Mistletoe and wine - B.B
Pairing: Dilf!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Summary: Babysitting Bucky’s daughter at Christmas leads to some mistletoe mischief.
Warnings: SMUT (18+ Minors DNI) unprotected sex cause they’re dumb, mentions of alcohol but no one gets drunk or tipsy, foul language, oral (f receiving), slight praise I guess? Not very well proofread sorry! I think that’s all but let me know if you’ve missed anything.
Note: Hi! Thank you all for being so patient with me over the last few months, I’m a second year uni student so I just about have time to breathe let alone write outside of my degree . Midterms ended last week, essay burnout is slowly coming to an end (thank god) and Christmas is fast approaching! I’d like to post some more festive pieces over the Christmas period if my schedule and energy levels allow for it but until then I hope you enjoy this very rushed piece!
Word count: 1.9k
The short amount of time that he's been home, Bucky Barnes has berated you for not keeping yourself warm, and acquired early onset food poisoning from some cookies his daughter had made him. Now he stands over the stove, watching the saucepan of mulled wine come to the boil, his unbelievably wide shoulders making the space look tiny. You gawk at his back, still wrapped in the blanket he'd found you in, still shivering and it was no one's fault but your own.
A steaming mug is slid in front of you, and you instantly use it to warm your hands, ignore Bucky's borderline heartless chuckle at just how cold you are. When he had texted you that he urgently needed someone to watch his daughter whilst he dealt with an Steve sized emergency, you'd rushed out your house in nothing but a t-shirt, cardigan and tatty old joggers. When it started to get colder, you completely ignored the fact that Barnes house did have central heating, or that Bucky had told you to make yourself at home, or that it was in fact early December. Instead you decide to freeze with a tiny blanket.
So now he's stood across from you, watching with a smirk each time you shiver.
"Sorry again, about being late." Bucky sips from the piping hot mug whilst leaning against the kitchen counter, "Things took a bit longer than expected."
"It's no problem, we had fun." You smile and nod to him as he scoots around to the chair next to yours. "She was no trouble. Could barely keep her eyes open by her bedtime."
Bucky tips his head back, closes his eyes and mutters something along the lines of "murder" and "Steve fucking Rogers" under his breath, and you chuckle at his short temper. His brows crease a little, when his eyes open and he stands to reach the dangling ornament from above the two of you, your eyes widening as you realise what was hanging above your head.
"Oh god that's..."
"Mistletoe?" Bucky holds the drawing by the string you'd looped through a hole in the top, not having any real mistletoe to hand when his daughter begged you to make it one of the decorations for their house. She was such a sweet little girl that your could hardly say no, so you’d climbed onto the counter and hung it right where she’d pointed, forgetting to take it down when the cold became too much to even move.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" His eyebrows are raised almost to his hairline, but you couldn't care less.
"I'm so sorry-" You wanted the ground to swallow you whole as he continued to stare you down, his height intimidating enough without the cocky smile he loved so much.
"She saw it in some movie we were watching and desperately wanted to make one. Obviously I didn't tell her what really happened if you went underneath it she's only six, so now she things it's for hugs and-"
"Sweetheart, calm down." He's standing over you now, studying the decoration, and then your face once again, cheeks rosy from your word vomit.
"So what do you do, in the event of being stuck under the mistletoe?" Bastard.
"Well... it's tradition, that if both parties are willing and able," He hums, leaning closer, a hint of the spices from the wine on his breath, "They kiss."
"You hardly seem like one to break tradition." I do? Bucky's even closer now, so close that all you have to do is tilt your head upwards and your lips would touch. His hand cradles your cheek, each breath dancing across your lips, waiting. Waiting. Your hand rests against his chest as you lean into his lips in a shy kiss, barely touching him until you slide that bit higher. Bucky kisses you slow and deep, until his hand moves from your cheek to your neck and your neck to your waist. Until he's guiding you out of your seat and into the living room.
