, Cody has painted the sack 212th gold and constructed a sling to carry it around on his front while he keeps his hands free for work

judging by the rank pins attached to the front, the sack of flour is now a lieutenant

once Obi-Wan's heart eyes abate enough, though, it becomes clear to him that Cody and the 212th troopers have not understood that the sack of flour is not, in fact, a literal Jedi tubie

and none of the Jedi or their siblings in the 501st have the heart to correct them, so they let them keep the thing, stomping on the feet of anyone who tries to ask too many questions about their new mascot

once the war ends, Obi-Wan discreetly replaces the sack with a Jedi chrecheling in the middle of the night, having resigned himself to raising another too-young-Padawan

Reva, for her part, is all to happy to gleefully coat herself in flour for the occasion

[simm-mouse]

More doodles

The second and third one is a redraw of little boy Nervous

[3amfanfiction]

You and Simon are walking home when something frightening happens. One thing about being in a relationship with him, you just KNOW he would be hauling you around like a sack of flour if something dangerous happened.

Cw: ptsd

It’s been a good day. Simon is home from deployment, the sun has just set and the weather is clear.

You’ve been out running errands with him for most of the day. Your partner’s been home for a week and this is the first time either of you have left the house. You miss him badly when he’s away but you’d give anything for days like today.

You’re walking down the sidewalk, hands tangled together as Simon carries the shoulder bag of groceries on his other side. The quiet evening is peaceful, storefront lights beginning to click on as the day winds down.

You’re not sure exactly what happened. One moment you’re chattering at Simon, telling him about the new recipe you were going to try out tonight and the next you’re being forced against the building, Simon’s hand pressing your head towards your chest while he slams his body into yours, covering as much of you with himself as possible.

You gasp in a stunned breath once your lungs stop seizing before your ears recognize the reverberating boom in the air. You watch with wide eyes as the bag Simon had just been holding spills groceries onto the sidewalk, cans and jars rolling away from the spilled bag.

You yelp as he pulls you away from the wall and half picks you up while keeping you tucked into his chest. He moves quickly into the alleyway you had just passed, keeping himself between you and the street. You shuffle your feet trying to keep up as he bodily drags you.

Si-Simon you gasp breathlessly in shock. What are you doing? But there’s no response. You look up into his face only for your heart to stutter in your chest. You’ve never seen that look on his face before. Two more booms shake the air before there is a faint crackle.

His eyes are steely above his mask. He doesn’t wear his balaclava when he’s home, but dons a blank, black face mask when you need to leave the house. You never thought you’d be scared of him but if he looked at you with that face you would freeze up in a heartbeat.

You realize what’s going on as a red glow lights up the alleyway before fading back into darkness.

Simon, it’s okay. We’re okay. It was a firework, baby. We’re safe. You’re home with me. Nothing. His gaze is jumping to every shadow, still sheltering you between his body and the wall.

You raise your arm to try and cup his cheek, attempting to bring him back to you but he rips his face away with a snarled stay down before shuffling you further into the alleyway.

His grip on you is tight as he shoves you into a deep doorway, wedging himself in after. You can feel his heart pounding from where your face is pressed against his chest, his other hand still holding the back of your head, pressing you against him.

You try again. Simon. Simon you’re home. You’re here with me and it was a firework. Some idiot has gone and started setting them off. There’s probably going to be another boom here in a minute and then you’ll be able to see it in the sky.

Like the universe is listening, there is another explosion right then with a trailing shower of lights afterwards. It casts enough of a glow for you to see his eyes again. They’re panicked and darting every which way trying to see where the danger is coming from.

You decide to wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze as hard as you can, hoping the pressure would help bring him back. You start talking, not giving a chance for silence to fill the space.

We were walking home from the grocery store. We were going to make that new pasta dish I was telling you about for dinner. I had just asked you about stopping in at that new tea shop on our way. You know the one, on the corner of 4th? They have a jasmine tea I’m really interested in trying. And I saw on their website they have a chocolate croissant too. I know how much you love them.

On and on and on. Narrating what you’d done that day, what you were going to do when you got home. The newest show you and him were watching together, how you had trimmed his hair for him yesterday, anything you could think of.

Finally, after what felt like years, his hold on you begins to loosen and his body begins to shake slightly with the adrenaline crash. The periodic booms making him clench back up each time.

After every explosion you made sure to reiterate, that was a blue firework. It looked almost like a weeping willow tree. You know the one . . . trying to bring him into the present and keep him there.

Eventually he stands up straight and you’re able to look him in the eye. He seems almost ashamed of what just happened. It’s okay baby. Let’s go get our bag of food and then we’ll go home. I’m thinking we order takeout and then cuddle for the rest of the night, how does that sound?

He nods his head before pressing a hard kiss to your forehead through his mask, apology or thanks you’re not sure. You make your way out to the street together, Simon insisting on staying bodily between you and the street still, head on a swivel with every movement that catches his eye.

By the time you get home he’s well and truly crashing. Slight shaking accompanying his movements, eyes beginning to go unfocused. The rest of the evening ensuring some part of you was touching him at every moment.

Next Story || Story Repository

[youcalledsworld]

How'd the story get so Twisted?

The JLD are briefing the rest of the Justice League of beings they should remember just incase they run into them.

They then come to Phantom who they say is basically the Superman of the Supernatural. The Justice League point out they thought Captain Marvel was Superman's equivalent but Marvel says he wishes.

JLD starts going over Phantom's history. They say he is hundreds if not thousands of years old (time travel), he is friends with a dryad (Sam when undergrowth possessed her) and magical pharaoh (Tucker being the reincarnation of a pharaoh), his sister is a mind healer (Jazz is a psychologist) and his parents are necromancers (Jack and Maddie studying ghost), his only surviving child is a free spirit (Danielle traveling and being the only surviving clone).

Intrigued by this the Justice League wanted to learn more about him and his adventures.

And the JLD proceed to go on to tell the story of Phantom.

How will the story of Danny Phantom be twisted.

Update

I read the reblogs and thought of something.

