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vunblr · 5 months ago

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Threads and Timber

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

Word Count: 10k

notes: Roots and Branches AU

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a slow-cooked stew, steam curling from the pot as she gave it a final stir. It had been days since she’d seen him properly, their interactions reduced to brief, tired phone calls that left her wanting more. Winter was a quiet season for lumberjacks, but rather than resting, Bucky had been keeping busy at Sam’s, taking on carpentry work to fill the downtime.

That morning, his voice had been a low rasp over the phone, thick with an exhaustion that tugged at her heart. She’d tried to coax him into a real conversation, hoping to hear more than his clipped responses, but the demands of the mayor’s big project had stolen him away yet again.

Sighing, she ladled the rich, hearty stew into a tupperware, tucking in a chunk of freshly baked bread alongside it in a bag. Bucky deserved more than just quick meals scarfed down between tasks. He deserved to pause, breathe, and care for himself. If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Grabbing her coat and scarf, she bundled up against the cold December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, and the sight of the modest building came into view as she rounded a bend. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint buzz of saws and the rhythmic tap of hammers.

Inside, the workshop was a flurry of activity. The sawdust floated like golden confetti through the high windows and half-finished pieces of what looked like a massive table were scattered across the floor. Sam was barking orders from a workbench, his voice elevated over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, with a pencil tucked behind his ear, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, brushing against his face as he measured and marked a plank with laser-sharp focus.

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice jolted her from her reverie. He grinned, straightening and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Someone’s breaking the ‘no distractions’ rule.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at her name, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on her. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached in an unhurried but purposeful manner.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed his surprise.

“You sound so thrilled to see me,” she teased, holding up the bag. “I brought you lunch. Thought you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Sam let out a low whistle, winking at her. “That’s some first-class treatment, Barnes. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink as he shot Sam a warning look before turning his attention back to her. “You know is not necessary to do this,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the bag with appreciation.

“I wanted to.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she met his gaze. “You’ve been working so hard, Buck. Let me pamper you, even just for a little while.”

He exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his shoulders as he nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart” he murmured with a softer tone. He reached out, brushing a gloved thumb across her cheek in a brief but tender gesture.

She smiled, handing him the bag. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’ll keep Sam company while you take a break.”

Bucky hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “Stay,” he said simply, but with longing.

She felt something tugging at her chest, and she nodded. “Okay.”

He led her to a quieter corner of the workshop, where he perched on a workbench and pulled out the container. She watched as he took his first bite, closing his eyes briefly as the flavors hit his tongue.

“This is good,” he said after a moment, going for the bread.

She grinned. “Good enough to make up for barging in on your workday?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that faint, heart-stopping smile of his. “Better than good.”

As the noise of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a simple moment with the man she loved.

Bucky set the tupper down with a soft noise, brushing a thumb across his lips to catch any lingering traces of the stew. “Thanks, darling,” he said quietly but warmly.

“Always,” she replied, reaching out to straighten the collar of his flannel shirt. “You’ve got this, Buck. Just don’t forget to eat something other than coffee and frustration, okay?”

His lips twitched into that faint smile again, and he gave a small nod, brushing his fingers briefly over hers before she pulled away.

She was just gathering her things to leave when Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled over, with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Before you go,” he started, leaning casually against the nearest workbench, “I wanted to mention something. I’m hosting a little Christmas Eve get-together at my place. Just the crew and a few friends, nothing fancy. If you don’t already have plans, you’re more than welcome. Both of you.”

She paused, caught slightly off-guard but pleased by the offer since it was her first Christmas in the town. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, whose expression had shifted into something more guarded. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, with an unmistakable discomfort in his tone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking as he straightened. “That’s Buck-speak for ‘I’d rather wrestle a grizzly than go to a there.’ But hey, maybe you can change his mind.”

Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “We’ll think about it,” she said smoothly, subtly offering reassurance with a light touch to Bucky’s arm.

Sam chuckled, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know where I live if you decide to come.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said warmly, before turning to Bucky. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a slight nod.

As she headed for the door, Sam’s voice followed her, teasing but good-natured. “Don’t let him talk you out of it, we need some holiday spirit around here.”

She glanced back with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Outside, the cold air nipped at her cheeks as she climbed into her car, stealing one last look at the workshop. Her heart ached a little at the sight of Bucky already back at work, his shoulders squared and focus returning to the task at hand.

The evening stretched as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples after slogging through another chapter of the “gunslinger x damsel” novel. The sheriff’s daughter had just been kidnapped -again- and the hero’s smoldering intensity was only matched by his unrealistic ability to outshoot twenty bandits in the middle of a dust storm.

With a sigh, she saved her notes, muttering to herself, “Why is it always the sheriff’s daughter? Does anyone else in the town ever fall in love?”

Pushing her laptop aside, she grabbed her coffee and opened a shopping site on her phone. The homepage cheerfully proclaimed Winter Deals for the Holidays! in bold, glittering letters, and she clicked through out of idle curiosity. She scrolled past cozy knit blankets, sparkly ornaments, and slippers shaped like reindeer hooves, when something caught her eye.

It was hideous.

A sweater -no, the sweater- covered in garish Christmas patterns, complete with snowmen, reindeer, and lights embedded in a gaudy green tree. It was oversized, loud, and utterly atrocious.

She bit her lip, with a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Bucky in it. Her grumpy, reserved boyfriend, with his broad shoulders and no-nonsense attitude, dressed in something so absurdly festive. The mental image was enough to make her laugh, fogging the rim of her mug with her breath

It was their first Christmas together as a couple, and while she didn’t expect him to suddenly transform into the embodiment of holiday cheer, the thought of coaxing him into this sweater filled her with a mischievous kind of joy.

Her finger hovered over the “Add to Cart” button as she mulled it over. He’d resist, of course. He’d grumble, roll his eyes, maybe even cross his arms and give her that look that usually meant “not a chance.”

But then she thought about his small, reluctant smiles, the way his gruff exterior softened in private moments, and the way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, and her heart skipped with excitement as she leaned back against the cushions. Whatever resistance he threw her way, she’d make it work. After all, it wasn’t really about the sweater. It was about sharing this first Christmas, and maybe, helping Bucky feel like he belonged in this season of warmth and celebration.

As the confirmation email popped up on her screen, she whispered to herself, “This is going to be so good.”

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden light over the frosted edges of the forest as she pulled into the clearing. Bucky’s cabin stood nestled against the trees, with smoke curling lazily from the chimney, but her attention was immediately drawn to him.

