#i think I'm starting to love poured fondant | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 17 days ago

Text

Many thoughts

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.

This is gonna be very interesting 👀

And the worst part? You were good. He hadn’t tasted a single thing you’d made yet, but he could tell.

That says a lot!

“Dude. You’re staring.” Bucky grunted. “Sizing up the competition.” “Yeah? Or are you just into her?”

Some might say he has a staring problem 🤭

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

He sure can tell himself this as much as he wants 🤭

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?

Hot!

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

Well this is butteecream, a key ingredient is, surprise surprise, butter 😅

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.

I sure hope his baking is better than his acting 😅

“Because you didn’t let the stress get to you.” You scoffed. “I did cry a little behind the fridge.”

Mood lol

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. "You’re gonna dominate this competition, Baby Cakes. You’re good.” You blinked. Did Bucky Barnes, the king of scowls, just compliment you?

Omg this is unheard of!

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

Seems like there is not just sugar in the air 👀

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.

The steading while piping is not only cute but also can be so helpful, I love baking, but squeezing a piping bag for a while peww that's exhausting especially while decorating were a little shake can mess up a lot

“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.

Ahh finally!

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.

Urgh I'm sure he tastes dreamy

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

A great team in and out of the kitchen! Urgh but he had to blow it...

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

Because it sure was!!

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

Mood, I love me some stress baking haha

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

Damn I'm really hungry now🤤

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

Self realization is the first step

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

Duhh lol

Not just any cake, your favorite. Fucking Monica. "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."

Ahaha Sam is so savage 😂

"You really want this?" you murmured. "Us?" Bucky didn’t hesitate. "Yes," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I do."

Hallelujah 🥳🥰

"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.

For real 😮‍💨🥵

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

They are both so ready for this, maybe another outlet next to backing 👀🤭

“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.”

🥵🥵🥵

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.

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.

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.

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 going 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 through his nose, 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 your pussy.

“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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