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pietropudge · 2 months

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Imagine your big beefy/thicc boyfriend Bucky Barnes putting you in his belly whenever it's cold to keep you warm

a/n — something short to get back into this! non fatal btw tho it is joked about

summary — check the ask!

words — 1.9k

warnings — vore! gender neutral, vaguely smutty?

~~~

It was seven in the morning when your alarm disrupted the peaceful sleep of your big boyfriend. He laid on his back with you sleeping on top of him. His eyes fluttered open, flicking from you to your alarm and then back to you. Slowly, while holding his breath, he ever-so-carefully reached to the nightstand next to your bed and turned off the alarm. You could feel his movements and took a deep breath before speaking, your head never leaving his plump chest.

“Buck, I have to get up.” You buried your head into his chest, your arms still clinging around him. He was so big and filled out your wingspan in the best way. Just the way that you laid on him with the entirety of your weight, not an ounce shifting to anticipate the action of pulling away made you sound less convincing.

He could sense your lazy efforts to depart from him, “Just stay in bed with me. Let’s watch movies all day.”

You pulled away, lifting the covers to let the light in on all of the places where the sun doesn’t shine. It was coming in through the window, shining unusually bright through the drawn, silky black curtains and illuminating all of the curves and folds of Bucky’s naked body. He slept as bare as possible, being comparable to a furnace making a room hot when he was under the sheets, while you had a thin layer of pajama pants and a tee-shirt on. Even his metal arm managed to be warmer than you during some nights, like his own personal radiator receiving and sending heat out in waves under the sheets.

“I wish I could, but we wouldn’t have a bed without money. And we wouldn’t have that without a job.” It was a harsh truth you had to admit, every second of being at work was torture because you knew what awaited you upon your inevitable return—a man who was willing to do anything to be near you. You needed him just as much as he needed you, but you felt like an emotional support animal sometimes—more attentive to his needs than your own. He always talked about getting a cat. That’s how much weight you were willing to give it. You two weren’t really on that level, but he had a strange fascination with putting you in places you didn’t belong. Sit in his lap, roll over in his stomach, stay in his bed.

“Fine, just this once.” He allowed, and then he demanded, “Kiss me.”

You gravitated towards the window, snow covered the ground and now the chill in the room made sense. “Shit. I’ll be back in to get dressed for work.”

You rushed to your shared closet, consisting of two sliding doors with mirrors covering the front. You could see Bucky raising his head at your more serious tone to ask the question: “What’s wrong?”

You laughed at his reaction, unsure if he was actually worried or if he was just mad that he didn’t get any affection. “My car’s covered in snow!”

And so were your feet the second you walked out the door. Dressed in nothing but a loose pair of pajama pants that got caught in the chilly breeze, a short sleeve shirt that made you regret not grabbing gloves, and a pair of chunky snow boots that clashed with the rest of your outfit, your goal was to get this over with as fast as possible. You armed yourself with a multi-faceted snow broom. It had a brush on one end to sweep everything off with a combined handle and ice scraper on the other. With that in hand, you trekked through the snow, rounding the house you and Bucky resided in to clean off your vehicle.

At first, it was easy to maneuver around your car and sweep off the snow clinging to the windows and door handles before raising your arms slightly higher to clear off the hood and the trunk. All of it fell to your feet, feeling like extra weight the longer you stood outside. Soon, your movements became lethargic. Your arms were freezing, the muscles weakening from having to clear the top off last. Your legs felt heavy and the snow at your feet was like thick mud, harder and harder to kick up as minutes passed. Your haphazard attempt to prevent yourself from being late to work started to go sideways because now, you wanted to take your time and conserve the fleeting warmth in your body. You could have gone back inside, but Bucky’s allure—no matter if he was still in bed or streaking around the house—would be too strong. He would distract you, and this weather was the perfect mood-killer for any ideas like that.

But Bucky seemed to come to you as if he knew you need some relief. Even in the cold, he only donned a pair of ankle-high combat boots straight from your closet and nothing else. He had that super-solider advantage, the serum and his time in Russia making him not even flinch as the snowflakes whirling through the air encircled him. Everything from his muscles to his small, developing gut shook a little as he walked. His dick didn’t shrink in the cold like most would, it stayed at its impressive length even while soft. Behind that, his balls swung with him as his thighs pushed his package from side to side with every step.