Everyone believes Phantom and the Dryad got married because Phantom gave her a ring. Here is the twist, they all think the dryad cheated on Phantom with the Pharaoh and had a child (Lilith the flour sack). But the Pharaoh had other children with other women (flour sack baby test) and the Pharaohs mother cooked them. Fearing the mothers wrath the dryad then gave her child to a barbarian (ms tetslaff) for safety.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

imagine yuuta’s reaction towards sukuna & his obsession w/ megumi. ik in sgg, he would be having nightmares bc ofc the kid who attached himself to was a fucking trouble magnet. it was expected of someone raised by gojo.

i just know yuuta would sometimes side eye yuuji & megumi whenever they were together. which only further fueled yuuji’s jealousy.

Maki: I’m not telling him

Inumaki: kelp

Maki: Africa is not far enough I’m not gonna be the one to tell him about fucking sukuna going after his boy. You do it.

Inumaki, suddenly shifty eyed: tuna

Maki: yeah that’s what I thought. Coward.

Yuuta’s SO conflicted because on one hand Megumi made a friend he loves dearly which is all he ever wanted but on the other hand the friend is possessed by the fucking king of curses himself. He keeps trying to subtly invite himself along places as an extra safety blanket, which yuuji takes as Yuuta, the perfect man, once again weaseling his way into yuujis ideal life. he is so jealous.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

I remember y'all did a flour baby ask a while ago, where MC is assigned with a partner to take care of a flour baby. Can y'all do that with Ace, Epel, Ortho, and Idia?

(flour baby ask with Ortho + Idia here)

Ace Trappola:

You had heard nothing but complaints from Ace when the project had been brought up, thinking it was useless for a magic school to try and teach a life skill like that… And yet now that you were partnered up, he didn’t seem to have any more negativity to spread. You would think he was holding an actual child and not just a flour sack from how seriously he was taking it now, having to admire this side of him. He seemed offended when you ask him about his changing opinion, turning away to hide his reddening cheeks and mumbling that he just didn’t want to get Riddle worked up by neglecting his assignment.

Epel Felmier:

Epel can only think of a handful of things he hated more than the concept of a flour baby, but at least you were partnered together on this journey. Having last pick of the flour sacks meant you got the largest one but it didn’t bother Epel one bit, who lifted the sack over his shoulder like it was light as a feather. You’re impressed with the fatherly show though you can’t help but tease him, saying you hope that he wouldn’t use those muscles of his to actually treat a baby like a weight. He nearly fumbles the bag at your compliment, desperately trying to hide the pink on his cheeks by turning away from you.

[grapejuicenharry]

Angel (blurb)

Harry helps Y/N revise for her exams—except he rewards her for every right answer.

warnings: smut, 18+, kissing, fluff, slight dom h, cock warming.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.��꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Y/N had no mood to study today. Finals were looming, and she knew she should be buried in her notes, highlighting lines and revising answers. But all she wanted was to crawl under Harry's blankets and watch her favorite TV show-the one she'd been binging all week. She'd promised herself she'd only rest for a bit, just to recharge. After all, Harry had been kind enough to offer his place to help her revise, even if he'd insisted, with his ever-serious tone, "After 8 p.m.sharp, no excuses. We're studying."

And yet here she was, curled up on his bed, remote in hand, shamelessly ignoring the ticking clock. The rain tapping on the windows only added to her laziness, the overcast weather making it impossible to do anything productive. Harry, of course, was the complete opposite. He sat at his desk like a saint, head bent over his books, glasses perched on his nose, and jaw tight with focus.

God, he was handsome when he was like this-serious, nerdy, and entirely unattainable. But she didn't want him to be unattainable right now. She wanted him to be hers. All hers. She wanted his hands on her waist, his lips on her neck, his attention solely on her. Y/N groaned; she knew she was being a spoiled brat, but she couldn't help it.

Was it her fault her boyfriend was hot 24/7? She wanted to sit in his lap, trace her fingers over his jawline, and press kisses all over his stupidly perfect face. Hell, she wanted to jump his bones right now.

Earlier, Harry had caved for a little while, brushing off her pouty demands with a kiss that quickly turned into a full-on makeout session. She'd gotten thirty glorious minutes of his undivided attention. Thirty minutes of his hands tangling in her hair, lips soft against hers, and his deep chuckles every time she whined for more. And it still hadn't been enough.

Now, his stern voice snapped her out of her haze. "C'mere, baby," he called from the study, where he was still sitting. "Time's up. You gotta study."

Instead of answering, YN pulled the blanket over her head, huffing under the covers. She hated studying. The very thought made her chest tighten, especially knowing she'd just hit the suspenseful part of her show. There was no way she was leaving this cocoon of comfort.

The next thing she heard was the creak of his chair and the soft pad of his feet on the floor. Before she could stop him, Harry was lifting the covers and peeking under. "Seriously?" he muttered, eyebrows raised at the sight of her pouting face. "C'mon."

He didn't give her a choice. In one swift motion, he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "Harry—!" she whined, squirming in protest, but her words died the second he swatted her ass—a light, playful spank that had heat rushing to her cheeks.

"Nice try, baby," he teased, gently placing her on the chair at his desk. She crossed her arms, lips jutting out as she sulked.

"How about this?" he said, crouching down in front of her, brushing her messy curls back from her face and securing them with a clip. "You study, and for every question you get right, I'll reward you."

Her ears perked up. "Reward me? Like... how?" she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity. Was he talking about snacks? Chocolates? Maybe one of the cute plushies she liked to collect? Her excitement bubbled under the surface, and a grin formed on her lips.

Harry smirked, standing up and leaning close to her ear. "I'll reward you with kisses, baby. Maybe more, if you do really well." His voice was low and playful, sending a shiver down her spine.

Y/N's breath hitched. Oh, this man knew exactly what he was doing. He'd been watching her all day, she realized — noticing how clingy she'd been, her endless kisses, random hugs, and all the ways she tried to get closer to him. And while he adored how clingy and needy she got, always seeking his touch or sneaking in little kisses when he least expected, Harry knew he had to control himself. She had finals to study for, and as much as he loved spoiling his girl, he couldn't let her slack off-not when he knew how hard she'd be on herself if she didn't do well. He had to be the responsible one, even if it meant being a little strict with her. Besides, if keeping her focused meant rewarding his sweet girl with kisses, he wasn't exactly complaining.