Unsurprisingly, he was outside, splitting firewood in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and focus. Each swing of the axe cut clean through the logs, with the sharp crack of the wood echoing in the stillness. Steam left his mouth in warm puffs with every breath, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket -of course not- with the exertion keeping him warm. His fitted thermal shirt clung to his body, the fabric pressed across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms flexing with every motion.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before stepping out of the car, with a festively wrapped box tucked under her arm. The crunch of her boots on the snow caught his attention. He paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and planting it firmly in a stump before turning toward her.

His breath fogged the air as he walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans, with a hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as his arms circled her waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, slow and sure. When they broke apart, his brow quirked, his gaze flicking to the box in her hands. “What’s that?” his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“I brought you a present,” she announced, holding it up.

His brow arched higher, though a faint flush crept up his neck. “You didn’t have to bother.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Humor me.”

With a resigned huff, he tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth from the wood stove wrapped around her as they stepped in. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter as he folded his arms. “Let’s see it.”

She placed the box on the table, and her grin widened as she gestured for him to open it. “Go on”.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged at the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. The moment his eyes landed on the sweater, his expression shifted into a deadpan stare.

“No.”

She bit back a laugh, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

His gaze flicked from her to the offending garment, clenching his jaw. “Not happening.”

“Buckyyy,” she begged, stepping closer. “You’ll look so good in it at Sam’s party-“

“About that,” he interjected, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest.

She paused, tilting her head. “What about it?”

His lips pressed into a line as he glanced toward the window, avoiding her gaze. “We didn’t really talk about going,” he said carefully. “I’m not exactly... eager to be around that many people. You know how I am with crowds.”

Her gaze softened as she closed the distance between them, and her hands rested lightly on his folded arms. “Honey, I get it. I know it’s not your favorite thing, and you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it’s Sam’s party, and I think he’d really appreciate seeing you there, even just for a little while.”

He shifted uncomfortably, flicking his eyes to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over the faint stubble there as she smiled softly. “You’ll have me with you the whole time. And it’s not some big, formal thing, just a cozy night with friends. We don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

His eyes lingered on hers, weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll go. But only because of you are asking.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”

He huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fun, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. She stepped back, gesturing to the sweater still sitting on the table. “And everyone will love your sweater.”

His brow furrowed, and the faint flicker of warmth disappeared into another deadpan stare. “Not a chance.” he muttered.

“Just try it on!” she pleaded, laughing.

“Not. Happening.” he repeated, but his tone was less certain now as she stepped closer.

Undeterred, she smirked, leaning in, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’ll be the star of the evening.”

“That makes it worse,” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as her hands slid to his shoulders.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice soft and teasing as she kissed his jaw.

He let out a low groan, with his resolve clearly wavering, but he held his ground. “No.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Fine. Let’s try a different tactic.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his shirt and guided him backward, pinning him gently against the edge of the table. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his hands settling on her hips instinctively.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

She leaned in, brushing her lips on the shell of his ear as she whispered, with a low and sultry tone, “If you wear it for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The breath he exhaled was almost a growl, and his hands tightened on her hips as his head dipped forward, brushing his forehead to hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, curving her lips into a smug smile. “Life’s not fair, Jamie.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were filled with resigned heat. “Fine,” he grumbled, the word almost a sigh. “But you owe me.”

Her laugh was soft and triumphant as she kissed him again. “Deal.”

The sound of laughter and muffled music reached Bucky even before he opened the door. Sam’s house was alive with chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. He paused on the doorstep, squaring his shoulders, with his hand hesitating on the doorknob. He glanced down at the sweater -the ridiculous, awful sweater- and sighed deeply before stepping inside.

Warmth enveloped him immediately, the room was packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, clenching his jaw as he spotted her near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with one of Sam’s friends. He didn’t make it more than a step before Sam’s booming voice cut through the din.

“Barnes!” Sam’s grin could have lit up the entire house as he pushed through the crowd, his laughter already bubbling up. His gaze landed on the sweater, and that was all it took.

“Oh, man,” Sam crowed, slapping his knee in exaggerated delight. “I knew you were coming, but I wasn’t ready for this. That thing’s a masterpiece!”

The room erupted into laughter and good-natured teasing, a few people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s “holiday spirit.” Bucky’s ears burned as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression was a mix of resignation and discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low as his eyes darted around. “Get it outta your system, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “You’ve got to let me get a picture of this. No one’s gonna believe me otherwise.”

Bucky opened his mouth -likely to tell him exactly where he could shove his camera- when she turned at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Her gaze found him instantly, and her face lit up as she set down her drink and moved toward him.

“Buck,” she called softly, and her voice cut through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, and her eyes sparkled with amusement as they flicked over the sweater. “Look at you,” she teased, as she placed her hands lightly on his chest as if they were the only two people in the room. “You look so sexy in this.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes softened as he tilted his head toward her. “You’re the only one who thinks that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care, I think you’re perfect,” she murmured, leaning closer as her hands slid up to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

He followed her toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The weight of people’s stares and Sam’s lingering laughter faded as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand.

“See?” she teased as they stood near the fireplace. “Not so bad.”

He took a sip of the cider. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased, with her warmth drawing him out of his usual reserve. Then they talked with a few neighbors, her doing most of the chatting while Bucky offered the occasional quiet comment or nod. His hand never left her, though, whether resting lightly on her back or brushing her arm as he reached for his drink.

At one point, she leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured near his ear. “You’re doing great.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Doin’ this for you, darling. Not Sam’s damn party.” The faint blush dusting his cheeks made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. “I know. And I appreciate it. You’re amazing.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips before he exhaled a quiet sigh. His hand at her back gave a gentle squeeze, and his gaze softened as he studied her for a moment longer.

“Be right back,” he murmured, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her temple.

She watched him slip away, seeing his broad frame disappear in the hallway toward the bathroom, and couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on her face. Cradling her glass of cider, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the moment, the chatter, the laughter, the glow of the lights.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, low and smooth, cutting through the warmth of her thoughts.

She turned to find John Walker standing nearby, a charming smile playing on his lips, with a casual confidence that bordered on calculated. His eyes flicked to hers, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“John,” she greeted politely, offering a small smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “You’re usually busy keeping Barnes out of trouble, right?”

She chuckled lightly, quirking her brow. “He doesn’t need much keeping. He’s more than capable.”