You could hear his footsteps packing down the snow, eliciting a crunch with each step. Turning towards the noise, you spoke out to him. “Buck, what are you doing out here?”

“I never got my kiss, and I figured that would make you clean this car faster.” Had you really been out here for that long? Maybe you had already spent all of the time you allocated to getting ready to clear off your car. His left hand—the one made of metal—gripped your arm, making you shudder from the added cold. He had a look of concern on his face, “You’re freezing.”

He used his hold on you to turn you away from the car, and your hand had gone numb enough to drop the snow broom to the ground. You didn’t speak, so he continued. “I could warm you up fast, doll? You’ll be wishing it was summer.”

Bucky didn’t wait for any confirmation. His hot breath clouded the air and reminded you of a misty sauna, one where the fog was thick and the walls were a dark mahogany. The only thing that soured the image was Bucky’s morning breath, reminiscent of last night’s dinner with a meaty twinge to it from the saliva. But he could read your face, the features that hadn’t numbed twisted into something short of a positive look. It felt so good in contrast to the cold chill in the air, the smattering of snowflakes on your head and shoulders felt like a nice garnish to him and melted quickly from the heat inside his mouth. His cheeks bulged with your head inside, the hairs of his unshaven scruff spreading away from each other as his skin and jaw stretched impossibly. You wanted more of the warmth, the rest of your body needed to curl up someplace warm. Surely Bucky could help you out after so that you wouldn’t be late to work, this was just a little distraction.

Your mind flew in a million different directions. His lips went over your shoulder blades and you could feel saliva drenching your shirt like the complimentary hot water at a sauna; he intentionally pressed you to the roof of his mouth so your back was coated by the best sauna stone known to man. Your head passed the bottleneck of the whole process, feeling the first of many cases in which you would be encased by warmth—by slick saliva that would never freeze over. He got to your hands, happily stuffing them in and feeling your satisfied sough as they warmed up in his mouth. The rest of your body was slurped up easily, his gulping and swallowing echoing off the quiet outdoors. Then, he reached your feet. He made a point to take off your snow boots and socks to warm up your cold feet, too. He wanted you to be as comfy as possible, to slip away in a heated reverie.

Eventually, you were balled up in his gut, weighing him down without much trouble. You were quiet like the settling snow. Now that you were in his gut, the world decided that it was finally time to stop the onslaught of flurries. Since the snow had stopped, Bucky reached up, using his larger body size and frame to get the top of your car. With his metal arm numb to the frigid element’s remains, he swept off half the snow from the top. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his gut against your car and squeezing you in the process.

“Sorry, babe.” His voice bellowed from above. He grunted, reaching around to get the chunks of snow his initial brushing didn’t reach. A few uncomfortable moments later, you felt his gut sag back down without the solid force of your car to mess with it. He let out a satisfactory sigh. “There.”

“Is my car clean?” You called up, feeling your wet pajamas cling to you, and started to get sick of the heat now that you were all warmed up.

“Yeah.” Bucky stood next to your car, admiring the little work that he did to finish off clearing your car. He spun around to find the snow sweeper you dropped, making you shift around in his gut when he bent down to pick it up. After a few unsuccessful attempts to grab it with his enlarged gut—he almost fell into the snow below him, almost—he just barely grabbed it with the tips of his metal fingers, but that was all he needed to scoop it from off the ground.

You hit against the walls of his stomach. “So, let me out!”

It elicited a belch from him, and he patted his gut. “I’ll let you out… tomorrow. Your boss is going to have to deal with it.”

The big steps he took to walk through the snow were noticeable from within his gut. When he stopped, you assumed that he was back inside, and you heard the soft click of the lock to your front door that you knew all too well. It was the same noise you would hear if you were heading off to work, but now you heard it through a thick layer of fat and stomach lining.

“Buck, I’m serious!” You protested. He kept walking around before sitting down on the couch, your world shifting again as the suspension from his midsection turned into a flat support under you. From the outside, Bucky had spread his legs wide, letting his gut fill out the space where he’d normally tell you to sit or suck or whatever he wanted. He would get to keep you in his gut for the rest of the day, and in his metal hand, he held a steaming cup of hot cocoa that he slowly doused you in whenever he took sips of it. On the television, he had some movie playing that he had been bugging you to watch with him.

“Not my fault you don’t believe in layering clothes…”

#male vore #male prey #male pred #v.ore #v0r3 #vore x reader #same size vore #v0re #non fatal #non fatal vore #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes vore

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