Your stumbling backwards, mapping the barely familiar terrain, past the cluttered dining table and piles of toys until your calves hit the edge of the sofa. Bucky guides you down softly, following your lips as you sink into the peeled leather.
His clothes are torn off quickly, his broad shoulders caging you in. He fumbles with the tie on your joggers for a second, yanking them down your goose-bumped legs, eventually pulling them off and tossing them somewhere next to his crumpled Henley and jeans.
Bucky scoots down the sofa, pressing warm kisses up and down your thighs, sucking lightly on the skin of your inner thighs making you squirm beneath his lips.
"Gonna get you all warmed up sweetheart, don't you worry." Bucky's blue eyes meet yours, the usual bright twinkle replaced by a stormy grey, a promise that he would in fact keep you warm, no matter what it took. He pulls your panties to the side, spreading you open for him, blowing cool air onto your exposed pussy, dipping his head just that little bit lower making you whimper. You're quick to remember his sleeping daughter upstairs and the embarrassment that would come with waking her.
"Can you stay quiet for me?" Bucky pulls your panties down in one quick swoop, "Gonna need you to stay quiet for me whilst I eat this pretty little cunt, alright sweetheart?"
You nod eagerly, and Bucky dips his head, his tongue flicking over your sensitive clit. Your let your hand cover your mouth, not trusting yourself to stay quiet whilst he feasts on you like a starving man. Your other hand grips at the cold leather sofa as you struggle to stay pliant, body jerking upwards despite the hand Bucky had across your stomach to keep you flat beneath him.
A thick finger teases your entrance, his tongue unrelenting against your nub as he pushes in, the pads of his fingers sending small spears of pleasure through your body. He fucks his finger into you, not letting up as he adds another, his hips grinding into the sofa as he chases your orgasm like a mad man.
His gaze is predatory when you convulse beneath him, hips pushing up into his face against your will, fucking yourself against him through the violent orgasm. Your eyes clamp shut as he pulls away from you, the mixture of orgasm induced stars and the twinkling lights on the tree sending you a little dizzy.
Bucky's back at eye level by the time you reopen your eyes, a slow kiss and a reassuring 'you alright?' setting the two of you straight. His hips grind against you, leaving you overly sensitive, your whines silenced by his mouth.
"I'll take my time with you later, can I fuck you?" Your nod is frantic, borderline desperate, but in that moment you didn't care because Bucky Barnes was begging to fuck you and your be damned if you said no.
"Use your words sweets." My god this man will be the death of me.
"Fucking yes, Bucky."
"Potty mouth," he laughs and steals a kiss from your open lips, "Good god, I need to fuck you now."
He frees himself from his boxers, painfully hard when he grips himself tightly. He runs his tip from your drenched hole and over your sensitive clit a few times before sinking into you slowly, stretching you out, the bite of pain mixing with the pleasure so beautifully.
His first few thrusts are slow giving you time to adjust to the intrusion whilst he bottoms out, sinking his full length into you, a guttural sound bubbling out of his throat.
He pulls out to the tip, grasping your chin softly so that you can watch him, keep your eyes on his as he fucks himself into you over and over again. The twinkling festive lights bounce across his skin, the warm glow against his face so lax with pleasure mesmerising. His hand comes up to cover your mouth, resting against your lips softly silencing your whimpers.
Your legs clamp around his hips pulling him into you, locking him against you with each slow yet deep thrust, until he untangles the pair of you, pulling your legs up so that your calves rest on his shoulders comfortably.
You're so sensitive from your previous orgasm, you can't help but teeter close to the edge as he thrusts into you from a new angle, impossibly deep.
"Jesus fuck." You mutter against his hand.
"Is that who's fucking you this good? Huh?" Even balls deep in your cunt, Bucky still manages to flash his teeth his smile cocky as ever.
"No- No, fuck." You whisper.
"Who is sweetheart? Who's tearing your pretty pussy apart?" His thrusts are punctuated, so dangerously deep you're not sure if you could ever go without him again, but you can do nothing but whimper at his words.