“Sure,” John replied, though the grin tugging at his lips tightened just a fraction. His gaze flicked over her briefly. “But I bet it keeps you busy. Still, I gotta say, you brighten up the place tonight. Hard not to notice.”

She smiled politely, shifting her weight slightly. “It’s a lovely party,” she said, deflecting without missing a beat. “Sam always knows how to bring people together.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his focus remained squarely on her. “But some people stand out, you know? Like you. I mean, you’ve got this effortless way about you… easy to see why Barnes sticks so close.”

The compliment caught her off guard, and she laughed, more out of politeness than anything else. “Well, thank you, John. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Just honest,” he said smoothly. “Not every day someone like you walks into a room-”

Before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled at her side. Bucky’s arm slid firmly around her waist, his grip was possessive but subtle. His blue eyes locked on Walker, the barest flicker of annoyance crossing his expression as he took in the exchange. His tone, low and even, had a subtle edge.

“Walker,” he said simply, nodding in acknowledgment.

John straightened slightly, his charming smile faltering just enough to be noticeable before returning with a hint of stiffness. “Barnes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Didn’t realize you’d made it tonight.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said flatly, tightening his arm just a bit around her waist.

“Nice sweater.” The blonde complimented, with a tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, clenching his jaw as he prepared to fire back.

But before he could get a word out, she interjected smoothly “I know, right? I picked it myself.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Meanwhile, John’s grin faltered, and his eyes flicked between them as he tried to recover.

“Well,” he added after a beat, with forced cheer. “It’s definitely... festive.”

“Sure is,” Bucky responded dryly, his gaze never leaving John as his fingers flexed subtly against her waist.

The tension stretched for a moment before John cleared his throat, offering a polite nod. “Guess I’ll grab another drink. Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise,” she replied easily, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath Bucky’s stoic exterior as she turned to him with a soft smile.

Bucky waited until John had stepped away before letting out a quiet exhale, relaxing his grip just a little.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers over his arm.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his gaze lingered in the direction John had gone. His voice softened as his hand slid to the small of her back, “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bucky,” she murmured, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of her head. “I know.”

For the rest of the evening, they remained close, sharing conversations with the guests and exchanging subtle touches. His thumb would graze her wrist when she reached for her glass, or her hand would linger on his arm during a laugh. Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the room, with the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, curling her fingers into the coarse knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, furrowing his brows slightly as if to ask, Here?

“Yes, here,” she whispered, grinning as she tugged again.

With a low sigh that could have passed for reluctance -if not for the way his hand tightened at her back- he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The room erupted in whistles and cheers, Sam’s voice rising above the noise. “Look at you, Mr. Christmas! Ugly sweater and public display of affection? Who even are you right now?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot Sam an unimpressed look. “You done?”

Sam grinned, raising his glass in triumph. “Never.”

As the laughter subsided, Bucky turned back to her, his hand brushing against her cheek as he leaned close. “Later, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with promise. “I’m gonna make you pay for this sweater.”

Her cheeks warmed as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Actually...” she murmured with a hint of mischief. “I was planning to atone for it sooner than you think.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, searching her gaze with his. “What-”

Before he could finish, she tipped her glass just enough for a splash of cider to land squarely on his pants, soaking into the dark denim with unmistakable precision.

“Oh dear,” she gasped with exaggerated concern, as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky stiffened slightly, clenching his jaw as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, low and wary, “what are you-”

“Let me fix it!” she interrupted, grabbing his hand before he could protest. She tugged him gently but insistently toward the hallway, lacing her fingers with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, matching her quick steps with his long strides. He faintly intuited where this might be heading, but the thought didn’t fully land until they reached the bathroom door.

She pulled him inside with one smooth motion, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The lock turned with a finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked as he glanced between her and the door. “You really spilled cider on me just to get me in here?”

Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but innocent as she stepped closer, brushing her fingers on the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, in a sweet voice as her hands slid to his belt. “How could I resist?”

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His breath hitched as her fingers worked at the buckle, her deliberate slowness already driving him to the edge of reason.

“Darling...” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Her voice was a sultry murmur, “I told you I’d make it worth it.” She added, fanning her warm breath against his skin.

Her hands moved with deliberate intent, sliding down to his waistband. Bucky’s breath hitched as the sound of his zipper filled the tiny bathroom, and her fingers brushed against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, tilting his head back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped again, his voice low and strained. “We’re at a damn Christmas party... what if someone-”

She silenced him with a quick peck, curling her lips into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, teasing but unwavering.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, while his hands hesitated on her waist.

She knew what he meant, knew the vacillation behind the words. In all their time together, he had always shied away from this particular kind of intimacy. He’d muttered something once about feeling it was degrading for her, some outdated notion she’d tried to challenge more than once. But tonight, she wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t,” she agreed softly, as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath was hot against his pulse point, making his resolve fray with every passing second. “But I want to. And you know…” she murmured, punctuating her words with a kiss just below his ear, “that eventually, you always give up and agree to what I ask of you.”

His groan was low and guttural, and his hands tightened on her hips. “You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, and his voice was a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, and her teeth grazed his sensitive skin as she whispered, “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking his length with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him clinging to the last shreds of his control.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, as his head fell back against the wall.

Her triumphant smile was quick, giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, sliding her hands up his thighs as she looked up at him, locking her gaze with his. ”Now, let me thank you for being so brave, coming to the party, wearing the sweater... indulging me.” Her hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, and with deliberate care, she eased them down, freeing his aching cock. The cool air of the bathroom hit his heated skin, and he hissed softly, curling his fingers into fists at his sides.

“Jesus, darling,” he muttered, feeling his blush creeping past his collar, tinting his neck and ears. He was already hard, and the veins along his length stood out as his body betrayed his restraint.

She smiled, curving her lips with just a hint of mischief as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly to let him adjust to the intimacy. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” she murmured, brushing her thumb along the tip, spreading the bead of precum already glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, and his head fell back again against the wall with a low thud. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm against his skin. “I’m going to make you feel good.” She started slow, using her tongue to trace along the underside of his length, with one hand still pressed at his thigh, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

His hand came to her shoulder, not to guide her but to steady himself as his breaths turned ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

She took him deeper, stretching her lips around him as she sank down, swirling her tongue with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, a blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Relax,” she soothed, pulling back slightly to run her tongue along his tip before taking him in again. Her hands slid along his thighs, and her touch was grounding and gentle as she worked him with a rhythm that had him trembling.