Her eyes sparkled, determination bubbling to the surface now. "Okay," she said quickly, biting her lip. "I'll do it."

Harry chuckled, sliding into the seat beside her. His white T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to the muscles of his arms. And those damn gray sweatpants... they should have been illegal. Add the round glasses perched on his nose and the wild curls she loved to tug on. Y/N was barely holding herself together.

Is this normal? she thought, her eyes raking over him. Am I ovulating? Is it hormones? Or am I just obsessed?

Y/N didn't realize she'd been staring at him for the past ten minutes, chewing absentmindedly on the end of her pen.

The way his brow furrowed as he concentrated, the way his lips pressed together when he was focused-it was impossible not to get distracted. When his sharp green eyes suddenly caught hers, she froze, snapping back to reality. Her cheeks burned as she cleared her throat and quickly looked down at her notes, pretending to be engrossed.

For the next forty minutes, she tried — really tried-to stay focused. But after thirty minutes, she gave up. No matter how many times she reread the same lines, her attention kept drifting. Her eyes found their way to his hands: veiny, tattooed, and frustratingly perfect. She watched the way his fingers gripped the pen, the way his knuckles flexed when he scribbled down something in his notebook. All she could think about was how much she wanted those fingers on her, tracing her skin, making her forget about every damn word in her notes.

Her brain had officially shut down. She slammed her notebook shut with a huff. "I'm done," she murmured, barely meeting his gaze. "You can ask me questions now."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, she whined softly, "But at least come closer. I wanna be close to you."

He shook his head with a fond smile, reaching over to pull her chair until it bumped against his. Their knees touched, sending a jolt of warmth through her. "Better?" he asked, his voice teasing. She nodded, her curls bouncing as she tried to steady her breathing. "Yeah... better."

"You sure you're ready?" Harry asked gently, tilting his head as he studied her.

"You can take more time, baby. I don't mind." His tone was soft, but there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes. He knew her too well. He'd noticed the exact moment her thoughts had started drifting. And as much as he wished he could crawl into her mind to know what had distracted her so much, he had a pretty good idea.

Y/N nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. Truthfully, this felt so much harder than her actual exams-because it was him. Because she wanted to be good for him, wanted him to praise her, give her little kisses. She prayed he'd only ask her questions from the topics she actually remembered.

Harry's lips quirked up as he flipped through her notes. "Alright, then. Let's start easy. What's the function of the myelin sheath in neurons?"

Her heart raced as she scrambled for the answer. "To... um, to speed up the transmission of electrical impulses," she said, her voice slightly shaky. A proud smile spread across Harry's face. "Correct. Good job, baby."

Before she could process it, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was meant to be a quick peck, a little reward, but the second his warm lips met hers, Y/N couldn't help herself. Her hand shot up to cup his jaw, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. Fireworks erupted in her belly; all she could feel was him-his lips moving perfectly against hers, his steadying hand on her chair, the vibration in his chest when she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. She thought she might actually combust. But just as quickly as it started, Harry pulled back, clearing his throat and fixing his glasses.

Y/N blinked up at him, her lips glossy and slightly swollen, her eyes hooded with longing. He tried to keep his composure, but the soft pink tint on his cheeks betrayed him. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered, shaking his head with a grin. "There's still a test, remember?"

Her brain was all muddled and gooey with just one kiss. She wondered how she was gonna answer him more. His lips were the only thing in her mind right now.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry asked her a few more questions, his voice low and teasing as he watched her squirm in his lap. To his surprise, she answered most of them correctly, earning her soft, lingering rewards that left her trembling. When she got one wrong, she'd pout adorably, her lips jutting out in frustration, and he'd chuckle, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip before kissing it away.

Now, she was perched on his lap, her T-shirt long forgotten on the floor. Only her bra and tiny shorts remained, but they felt like a mere barrier to the heat between them. Both of them were breathing heavily, the air thick with tension. Her lips were swollen and glossy, her eyes hooded as they met his. His spit glistened on her chest, faint pink love bites scattered across her skin. Her heavy breasts strained against the white lace of her bra, the delicate fabric doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of her nipples, desperate for his touch.

Her hips shifted involuntarily, grinding against his cock, and she let out a shaky gasp, her panties damp from how badly she needed him. He groaned, his self-control fraying with every subtle movement. His grey sweatpants were damp with pre-cum, his cock so hard it throbbed against her. He barely held back the urge to pin her down and take her right there.

"Alright, last one," he murmured, his voice rough and strained. He held up the paper, though his eyes were glued to her heaving chest. "Define the term neuroplasticity."

Her brows furrowed for a moment as she tried to focus, her breathing uneven. "Uh, the brain's ability to adapt and reorganize itself," she stammered out, her voice trembling.

It didn't matter if she was right or wrong. The second the words left her lips, Harry shoved the paper off the desk, the sound of it hitting the floor drowned out by the way their lips crashed together. The kiss was frantic, all teeth and tongues, both of them clinging to each other as if they couldn't get close enough.

His hands gripped her hips, guiding her to grind against him harder, pulling a desperate moan from her lips that only made him kiss her deeper. Her hands tangled in his curls, tugging harshly, and he groaned against her mouth, the vibration making her thighs clench around him.

"Fuck, baby," he growled against her lips. "You're driving me insane."

Y/N let out a soft moan as their lips met, the kiss growing heated and messy-a desperate clash of tongues and teeth. Neither of them cared about keeping it clean; it was raw, needy, and consuming. She shifted on his lap, grinding against his cock, and Harry threw his head back with a groan, his fingers digging into her hips.

"Fuck," he whispered, his hands already moving to unclasp her bra. He tugged it off and threw it to the floor, wasting no time as he cupped her bare breasts, squeezing and palming them like he couldn't get enough. Leaning forward, he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over it, his lips warm and wet.

"Harry, please," she whined softly, her voice cracking with need. He smirked against her skin, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. "You look so fucking good like this," he muttered, his voice thick and rough.