"Say my name,"
"Bucky. Bucky Bucky Bucky." You chant it into his skin, your breath soft against the harsh movements. His hand clings to the armrest, and you pull him against you, fingertips carving little red divots into his neck, holding him close to you until the air was stiflingly thick. Until you were sharing the same breath.
"It's so much." Your voice is hoarse and quiet against his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he stimulates your body, his thick cock pulling you apart and putting you back together again all at once.
"I know, sweets I know. You can take it, my good girl."
"You gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock whilst I fuck you good, hm?." Your eyes are brimmed with tears when he forces you to look at him once more, his words guiding you yet mocking you all at once. You nod once again, your voice too grainy to string a few syllables together.
White hot pleasure stings your skin, his pace unrelenting as shockwaves of pleasure tear at your skin. You're unable to stop your body as it goes slack, moulding into the couch cushions whilst Bucky fucks you through another orgasm with little remorse. His kisses are soft, placed delicately on any bit of bare skin he can find, until his own hips start stuttering and his silent breaths turn into quiet pants against your lips.
He's quick to pull out and fist himself, his tip sensitive and warm against your skin as he fucks into his hand, spilling himself onto the cool flesh of your exposed stomach. He reaches across to the coffee table to grab a festive tissue and wipe up the sticky mess so he can lay flush against you once again. Bucky's breaths are quick against your puffy lips when he pulls you into a kiss, just as tender as the others if not more so.
"You did so good for me, sweetheart. You warmed up?" He asks quietly, his large palm warm against your cheek.
"A little." Your smile is wide, teasing. It's bait and Bucky takes it, hands already moving down your body, riling you up once more.
"We'll we can't be having that now, can we?" His smile is equally as wide, one hand still cradling your face, the other drawing incoherent patterns against the tender your thighs. "Gonna have to warm you up some more, you know, in the Christmas spirit and all."
If this is the Christmas spirit, then Merry Christmas indeed.
731 notes · View notes
😈Corrupt-a-Wish: I wish Steve and I could share a cuddly holiday in a beautiful cabin!😈
Requested by @river-soul
The crackle of the fire breaks in your ears first. Consciousness slowly slakes down like rain from a trough, heavy and drowning as both your head and body feel battered. You groan as the warmth seeps through the thick quilt hanging over your, something else adds to the weight of the fabric. Something thick, strong, and warmer even than the fire.
Hot breath tickles the nape of your neck as your lashes delicately part, careful not to urge the nail in your skull deeper. The walls are unfamiliar, the colours of the blanket too. The entire room feels like some twisted fantasy. A dream distorted and dim.
"Slept a while, honey," the voice is the only thing you recognize, his scent, his presence are eerily familiar.
You know Steve Rogers well. Or thought you did. You roll softly onto your back and shiver as the fabric rustles against your naked skin. Terror strikes like lightning.
"Steve?" You utter through your dry throat, it's sticky and powdery, a bitter flavour on your tongue.
"Sorry it took so long to get up here," he traces your clavicle with his finger, and intimate gesture for the man who used to browse your war history section for too long, "but it's worth it, isn't it?"
"What's going on?" You touch his large hand as he presses his lips to your cheek and hums.
"Oh, I know, your head must be awful," he says, "you drank so much at that little party. Had lots of fun, didn't you?"
You blink, a flash of the scene. You remember the wine was peculiarly strong that night but the bottle had been fermenting in your fridge for so long. You remember Mariah Carey trilling her classic and the voices, but you don't remember leaving.
"You were so out of it when you finally started to come around, I had to give you something for the pain," his hand crawls across your torso and settles over your chest, "you should relax, you're probably still feeling it, huh?"
His hand continues over you and he lifts himself, hovering above before retreating so the quilt swallows his golden head. You gasp as his lips bless your stomach, fingers wandering along your pelvis.
"Steve," you try to stop him but you're weak, so weak. Your arms are heavy and clumsy, even your words sound broken.
"Honey, let me be sweet to you," his breath whispers against your folds, "you'll only make it worse if you fight it."
195 notes · View notes