“Shit,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his head tilted back again. His fingers flexed against her shoulder, and his free hand gripped the counter behind him as if he were afraid he might lose control entirely.

As the heat coiled tighter in his core, he exhaled sharply, “Open your blouse.”

She paused, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her bare skin beneath.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his eyes roamed over her.

She smiled again, brushing her fingers lightly over his thighs before leaning forward, and taking him back into her mouth. Her movements were more purposeful now, her tongue pressing in just the right spots, drawing out a chorus of curses and low, desperate groans from him.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pleasure building so quickly it left him dizzy. “Darlin’,” he choked out, pulling back slightly with a groan.

His hand slid to himself, with a firm grip as he stroked quickly, and the tension snapped with a guttural moan. Warm ropes of his release spilled over her breasts, painting her skin as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, his eyes met hers, and he let out a shaky laugh, the blush still high on his cheeks. “Gonna need more than a minute to recover from that,” he muttered, his voice thick but laced with awe.

Her lips curled into a sly smile, with her chest still rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we have time. Cider can be very tricky to clean.”

That earned her a soft, breathless chuckle. “Speaking of which,” he said, straightening as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief -because, of course he had one- and wet it under the stream of warm water from the sink. Turning back to her, he knelt slightly and gently dabbed at her skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, and his touch reverent as he cleaned her chest.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth, focusing his eyes on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her skin.

“You’re unbelievable,” he added softly, shaking his head as he continued. “Always finding ways to take care of me... and knock me on my ass in the process.”

She laughed softly, and her hand rested on his wrist, stilling his movements for a moment. “I’ll always take care of you, Buck. That’s what we do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the teasing energy between them morphed into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, brushing his thumb lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering a little more before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Standing, he folded the handkerchief and set it aside, offering her his hand to help her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back out there before Sam decides to come lookin’ for us.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, buttoning her blouse again as they prepared to slip back into the party.

The noise of conversations and laughter swallowed them up as if they’d never been gone. Bucky’s hand rested at her back, his touch was light but reassuring as they maneuvered through the room together. They stopped to chat with a few neighbors and some of Sam’s crew, and the warmth of the gathering lulled Bucky into an unusual state of ease. She noticed how he leaned into the conversation more, even throwing in the occasional dry comment that earned a laugh or two.

At one point, Sam passed by with another drink in hand, flicking his gaze to Bucky with an exaggerated look of appraisal. “Barnes, you’re still rockin’ that sweater. I think it’s startin’ to grow on me.”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Enjoy the view while it lasts, Wilson. This thing’s gettin’ torched tomorrow.”

“Not if I get a picture first,” Sam shot back, winking at her before moving on to talk with another guest.

She laughed softly, squeezing Bucky’s arm as she leaned close. “Look at you, doing so great.”

“Don’t push it.” he muttered, though the affection in his tone betrayed him.

The night carried on, and the crowd began to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm. She was mid-conversation with a neighbor when she felt it, that unmistakable sense of being watched. Her gaze flicked up, and there he was, standing near the door. When their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture was subtle but clear.

She excused herself with a polite smile, weaving through the remaining guests to meet him. His hand found hers as she approached, and the rough warmth of his fingers squeezed lightly before guiding her toward Sam, who stood by the doorway, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends.

“Sam,” she called softly, earning his attention as she offered a warm smile. “Thanks so much for inviting us. We had a wonderful time.”

Sam grinned, and his gaze was warm before it shifted to Bucky with a mischievous glint. “Always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he held up his phone, displaying a photo he’d clearly taken earlier in the evening.

The image showed Bucky mid-conversation, the atrocious sweater at full display as he stood with his arms crossed, looking far too good for such a ridiculous outfit.

“Buck, this one’s goin’ in the memory books,” Sam declared, laughing as he turned the screen for them to see.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his deadpan stare fixed on the photo “Delete it,” he said flatly.

Sam only laughed harder, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nope. I already sent it to the work chat.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh, slipping her hand into Bucky’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take it as a compliment,” she teased softly.

Bucky sighed, already steering her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered, with the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The cold night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and she instinctively leaned into him for warmth. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as their boots crunched against the snowy path.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” she said lightly, glancing up at him. “We should walk to my place instead of drive.”

Bucky huffed, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close as they started down the snowy path. “Guess we’re walkin’, then,” he said, with a dry tone. “Not like I needed my dignity tonight anyway. This damn sweater saw to that.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s exactly that bad,” he replied, but there was no real heat in his voice. His fingers splayed across the curve of her back as he spoke, before dipping further to give her ass a deliberate squeeze.

“Bucky!” she gasped, her eyes darting around to check the empty street, her face flushing hot against the winter chill.

“What?” he asked, his tone perfectly deadpan. “You made me wear the damn thing. Seems fair.”

She swatted lightly at his chest, and her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“Let ‘em,” he said simply, his voice was low and gravelly as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “I’m the socially awkward one, remember?”

A laugh bubbled out of her, the mix of his teasing and the warmth of his voice making her cheeks burn even hotter. She loved how he could be grumpy and endearing, awkward yet somehow confident, all wrapped in the absurd charm of an awful Christmas sweater.

The warmth of her house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, starkly contrasting the frosty night air they’d left behind. She slipped off her coat and hung it by the door, turning to see Bucky doing the same. His movements were unhurried, and his broad frame was still slightly stiff from the cold, but his eyes already warming as they met hers.

“Tea?” she asked, smiling softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

He nodded, following her with slow, deliberate steps. “Something warm sounds good.”

She moved through the space, setting the kettle on the stove before reaching for the cabinet overhead. Standing on her toes, she stretched to grab the box of apple-flavored tea tucked near the back.

Bucky watched her intently from where he leaned against the counter. The sight of her body arching as she tried to reach the tea was all the invitation he needed.

“Here,” he said, as he moved behind her.

She stilled as his hand reached past hers to grab the box, and his chest brushed against her back, pressing his body against hers just a moment longer than necessary. His warmth sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. When he handed her the tea, she turned slightly, offering a quiet, “Thanks.”

His gaze lingered on her, heavy and thoughtful, as his thumb reached out to trace her lower lip. The touch was featherlight. His eyes darkened, and his expression was unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks heated as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the moment they’d stolen away behind closed doors.

“Buck-” she started, but her words were lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and searching.