With a firm grip on her hips, he lifted her slightly, tugging his sweats down just enough to free his cock. Y/N's breath hitched as she looked down at him, her hand wrapping around his length.

Slowly, she spread his pre-cum down his shaft, her touch light and teasing.

"Don't tease, love," he warned, his voice tight, almost breaking. His cock twitched in her hand, his patience wearing thin.

She bit her lip as she pushed her shorts aside, lining herself up. Slowly, she sank down onto him, her walls stretching to take his length inch by inch. 

"Oh my god—," Harry groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He bit down gently on her skin, his arms wrapping around her, holding her as close as possible. The way she buried herself onto him, taking him so deep, had his head spinning.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice shaky and strained. "Move for me. Please."

Y/N took a moment to adjust, breathing hard as she stretched around him, feeling every inch of him filling her.

Then, she lifted her hips slowly before sinking back down. Both of them moaned at the sensation, the pleasure almost unbearable. 

Harry's hands gripped her ass, guiding her movements as she rode him. "You're so warm," he breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut. "So fucking perfect." His lips found her breasts again, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin, making her gasp.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging softly as her moans grew louder. The rhythm between them quickened, their bodies moving together with a messy, desperate need.

Harry's hand slipped between them, his thumb pressing against her clit. He started rubbing slow circles, watching the way her face twisted with pleasure.

"Fuck," she whimpered, throwing her head back as her body arched into him. One hand stayed buried in his curls, the other braced against the edge of the chair as she tried to keep her balance.

Harry groaned at how tight she felt around him, his cock throbbing with each squeeze of her walls. "You're so good, baby," he said softly, his voice rough. "You're driving me crazy."

Her hips stuttered as her moans became more frantic, her body trembling as she reached the edge. Harry leaned up, catching her lips in a deep kiss as he rubbed her clit faster, determined to send her over.

"Harry!" she cried, her entire body tensing as her orgasm hit her, her walls clenching tight around him.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, burying his face in her neck as he followed, his release hitting him hard. He held her close, their bodies pressed together as they came down from the high, both trembling and completely lost in each other.

Both of them stilled for a moment, their heavy breaths mingling as they stayed molded together. Y/N rested her forehead in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him, while Harry held her just as close, lost in her warmth.

"We should clean you up," he murmured against her ear, his voice soft as he gently lifted her hips.

But before he could move, she protested, "Wait-just a few more minutes, please." Her voice was quiet, almost shy. "I... I wanna stay close to you."

Harry's lips curved into a soft smile at her words. "Yeah? You wanna keep my cock warm, sweet girl?" he teased, his voice low and rough.

She nodded shyly, unable to meet his eyes, her cheeks burning at his crude words.

"Okay then," he murmured, pulling her even closer. "A few more minutes." His arms wrapped around her snugly, holding her like she was the only thing that mattered.

[ramp-it-up]

Baby Cakes & Tough Guy

Summary: You co-own Baby Cakes Bakery with your bestie Monica Rambeau, direct competition for the Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson owned Howling Commando Baked Goods. And now you are competing head to head in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off. You're sugar, spice and everything nice and Bucky is... Grumpy. Can you sweeten him up, or is he going to make you into a sour puss?

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Baker!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Reader;

Sam Wilson x reader, & Monica Rambeau x reader (platonic)

A/N: This is inspired by the #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Bakery AU, and has completed my card. I don't know if you could tell, but I have had an absolute BALL with these prompts. And this one was especially fun. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All errors my own. Angst. Grumpy Bucky, rustic baking, baking competition, mutual pining, rivalries, undeniable chemistry, Bucky’s an ass, but he makes up for it, oral (m/f receiving), sloppy blow job, praise kink, nipple play, orgasm denial, raw p-in-v, creampie, reference to eating the groceries, possessive Bucky. 😁

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The first time you ever saw Bucky Barnes, he was scowling at a sack of flour like it personally offended him.

You adjusted your Baby Cakes apron and bit back a laugh.

“This is gonna be fun,” you murmured as you set up your station in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off tent in Prospect Park.

“Fun?” 

Monica snorted from beside you. 

“Babe, this is war. Do you even know who that is?”

You glanced over at the very grumpy man two stations down. His broad shoulders strained against a black apron that read Tough Guy, and his arms were crossed like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His biceps popped as he folded them tighter. 

Damn. 

And then his sharp blue eyes flicked to yours. You definitely got caught staring. Bucky’s scowl deepened and you suppressed the urge to stick out your tongue.

“Should I?” you asked Monica, arching a brow.

She leaned in conspiratorially. 

“That’s Bucky Barnes. Co-owner of Howling Commandos Baked Goods. And you know they’ve been stealing our customers with their ‘no-frills, real-deal, rustic baking’ nonsense.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Oh no. Not rustic baking,” you mocked.

“I’m serious!” 

Monica flapped a hand. 

“Foodie blogs won’t shut up about them. And he and his partner, Sam Wilson, act like they’re too cool for anything frilly.” 

She air-quoted dramatically. 

“AKA us.”

You shrugged. 

“Guess we’ll have to prove them wrong.”

But as you turned back to your ingredients, you felt it, that distinct sensation of being watched. And when you glanced up again, Bucky was still looking. 

Not just looking, but assessing. 

Outright staring.

Then, at the last second, his mouth quirked in the faintest smirk. A silent challenge.

Your stomach flipped. 

Yes. This was going to be interesting.

—

Bucky was already regretting this.

The second Sam convinced him to sign up for this competition, he knew it was a mistake.

"Dude, it’s good exposure. Plus, imagine the free marketing when we crush everyone else."

Bucky had reluctantly agreed. But now, standing in this tent, surrounded by pastel-colored mixing bowls and way too much cheerfulness, he was rethinking everything.

Especially when he saw you.

You.

You, with your too-bright smile and sugar-dusted cheeks.

You, adjusting your apron, hands moving with the ease of someone who loved this. 

You, already chatting with the other contestants, laughing like this was a Saturday morning bake sale instead of a competition.