She sighed against him, resting her hands on his chest, feeling the coarse knit of the sweater. His lips moved gently at first, coaxing, before the kiss deepened, growing messy and heated as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly when his tongue brushed hers, trailing her fingers upward to tangle them on his long locks as the kiss grew more fervent. The kettle whistled faintly in the background, but neither of them moved to address it.

When they finally broke apart for air, her lips were swollen, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. His own breathing was ragged, and his chest rose and fell as his gaze dropped to her lips again, undecided, as though torn between kissing her once more or letting his hands venture where his mouth hadn’t yet dared.

“Tea can wait,” he murmured, his voice rough with want as his thumb brushed over her lips once more. Then, he kissed her again and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, setting her on the kitchen counter with effortless strength.

She gasped softly, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips as he positioned himself between them. Her hands trailed up his arms, skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low growl deep in his chest.

“You really like this ugly sweater, don’t you?” he asked, breathing warmly against her cheek.

She smirked, tilting her head to nip gently at his jawline, grazing the faint stubble. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his skin as she spoke. “I like the present wrapped inside it.”

It was all it took. The last thread of his control snapped like a frayed rope.

With a low growl, his hands moved to her blouse, and in one swift motion, he tore it open, sending flying buttons scattering across the wooden floor. His hands were on her instantly, rough and insistent, covering her breasts, squeezing and kneading as his lips sought hers again.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against her mouth, with rough and strained voice, “how patient I’ve been after your little performance at Sam’s? After what you did in the bathroom?”

“I was just trying to make up for the sweater,” she said breathlessly, curving her lips into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, sliding his hands to her back to unhook her bra. He pushed it aside, and his mouth descended to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, and his tongue traced lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, curling her fingers in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, grazing her with his teeth just enough to send sparks through her body.

“Bucky,” she breathed, tilting back her head as she moaned under his ministrations.

He didn’t stop until her skin was wet and tender, nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, with his lips glistening as he met her gaze with a wicked smirk.

One hand slipped to the waistband of her pants, tugging at the elastic as his other arm encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. With a quick motion, he rid her of the fabric, panties and all, and the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver.

He set her back on the counter, kissing her again, with one hand steadying her by the waist while the other reached out. She heard the faint clink of glass and broke the kiss just in time to see him holding a jar of plum jam he’d spotted earlier on the counter.

His smirk turned darker as he unscrewed the lid, locking his eyes intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks burned as the realization dawned, moving her hands to stop him. “Bucky-”

But he was faster. His fingers dipped into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the sticky preserve. Before she could protest again, he smeared it against her wet folds, and the cool sensation made her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, and her body twisted slightly.

His hands settled on her thighs, as he dropped to his knees in front of her, curving his lips into a smug smile. “Not for long,” he murmured. Before she could form another thought, his mouth was on her, the contrast between his warmth and the cool jam sent shockwaves through her pussy. His tongue moved deliberately, savoring every inch of her as he spread her thighs wider, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. His lips latched onto her clit without warning, and his tongue delivered a hard flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gasped sharply, jerking her body in response, trying to close her thighs instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, tightening his grip as he steadied her, with his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he glanced up at her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling.”

Before she could form a response, his tongue resumed its assault, alternating between firm flicks and languid strokes that left her trembling. Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as her head tipped back, with a mix of soft cries and breathless gasps spilling from her lips.

As her pleasure built in, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turning her breathing erratic.

“Perfect holiday dessert,” he murmured against her, his words were muffled but dripping with mischief as he picked up the pace lapping the last traces of jam on her heated skin.

She cried out, and her hands flew to his hair, clutching it as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice was high and shaky, and her body nearly unraveled under the relentless pressure.

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, as his tongue and fingers drove her closer to the edge with every precise movement. She could feel him groaning softly against her as if savoring her reactions just as much as her taste, and it pushed her closer to breaking.

“Bucky… Jamie, I-” she tried, but her words dissolved into a broken cry as her body tipped into release, her thighs quivering around him.

He didn’t stop, working her through every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, with his lips glistening, and an utterly satisfied smirk.

“Best tea pairing I’ve ever had,” he said amusedly, as he kissed the inside of her thigh and locked his gaze with hers before standing up.

Her body was still trembling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, and her breaths came in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, curling her fingers into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

“The kettle,” she said, a little breathless, with a mix of urgency and disbelief. “The water’s probably about to evaporate...”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, brushing her temple his lips before he reached out with one arm. Without even looking, he turned off the burner with a quick twist of the knob.

“Handled,” he murmured.

When he turned back to her, his other hand was already moving to unbuckle his belt, and the sound of the metal clinking made her stomach flip.

She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along his neck. Her lips trailed up to his jaw while her hands slid to the hem of his sweater, curling her fingers under the edge as she began to tug it upward.

Before she could get far, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists in a firm but gentle grip. “The sweater stays on,” he said, commanding but with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, with her voice caught between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said smirking as he leaned closer, holding her in place by her wrists. “You went through all this trouble to get me in this thing. Now you’re gonna enjoy the full experience.”

She felt her cheeks grow warmer as his hands slowly guided hers back to the counter, pinning them there for a moment as he kissed her. His lips were hot and demanding, leaving no doubt that the sweater wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s hands slowly released her wrists and shifted his focus back to his pants, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding the zipper down. He toed off his boots one by one, and the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the sound of their shared breaths. His pants followed, pooling at his feet as he straightened, towering over her.

Her hands found him instantly, sliding down to grip the firm curve of his buttocks through his boxers, and pulled him closer, tightening her thighs around his hips as her she urged him forward.

His clothed erection pressed against her heat, and she moaned softly into the kiss. Bucky hummed appreciatively, as his hips shifted slightly, grinding into her and catching the unmistakable warmth of her slick staining his boxers and the hem of the sweater.

“Darling” he muttered against her mouth, his voice thick with want. “You’re makin’ a mess of me.” His hands slid up her thighs, parting her legs farther, exposing every inch of her need to his gaze. His thumb pressed gently through the wetness, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. He sucked on it intently, as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Better than the jam,” he said, with a wicked smirk as the heat climbed up her cheeks.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, warm and heavy, the tip already glistening as it brushed against her wet pussy. The sensation made her gasp, and her body jerked slightly in response.

“Jesus, Bucky,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulders.

He grinned faintly. “Thought you liked the present inside the sweater,” he rasped, stroking himself once, slow and deliberate, flicking his blue eyes to hers.

He didn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping her hip and the other guiding himself, he pushed forward, and the slow stretch drew a soft cry from her lips. He groaned and his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he filled her, gripping her thighs to hold her steady.

Her hands flew to his back, and her nails dug lightly into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips. The movement urged him deeper, and he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust pulling a gasp from her lips as her head tilted back against the cabinet.

The force of his thrusts escalated quickly, and one of her hands slid from his back to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands as she gave a firm tug.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and his rhythm faltered for half a second before he picked up the pace, snapping his hips forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, and the shift in position drove him deeper. His hands adjusted instinctively, one sliding beneath her leg to lift it from behind her knee, angling her hips just enough to hit a spot that made her cry out.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to accommodate herself, scrambling for the counter’s edge. But it was no use. The force of his thrusts rocked her body, the roughness of his movements leaving her breathless and teetering on the brink.

“Hold on, darling,” he murmured, though there was nothing gentle in his tone now, only raw, unrestrained need.

His other hand left her hip, moving to cradle the back of her head. His palm pressed firmly, steadying her against him to keep her from hitting the cabinet as his thrusts became punishing, each one hitting deeper, harder.

Her nails raked down his back, clutching desperately as his cock drove into her, and the sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the kitchen. The angle, the strength behind each thrust, the way his grip held her in place, it was too much, and yet not enough all at once.

And then, something shifted. The coarse fabric of his sweater pressed against her clit with every hard thrust, and the friction sent a jolt of pleasure that left her gasping. Her eyes flew open as a new, dizzying layer was added to the spiral of pleasure inside her. “Don’t stop… oh God, don’t stop!”

He growled low in his throat, tightening his grip on her as his movements became sharper. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his lips brushing her ear. “Show me how good it feels. Come all over my cock.”

She complied with a loud cry, dragging her nails down his back again, and her thighs trembled as she mewled his name, in a breathless and broken voice.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush spilled out between them, mingling with her slick as he pumped into her a few more times, chasing the last shreds of his pleasure.

He held her steady for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their uneven breaths. As the haze of his climax began to fade, he pulled back slightly to look at her, with dark and heavy-lidded eyes. A smirk tugged at his lips as he became aware of the mess coating her thighs, the counter, and the sweater's hem.

“Guess is even uglier now,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, with a flicker of satisfaction.

She bit her lip, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips as she slid her hands up his neck. Her fingers brush against his stubbled jaw before cradling his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile growing as her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “But you look sexier.”

A scoff escaped his mouth, quiet and incredulous. The flush that had crept up his neck during their encounter flared again, coloring his cheeks and ears as his gaze darted away. When his eyes returned to hers, they carried a mix of awkwardness and disbelief.

“I think you’re the one who drank plenty at the party,” he mumbled, the boldness of just moments ago slipping away as his usual reserve crept back in.

She smiled, unfazed by his deflection, and leaned in to pepper light kisses across his face. First his temple, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering with quiet affection.

“Bucky,” she murmured, trailing her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re everything I want.”

He sighed deeply, as if her words had pulled something loose inside him. His hands slid from her waist, brushing her bare thighs as they fell to his sides. “We should... clean this up,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of shyness and practical retreat.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she pulled back slightly, holding his gaze. “Alright,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck and letting him lift her gently off the counter. Her feet hit the floor, but her hands lingered on his shoulders. “But I’m still going to call you sexy.”

He groaned, and the flush crept back to his ears as he glanced away, shaking his head slightly.

She leaned up to press one more kiss to his jaw before stepping away to grab a towel. “Now, let’s see if your sweater survives this mess.”

“Sadly, I don’t think it will,” he replied dryly, as the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk. “We’ll have to put it down. Mercy killing.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she dabbed at the counter with the towel. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s worse,” he shot back, and his smirk widened. “Now I’ve got another reason to torch it.”

Her laugh grew louder as she glanced back at him, and her heart skipped at the sight of the teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you made me wear that” he countered, stepping closer to pluck the towel from her hands. “Guess that makes you just as bad. Maybe next year I’ll buy one for you too, so we can share the suffering.”

She froze for a beat, then quirked a brow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “Oh, look at you, already planning matching sweaters. You’re such a sweetie,” she cooed with mock sweetness as she looped her arms around his neck.

“That wasn’t the point of-” he started, his ears burning red as he stumbled over his defense.

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a grin. “You know, I already like the idea.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back slightly. “God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in his flustered expression. “You’re adorable when you’re cornered.”

“Maybe in a year,” he grumbled, pulling her closer despite his groaning, “you’ll forget this conversation, and I can go back to non-blinding, low profile shirts.”

“Not a chance,” she quipped, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “Now, where’s that towel, matching sweater boy? We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, while he settled his hands on her hips. “You’re lucky you make all that misery worth it.”

She laughed softly, grabbing the towel and bending to wipe at the counter while he watched her, with his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk as he picked up a stray button from her torn blouse that had fallen to the floor. “We really made a mess this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She glanced over her shoulder, curving her lips into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, tossing the towel into the sink. “I think it turned out just fine.”

He chuckled, standing straighter as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her body fit against his perfectly, and her head rested on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, and the flakes swirled lazily in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

“Merry Christmas, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips at the top of her head.

She tilted her head up, tracing her fingers along his jawline, in a soft path as she gazed up at him. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,”

Ps: Reader gets a present too, in another fic I'm working on 😉

dividers by: @/saradika

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

1K notes · View notes

bbywriter · 1 month ago

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between us | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: you and chris go meet matt's newborn baby

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: none just fluff<33

notes: i really need to be studying but i just haaad to write this first

word count: 1k

—

The hospital room is still. A steady rhythm beeps quietly from one of the machines, interrupted only by the hushed conversations between Matt and his girlfriend. The morning sunrise filters gently through the curtains. It outlines the couple sitting on the bed with golden rays, completely wrapping them in their new little world.

Exhaustion is heavy in Matt’s features, but it’s soothed by something peaceful and soft. His girlfriend leans against him, her eyes half-lidded with a tired but content smile on her lips. And in his arms, held with the utmost care, is a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a blanket, barely stirring except for the occasional sleepy wiggle.

Chris hasn’t taken his eyes off the baby since you walked in.

He’s been up all night, eagerly waiting since Matt texted at the early hours of 2am that ‘we’re in labour!!!!!’ to get the okay to come visit. But now that you’re actually here, he’s gone completely still beside you. Hands fidgeting at his sides, his earlier excitement is now replaced by quiet admiration.