And the worst part?

You were good.

He hadn’t tasted a single thing you’d made yet, but he could tell.

By the way that you measured your ingredients with confidence.

By the way you scanned your recipe, fully in control. 

By the way you smiled like baking was fun.

Sam elbowed him.

“Dude. You’re staring.”

Bucky grunted. 

“Sizing up the competition.”

“Yeah? Or are you just into her?”

Bucky fixed Sam with a glare.

“She’s the enemy.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sam snorted.

Bucky clenched his jaw and turned back to his station.

This was just a competition.

Nothing more.

—

You never expected this when you signed up for The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off.

Stress? Absolutely.

Flour in your hair? Without a doubt.

A full-blown panic attack over an underbaked sponge cake? Practically guaranteed.

But Bucky Barnes?

Never in a million years.

And yet, there he was, the grumpiest, scowliest contestant in the history of televised baking.

"Are you serious?" he muttered, watching as you carefully piped pink buttercream onto your cupcakes.

You glanced up, blinking adorably up at him.

"What?"

He jerked a thumb at your apron, enjoying the view as he eyed the logo printed across your breasts. 

"Baby Cakes."

You flashed a proud grin. 

"That’s our bakery."

His scowl deepened. He already knew that. He was there for your introduction.

Of course, you would own a place called Baby Cakes, a bright, pastel-colored bakery specializing in mini cupcakes and love-themed treats. It was the exact opposite of his and Sam’s Howling Commandos Baked Goods, where everything was dark wood, bold flavors, and exactly zero sprinkles.

"Figures," he muttered.

Bucky told himself he didn’t like the way you smile. That the sound of your laugh wasn’t cute as hell. 

And that was a problem because every time you smiled at him, it got that much harder to pretend he didn’t love it. And every time you laughed, it became difficult as hell to not laugh with you.

And the way you looked. He took the opportunity to appreciate your generous curves, and the way your thick curls hid your cute as a candy button face as you were concentrating on what you were doing.

The thought popped into his head that wanted to taste you.

Where did that come from?

He cleared his throat as you finished piping, straightened up, and extended your hand. Bucky hesitated, then took it grudgingly. 

Your name rolled easily off your tongue, warm and inviting. He uttered his in return, then slowly extracted his hand, swiping the bit of frosting you left behind onto his finger.

And then, he licked it off.

You shouldn’t have found messy hands sexy. But watching Bucky Barnes taste your buttercream, his tongue swiping slowly over his fingertip? 

Yeah. That definitely did something to you.

You let out a small hum before you stopped yourself.

Or was that a moan?

His blue eyes flicked up, knowing, teasing, and challenging you.

"Way too much sugar," he muttered, backing away as he took note of your dilated eyes.

He thought about your reaction to him and almost tripped over Sam while trying to look cool. You bit your lip to hold back your laughter as he stormed back to his station, looking like an actual thundercloud.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Man, you’re screwed."

And for the first time in his life, Bucky wondered if maybe Sam was right.

—----

Day after day, you and Bucky clashed.

He rolled his eyes at your sprinkles. You teased him about his obsession with “serious” baking. 

But somewhere between the macaron challenge and the lightning round, something shifted.

One night, after a particularly brutal bread challenge, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The others had gone, but you were still cleaning up when Bucky leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You surprised me today,” he said gruffly.

You glanced over at him, raising a brow. 

“Because I made a decent brioche?”

He smirked, just a little. 

“Because you didn’t let the stress get to you.”

You scoffed. 

“I did cry a little behind the fridge.”

That almost-smirk softened into something dangerously close to a smile. And you almost swooned at how handsome he was.

“You care about this. That’s… kinda cool.”

Your heart did a funny little flip.

Bucky should have walked away. Should’ve ignored the way you looked at him like he wasn’t the grumpiest asshole in the tent. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from your wrist.

“Lemon?” he guessed.

“Vanilla bean with a hint of lime,” you corrected.

He licked it off his finger, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You grew warm as you noted the twinkle in those true blue eyes. 

You began to wonder if he did it on purpose, if he knew how it affected you last time.

He nodded.

“Not bad, Baby Cakes.”

And just like that, you knew that maybe grumpy, scowly Bucky Barnes wasn’t such a tough guy after all.

——-

By the fifth day of the competition, tensions were high.

And not just the who’s-going-to-win-the-grand-prize kind of tension. 

No.

This was something else. Something hotter.

Which is why, when you snuck into the kitchen after hours to squeeze in some extra practice, you weren’t even surprised to find Bucky Barnes already there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black apron slung over his shoulder like he owned the place.

“Seriously?” you sighed, setting down your mixing bowl.  “You couldn’t pick another time to lurk in the shadows like some kind of kitchen goblin?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d gotten from him all week.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a whisk. 

“Well, I was here first.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You huffed. “I was in spirit.”

That did it. 

Bucky let out something suspiciously close to a laugh, a low, raspy sound that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. Shaking it off, you started working, pouring flour into a bowl and focusing on your batter. 

Or at least, you tried to.

But you could feel his eyes on you, staring at you intently. After a few minutes, you glanced up, exasperated. 

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you for the burning-the-midnight-oil-so-you-can-win-the-competition kind of intense.”

"I’m not usually," you admitted, nudging a stray bit of flour with your foot. 

"Just… nerves, I guess."

He pushed off the counter and strolled over to you.

"You’re gonna dominate this competition, Baby Cakes. You’re good.”

You blinked. Did Bucky Barnes, the king of scowls, just compliment you?

Your brow furrowed. 

“Is this some kind of mind game? Because if it is, I’m not falling for it, Tough Guy.”

He shrugged, and this time, he smiled. A real one. Just a flicker, but enough to make your pulse trip.

“No games. Just calling it like I see it.”

You were incredulous.

“You do know I’m your biggest competition, right?"

"Yeah.” His eyes searched your face.  “And I still meant it."

Something in your chest tightened. And it was bad. Really bad. Because for the first time since this competition started, you weren’t sure if you wanted to beat Bucky Barnes.

Or kiss him.

You mentally rattled off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea, but before you could get through them, his voice cut through your thoughts.

“I can hear your brain going, you know.”

You gasped, half-thinking he could actually read your mind.

“You’re an over thinker,” he said, quiet but certain, like he already knew you.

“And your worst habit is scowling at my cupcakes like you're judging them,” you teased, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

Bucky laughed again. 

“I am judging. Too much frosting.”

You were ready to fire back, but the moment your eyes locked, the words caught in your throat. The dim kitchen light softened him. Made him look less guarded, more real. His sharp blue gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips just a second too long.

The air between you shifted, heavier than before. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerators and your own heartbeat pounding way too fast.

You gaped at him. 

"Well, you!... I mean, do you, um…,"  

You cleared your throat and looked around at everything else in the tent except Bucky.

"You have a favorite moment from the bake off so far?"

Bucky studied you for a beat, then smirked. He was making you uncomfortable. How interesting. He wasn't alone in this infatuation.

"Yeah."

You waited, expecting him to say something about his caramel tarts or his perfect sourdough. Instead, he took a step closer.

"It was the first day," he murmured. 

"When you walked in with that ridiculous pink apron and told the judges your bakery was called Baby Cakes. I remember thinking…" 

He shook his head. 

"Damn. I’m in trouble."

Your breath hitched.

"Bucky…"

But before you could say anything, before you could do anything, he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Night, Baby Cakes," he said, his voice rough.

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, brain spinning, completely and utterly ruined for him.

—

After that night, everything between you and Bucky changed. You still bickered. Oh, did you bicker. But now every jab carried a tension that coiled tighter with every glance.

"Too much sugar, Baby Cakes," he mumbled during the pastry challenge, his voice low as his sharp eyes raked over your cherry almond tart with disdain.

"Too much salt, Tough Guy," you fired back, swiping a taste of his dark chocolate sea salt ganache before he could stop you.

He froze as you licked the spoon clean, your tongue sliding across the curve with deliberate precision. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if he was wrestling with something he couldn’t name.

Oh.

“That’s debatable,” he finally managed, though his voice came out rough, almost strained.

You smiled, thinking you might have a lot power.

And then came the announcement that made your stomach flip. The dreaded Team Challenge.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Bucky groaned when the producers called your names together.

"Oh, come on," you teased, bumping his arm with a grin you hoped looked more confident than you felt. "You’re gonna love working with me."

"Doubt it," he grumbled, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The challenge? A three-tiered wedding cake, elegant and sophisticated. 

A perfect harmony of flavors, the producers said. In reality, it felt like a recipe for disaster.

Your styles clashed like oil and water. You craved delicate piping and romantic floral details; Bucky wanted bold flavors and sharp, clean lines. 

Hearts versus hands. 

Sugar versus salt.

But somewhere between rolling fondant and whipping buttercream, something shifted. 

He steadied your hands when your piping wavered, his warm fingers brushing yours just a little longer than necessary. You softened his scowls with quick jokes, your laughter breaking through the walls he tried to keep firmly in place. 

You moved like you’d been baking together for years, finding a rhythm that felt natural.

When the final timer buzzed, you both stepped back, staring at your creation in awe.

Three tiers of vanilla bean sponge cake, layered with a tart blackberry compote and tangy lemon curd, wrapped in pristine white fondant. Gold dust kissed the edges, while delicate sugar roses cascaded down the sides like a fairytale.

It wasn’t just good. It was breathtaking.

For the first time, Bucky turned to you without his usual smirk or scowl.

“Nice work, Baby Cakes,” he murmured, his voice low.

“You too, Tough Guy,” you whispered, your heart racing at the way his eyes lingered on you.

The judges swooned, declaring it the best cake of the show. You and Bucky won the challenge.

Without thinking, Bucky picked you up, arms wrapped around your waist and spun you around. The broad smile on his face disappeared as you slid down his body back to the ground.

Both of you cleared your throats and went opposite ways out of the tent, as Monica and Sam shared a look.

Later that night, after the cameras stopped rolling, you found yourself outside by the catering table, sneaking an extra slice.

"Thought you’d be sick of it by now," Bucky said, leaning beside you, his presence close and warm in the cool night air.

"Never," you grinned, licking a dollop of frosting off your thumb before realizing how much attention he was paying to the movement.

“Although,” you added, suddenly self-conscious, “I should probably stop sampling the wares. My jeans are struggling.”

You looked away, cheeks warming, thinking about how you had to jump to put your jeans on, but when you glanced back, you caught him looking. Not just at you, but at your ass in your jeans.

“Looks like a productive struggle,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a husky timbre that made your pulse skip. “Don’t change a thing, Baby Cakes.”

Bucky licked his lips, his gaze trailing back to your mouth, and before you could process what was happening, his thumb brushed your lips, swiping away some frosting. 

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, savoring the essence of you. Bucky tasted like buttercream and something more flavorful, something with more depth. Something like him. 

His lips moved against yours with knee-weakening confidence, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your jaw. 

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, "Not bad."

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin.

"Not bad at all."

The kiss felt like magic, like folding sugar into butter, like the perfect meringue gaining its peaks. But then reality came crashing back.

“Well, well, well!”

You and Bucky sprang apart, both turning to see Monica standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Uh," you stammered, feeling your stomach drop.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Monica.

"So, are you two, like, together-together?" Monica asked, her tone dripping with amusement. 

"Or was this just a ‘we made a wedding cake and got caught up in the moment’ thing?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Bucky beat you to it.

"We’re not together," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ouch.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, but Monica’s raised brow told you she wasn’t buying it.

"Riiight," she drawled. "Well, if you were together, you’d make a killer duo. That cake? Best one I’ve had in a long time."

She sauntered off, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning and heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

"Listen, Baby Cakes," Bucky started, his voice tight, but you held up a hand.

"Nope," you said quickly, your tone sharp. "It’s fine. We’re here to bake, not… whatever that was."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. 

"Right. Baking. That’s what we’re here for."

Later, at the bar celebrating with the crew, you avoided him entirely, but you felt his eyes on you all night.

“Bucky’s over there looking like someone stole his candy thermometer.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and found him watching you moodily. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink.