Matt glances up, sending his brother a knowing grin. “You wanna hold her?”

The question pulls Chris from his thoughts and he hesitates, his gaze flickering to you for some sort of reassurance. You place a hand on the small of his back and nod, offering an encouraging smile. “Yeah, baby, go hold her.”

He looks back at his brother and lets out a shaky exhale before stepping forward. He carefully stretches out his arms, his usual confidence softened by a new uncertainty as Matt gently transfers her into his hold. For a second, Chris stands completely frozen, holding his breath. He’s afraid to move too fast or do something wrong.

But then as the baby lets out the softest little sigh and nestles further into his chest, his heart becomes hers.

“She’s so small,” Chris whispers. His voice is barely audible as he glances at his brother, and with a smile, Matt gives him a reassuring nod. Chris shifts naturally, adjusting his hold, his fingers tracing light, absentminded circles over the baby’s back. You can see the way his throat bobs and his lips part as if he wants to say something else, but no words come out. His eyes glaze over just slightly, and when he lets out a breathy laugh, your chest tightens.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

He's always been loving—caring in ways that go unnoticed, selfless and gentle towards everyone around him. But the pure adoration in his eyes as he stares at his niece is entirely different. It’s deeper and more profound and it stirs a warm feeling in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment.

Matt slings an arm around Chris’s shoulders, pulling him in as they watch the baby together. For a moment, neither of them speaks, just taking in the surreal moment.

Chris shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re a dad.” His voice is full of disbelief, still trying to process his brother’s new title.

Matt chuckles, his gaze never leaving his daughter. “I know, dude, it’s insane.”

Just then, like she knows they’re talking about her, the baby stirs in her swaddle, her tiny fingers twitching as she shifts against the blanket. She cranes her neck ever so slightly before letting out a slow, sleepy yawn, her little mouth opening wide, her nose scrunching just a bit. The sight is almost too precious, and their reaction is immediate. An identical “aww” slips from their lips in perfect unison.

Chris leans in slightly, studying her sweet features. “You literally do that too with your nose when you yawn.” He smiles at the realization.

“Isn’t it so cute?” Matt replies genuinely, his voice laced with pride and awe at his baby’s simple existence.

But Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Only when she does it.”

Matt scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. He doesn’t argue, but giggles softly instead. Chris is already grinning as well when his own laughter bubbles up. And just like that, the’ve fallen into the fit of giggles that’s been second nature to them since they were also babies.

You watch them closely, and suddenly, your own eyes fill with tears. Their triplet bond has always been something you’ve deeply admired. And now, with this tiny new life between them, you can see it’s only growing impossibly stronger.

“___, do you wanna hold her?” Matt’s girlfriend asks, her voice gentle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

All eyes shift to you, and when Chris’s gaze meets yours, a soft smile spreads across his face. His eyes flicker with understanding as he notices the tears welling up in yours. You let out a quiet laugh, feeling a little embarrassed by the surge of your emotions, and quickly wipe at your eyes. You nod with a smile, and he gently places the baby into your hold.

The moment her weight settles into your arms, cradled gently between you and Chris, it feels as though you two have also slipped into your own little world.

Without a word, he steps behind you and gently rests his chin on your shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist. His body presses against yours, warm and solid, the closeness both grounding and instinctive, like he needs to be close—to share this moment with you.

You glance up at him, expecting to find him still focused on the baby. But his eyes are on you instead, so full of quiet devotion, full of love, and it pulls the air straight from your lungs.

In the softest voice, just loud enough for you to hear, he whispers, “I can’t wait ‘til we have our own.”

Your heart stutters, unsure if you heard him right. You turn toward him, searching his face, but he’s already looking at you like he means it with every fiber of his being. The words urge a new wave of tears to fill your eyes, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. You glance back down at the baby in your arms, swaying slightly like it’s second nature. “Me neither.”

Chris tightens his hold around your waist, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. And although in this moment you don’t know exactly what the future holds, it’s clear and without doubt that when the time comes, Chris is going to be the best dad.

—

a/n: thank you always for reading<3 ily guys<3 so much<3

#bbywriter ✍️#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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stylesonfilms · 2 months ago

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drippin' down your body like gold [h.s]

word count: 7.1k

when harry performs in lisbon, he gets an idea to chug a beer on stage. what he doesn't know, is that the sight of his chest dripping makes you feral.

or the one that is based off a post long ago made by @hesbunnies!

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, blowjobs, fingering, daddy kink, slight possessiveness, dressing room smut, concert smut! 18+ only.

Your fingers glided over the sequins of his suit, the fabric shifting beneath your touch like liquid light, catching and reflecting the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs. Each stroke sent a mesmerizing ripple across the dark material, a shimmer of silver and blue dancing under your fingertips. Your gaze trailed downward, drinking in the expanse of his exposed chest, where inked stories curled over golden skin, each tattoo etched into him like constellations against a dusky sky. The faint scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, laced with something subtly sweet—mingled with the lingering notes of hairspray and fresh linen from his suit.

“Good luck,” you exhaled, the words floating between you like a prayer, your voice tinged with adoration as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded against your ribs, swelling with something indescribable, eyes glossy with admiration. His responding chuckle was low, honeyed, and melted into the grin that spread across his face—dimples deep, eyes twinkling. His large, calloused hands rose to cup your jaw, warm and steady, thumbs brushing tenderly over your skin. Though he towered over you, nearly a foot taller, he always lowered himself to meet you, his lips finding yours with effortless devotion.

One kiss. Another. Then a longer one, deep and unhurried, the soft pressure igniting a heat in your chest. His lips were plush, intoxicating, leaving behind a warmth that lingered long after he pulled away. His hands dropped, curling around yours, anchoring you against the rapid heartbeat beneath his chest.

“Styles, two minutes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Beyond the dressing room walls, the world pulsed with electric anticipation. The steady thrum of stomping feet vibrated through the floors, a bassline of excitement shaking the very air around you. Cheers and whistles spiraled through the venue, blending into a symphony of pure, unfiltered devotion. The scent of fog machines and stage lights filtered in, mingling with the adrenaline buzzing through your veins.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fondness as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then brought your bundled hands to his lips, the heat of his breath spreading across your skin. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity in his touch.

“See you out there?”

You beamed up at him, eyes glimmering. “You know it. Now go, go!”