“He’ll be aight.”

Monica shook her head.

“Ya’ll are two hard heads, but that’s one of my business.” 

When Monica left you alone, you thought about what happened earlier. How embarrassed you were when Bucky denied anything between you. And now here he was, moping around because you wouldn’t speak to him.

Too bad, you thought bitterly. Bucky blew his chance. You weren’t about to let yourself get hurt again.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the question: Why did that kiss feel like the start of something?

At first, Bucky told himself he’d dodged a bullet. You were too bubbly, too happy, too... everything he wasn’t. It would never have worked.

But as he watched you laugh with everyone else, refusing to look his way, something felt wrong.

Wrong like a cake that collapsed in the oven.

Wrong like he’d measured something incorrectly and couldn’t figure out what.

He saw it in your eyes.

In the way your shoulders stiffened when he denied anything between you.

In the way you brushed flour off your apron aggressively.

Bucky fucked up.

And now, all he could think about was how to fix it, because for the first time in years, he was craving a little sugar to balance his spice.

—-

The next morning, before filming started, Bucky found you in the prep kitchen, alone. You were at the counter, rolling out dough with a little too much force, your shoulders tight, your jaw clenched.

"That dough do something to offend you, Baby Cakes?" he asked, leaning against the counter, hoping the teasing tone would draw out the usual playful spark in your eyes.

But you didn’t look up.

"Just getting out some aggression," you muttered, your hands moving with sharp, angry precision.

Bucky exhaled, frustration building. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to be better at saying the right thing, but years of being tough and closed-off made it hard for the words to come.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he did what he knew best.

He baked.

When he came back to himself, baking became his real therapy. A time and space for him to really work out all that he had seen and done.

A chance to create instead of destroy.

Silently, he worked at the station next to yours, kneading dough, measuring ingredients, and whisking with deliberate care. You pretended not to notice, but as the warm scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel began to fill the air, it became impossible to ignore.

Finally, he slid a small plate toward you, a delicate pastry, golden brown and still warm.

"What’s this?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sticky bun," he said, shifting on his feet. "Made it the way you like. Soft in the middle. Extra pecans."

How did he know that? Monica.

Your lips pressed together, but the flicker of interest in your eyes gave you away. He'd done his research on you. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, and immediately sighed.

It was perfect. Gooey and rich, sweet but balanced.

"Okay," you admitted, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"This is dangerously good."

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile as he watched you eat.

"I was an ass yesterday," he said softly, his voice low and rough.

"I didn’t mean to… Look, I panicked. I wasn’t trying to hurt you."

You put the sticky bun down and turned to face him fully, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze.

"Then what were you trying to do?"

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, his brows furrowing like he was weighing each word carefully.

"I guess I thought if I said it out loud, it’d be easier to ignore how much I want you," he confessed, his voice raw and unguarded.

"Didn’t work."

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close he was standing, of the heat radiating from his body. Of how he seemed to be holding himself back at the moment.

"You want me," you said slowly, almost testing the words.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering.

"Yeah. And I know I’ve gotta prove it now. Because I fucked up.”

His blue, blue eyes shone with sincerity. And something else.

“I fumbled a beautiful, talented, sexy woman like you."

You let the silence stretch, let him sweat a little. Then, with deliberate slowness, you broke off another piece of the sticky bun and pressed it to his lips.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he opened his mouth, taking the bite, and sucking the tips of your fingers into his mouth and licking between them as he did, eyes on you the entire time. The gentle pull of his lips sent a thrill down your spine. And the vulgar promise of his tongue had heat pooling low in your belly. 

Your nipples hardened, and a fresh wave of arousal swept through you, dampening your panties.

"G-good start," you murmured, your voice husky. "But it’s just a start."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips at your stutter.

"Then I guess I’ll just have to keep sweetening you up," he drawled, the heat in his gaze making it clear he wasn’t just talking about baking.

But you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily. For the rest of the day, you kept your distance, not too far, but far enough to make him feel it. Enough to make him yearn for you.

Bucky turned into an absolute softie, sneaking you little treats between takes, making sure you had the good whisk before grabbing his own, brushing a hand against your lower back, warm finger splayed wide, when he passed behind you, murmuring a low "behind" that sent shivers racing across your skin.

Monica noticed, of course.

"You’re making him work for it," she said approvingly as she piled buttercream onto a tray of cupcakes.

"I’m not–"

She shot you a knowing look. "Girl, please."

Fine. Maybe you were. Maybe you liked watching Bucky struggle his way through this. Maybe you liked seeing the grumpiest man in the competition try to charm you with sugar, spice, and smoldering glances that left your pulse skipping.

They announced you as winner of the competition and Bucky inclined his head at you, a real smile on his face.

And that night, he took it a step further.

------

When you came back late to the brownstone after staying out with the others, you found something waiting for you on the kitchen counter.

A cake.

Not just any cake, your favorite. Fucking Monica.

It was carrot cake, three perfectly even layers of moist, spiced goodness, slathered with smooth cream cheese frosting. Tiny sugar pearls lined the edges, and an intricate sugar carrot sat on top.

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

Bucky stood off to the side, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, biceps popping. He was still in his apron, his face serious, but his blue eyes searched yours, a flicker of uncertainty behind them.

"Took me all damn night," he said gruffly.

You stepped closer, still processing.

"You made this?"

His jaw ticked, like he was bracing for impact.

"Had some help from Sam," he admitted.

A loud snort came from the doorway.

"Some help? Try a lot," Sam called as he trudged up the stairs. 

"Give him a break, Baby Cakes, so he can stop behaving like a lovesick idiot every time you walk into, or out of a room. Or basically all the time."

Bucky ignored him, his attention fixed on you.

"Lovesick?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I uhhh…”

Bucky looked so cute in that moment, the most vulnerable you’d seen him.

"I need you to know that I see you," he said, his voice low and steady.

"I see how much heart you put into your baking. How much you care about this, about everything." 

He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

"And I see that I hurt you, and I hate that."

You stared at him, at the raw emotion in his eyes. Slowly, you picked up a fork and took a bite of the cake.

It was perfect. Moist, spiced just right, and the frosting was tangy and smooth.

"Damn you," you muttered, your voice thick.

"That bad?" he asked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his tension.

"No," you huffed. "It’s amazing."

His lips twitched. "Good."

Setting the fork down, you stepped closer until there was barely an inch between you. His breath hitched as your hand pressed against his chest, the heat of him seeping into your palm.

"You really want this?" you murmured. "Us?"

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I do."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. He leaned in, and this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t gentle. It was fire, slow at first, then smoldering.

But then Bucky groaned against your mouth, a sound that sent shockwaves through you, and the heat increased. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You pulled him closer by his shirt and his hands slid past your waist, gripping your ass like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Bucky,” but he swallowed whatever you were about to say, and lifted you onto the counter in one fluid motion.

You barely had time to register the cold marble beneath you before his hands were everywhere, skimming up your thighs, gripping your hips, and tracing fire along your skin. You hooked your legs around him, dragging him closer, until you could feel his hard cock in his jeans, letting you know just how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

“Your room or mine?” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

“Oh God…” 

You struggled to think through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. Your room at the back of the house was tucked away from everyone else. 

“Mine.”

Bucky kissed you again, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Smart cookie.”

You giggled softly as he lifted you off the counter, and the two of you tried, and failed, to make it to your room quietly. By some miracle, you managed to shut the door before his hands were back on you.

"I've not been with anyone in over a year. Still get tested every six months."

Bucky's voice was sexy; what he was saying was even more so.

“But tell me to stop if you don’t want to do this,” he rasped against your neck. 

You tilted your head back, offering more. 

“Don’t you dare.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth crashed back onto yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your tight nipples and drawing shivers in their wake.

He pulled back just enough to lift the hem of your shirt, his blue eyes searching yours. 

“Can I?”

You nodded, but he shook his head, his jaw tight. 

“Need you to say it.”

You stepped back, peeling your shirt off yourself, a teasing grin on your lips. 

“How’s that for consent? I want you tonight, Bucky Barnes. Got tested last month and I have an IUD. You can fuck me raw if you want.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening with raw, unfiltered desire. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, his hands spreading over you like he was memorizing the feel of you. “You’re perfect.”

His blue eyes glowed as he wrapped one hand around your neck, his thumb resting on your pulse point, making your heart flutter. 

You lifted his shirt and ran your fingers over his stomach and abs, exploring his warm skin as the kiss intensified even more. 

You reached for his shirt, sliding it up to reveal taut muscle and smooth skin. Your hands explored him, tracing the lines of his stomach as the kiss deepened.

You were aching for him. 

When his mouth moved lower, tracing hot kisses down your neck and between your collarbones, a soft moan escaped you. He didn’t stop there, his lips finding your nipples through the lace of your bra. The wet heat of his tongue teased you mercilessly until he unhooked the clasp.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your pussy clenching as his lips closed around your bare nipple. He suckled urgently, his hand massaging the other, and the pleasure shot straight to your core.

When he knelt in front of you, tugging your jeans and panties down, you gasped as you looked down into his shining blue eyes.

You stepped out of them and almost immediately, and he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to you there.

“Been waiting to taste you, Baby Cakes,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled as his tongue parted your folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit.

Bucky lifted one leg onto his shoulder and you arched against his mouth, gasping when he laved your clit and licked up the wetness collected in your slit.

“Mmmmm. Delicious,” Bucky’s eyes glinted up at you.

He groaned in satisfaction.

“Sweet, with just a hint of spice… just like I thought.”

You pushed Bucky’s head back to where it was meant be.

“Stop talking and eat me, Barnes.”

His chuckle vibrated against you, and then his tongue found your clit, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked, working you like it was his life’s purpose, and every flick of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna…”

But he pulled back before you could finish, leaving you trembling and desperate. You barely had time to protest before he stood, kissed you hard, and moved you to the foot of the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in a blur, and when you finally looked down, his cock stood proudly between you. You sat down on the bed, and you were face to face with the most beautiful penis you’d ever seen.

It was long and thick and heavily veined with a large perfectly shaped head. Your mouth watered, and you looked up at him.

“Need to taste you now, Tough Guy.”

You leaned forward and licked him from base to head stopping to suck on it, relishing the tight flesh in your mouth, then slurped the pre-cum dripping from his slit. Then you pulled off, jacking him with the lubrication of your saliva.

“Tangy, yet surprisingly sweet. A piquant–”

Bucky cut you off by shoving his cock as far down your throat as he could. You moaned around him, adding to his pleasure. 

You looked up at him and his eyes were incandescent. You didn’t break eye contact as your throat constricted around his hardness, your mouth dripping with spit. Your eyes stung with tears, but you kept pushing until you were choking around the base of his big dick.

Bucky watched you with fascination, his hips involuntarily pushing shallowly into your mouth. 

“Christ. You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he rasped. “So good. So perfect. But I knew you would be.”

You moaned at the praise, pulling off of him, long strings of fluid connecting your mouth to his delicious cock.

“Who knew that Baby Cakes was such a Dirty Girl,” he purred, eyes ablaze.  “Need to fuck you now, sweetheart.” 

You whimpered and leaned back as Bucky leaned over you and slid into you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You swore the world stopped spinning.

“Fuck, Baby…” 

His forehead dropped to yours, his voice trembling as he filled you slowly, completely. Your body arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you reacted to the stretch.

“Bucky…”

“Look at me,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

“Wanna see you.”

And then he moved, each thrust hitting you perfectly, dragging moans from your lips. After finding the technique to make you crumble around him, his control slipped, his movements grew frantic, desperate, and it was heaven.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your body tightening around him. “Always.”

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, pulling you under. Bucky followed with a ragged groan, burying himself deep as he spilled into you.

When the world settled, he pressed a lazy kiss to your jaw, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Told you I’d win… you over.”

You huffed a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his damp curls.

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

“Is that what you want me to taste next?”

His eyes flicked down your body.

“Seems to be lots of buttercream down there…”

“Bucky!” you yelped as he reached for you again.

—-

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