With a parting squeeze of your hands, he turned, broad shoulders disappearing through the door. His jog down the long corridor was brisk, purposeful, the last glimpse of his silhouette swallowed by the glowing stage lights as he vanished beneath the arena.

The moment Harry disappeared down the hallway, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still fluttering from the warmth of his lips on your skin. But there was no time to linger in the feeling—he was about to step onto the stage, and you needed to get to your spot.

Slipping out of the dressing room, you navigated through the backstage halls, passing crew members who moved with practiced efficiency. The faint hum of in-ear monitors crackled through radio headsets, and the distant strumming of the band tuning up leaked through the heavy walls. With familiar ease, you found the staircase leading up to the private balcony, a space reserved for family and special guests—a safe haven away from the packed, pulsating crowd below.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the stadium came into full view, and the sheer magnitude of it stole your breath. Lisbon’s fans were nothing short of electric. The entire arena was alive—thousands of bodies swayed, neon signs flickered, and confetti cannons stood at the ready. The stomping of feet vibrated through the air, the deafening roar of the crowd swelling in waves as anticipation thickened.

And then, the lights dropped.

A collective scream pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as the screen flashed his silhouette. The opening beat of his first song thundered through the speakers, and in an instant, Harry was launched onto the stage, his presence igniting the entire stadium like a bolt of lightning.

He moved effortlessly, energy radiating off him in golden bursts. His sequined suit glittered beneath the beams of colored lights, reflecting off his skin as he jumped, spun, and threw his arms up to hype the crowd. He belted out the first lines of the song, and the audience erupted, their voices merging with his in a harmony of pure devotion.

From your balcony, you watched, utterly mesmerized.

His voice was strong, unwavering, carrying through the vast space as if each note was stitched directly into the hearts of every person in attendance. He laughed between verses, flashing that devastatingly charming grin, occasionally reaching down to clasp the hands of fans pressed against the barricades.

Midway through a song, his eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a brightly colored sign that bounced excitedly in the air. Squinting, he leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Then, in between lyrics, he burst into laughter.

“Oh, hold on—what does that say?” he asked, pointing toward the sign, signaling for the camera to zoom in so the whole stadium could see.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there it was: a massive sign scrawled in bold, glittery letters—

“HARRY, MY BOYFRIEND SAYS HE’LL PROPOSE IF YOU GIVE ME A THUMBS UP!!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbled back dramatically. The band kept playing, but he milked the moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, this is serious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I mean… the pressure is on, innit?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers.

“Alright, alright. We need to do this properly,” he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage. “What’s his name?”

The girl in the crowd shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos.

Harry cupped his ear. “Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing—are we calling him Tom? He looks like a Tom, yeah?”

The camera quickly panned to the guy standing beside her, his face burning red as he hid behind his hands.

“Oh, it is Tom!” Harry cackled. “Tom, mate, you’re in deep now. You’ve got about… five thousand witnesses expecting a ring soon.”

The crowd went wild, chanting “TOM! TOM! TOM!” as Harry finally lifted his hand and gave the biggest, most exaggerated thumbs-up imaginable.

“There you go, Tom. It’s out of my hands now, mate. Best of luck!”

He winked at the camera before launching back into the chorus, the moment immortalized in the hearts of everyone watching.

From the balcony, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. He had always had that magic—the ability to make a stadium feel like a living room, to make each person feel like they were the only one in the crowd.

And as you watched him move, effortless and free, you couldn’t help but feel it all over again.

That warm, unshakable feeling that he was yours.

From the balcony, you swayed to the music, singing along, your voice drowned out by the thousands of others filling the stadium. The energy in the air was intoxicating, a tangible force that pulsed through the crowd, through you. Every time Harry twirled across the stage, every playful grin he threw into the audience, every time he leaned into the mic and let his voice soar, pride swelled so fiercely in your chest that it almost hurt.

He was magic.

Your eyes followed him as he bounced from one side of the stage to the other, engaging with the fans, twirling his microphone, pointing to signs, blowing kisses. He was in his element—electric, untouchable, radiating nothing but joy.

Then, the song faded into a bridge, and he took the brief moment to jog over to the back of the stage, grabbing his black bottle for a quick sip of water. He tilted his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before lowering the bottle and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

But just as he turned back to the crowd, a security guard approached the edge of the stage, holding out two plastic cups of beer.

You sat up straighter, watching as Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. A slow smirk curled his lips before he took a knee near the stage’s edge, reaching out to accept one of the cups. The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the foundation of the stadium as he stood, beer in hand.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he took two large gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The excess liquid spilled over, streaming down the corners of his mouth, tracing a slow, golden path down his chin and onto his bare chest. The sight did something to you—your stomach clenched, heat coiling low in your body as you watched, mesmerized. His skin glistened under the stage lights, damp with sweat and now streaked with droplets of beer, a sinful sheen against the inked canvas of his body.

Then, with a final gulp, he pulled the cup away, grinning devilishly before tilting his head back slightly. You knew what was coming before it even happened.

With perfect precision, he pursed his lips and spat the remaining beer into the air, misting it above him in a sparkling, golden arc—his signature ‘whale.’

The audience lost it. The screams were deafening, fists pumping, cameras flashing, the entire stadium roaring in approval.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing, pulse hammering, unable to tear your gaze away from the sheer presence of him. He was completely in his element—wild, unrestrained, effortlessly captivating. The neon stage lights flickered in shifting hues of gold and blue, catching on the dampness of his skin, highlighting the defined planes of his chest where the beer had trickled down moments before.

Your breath hitched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the remnants of the stunt. His dimples popped, eyes alight with something wicked, something playful. He licked his lips, whether to rid himself of the lingering taste or just to tease the crowd, you didn’t know—but either way, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” he laughed into the mic, voice slightly hoarse from singing, but no less charming. The crowd’s response was deafening, a sea of voices screaming in admiration, chanting his name, some in thick Portuguese accents that made his smile widen.

You found yourself laughing softly, shaking your head in both amusement and sheer disbelief. God, you loved him.

As he turned to move back across the stage, his gaze flickered toward the balcony—the private guest area you were in.

His eyes found yours instantly. And for a split second, despite the thousands of people around him, despite the chaos, the music, the flashing lights, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

His smirk deepened, something knowing and burning behind his gaze, and he lifted the beer cup in your direction, sending you a subtle wink before tossing it carelessly to the side and diving straight into the next song.

Your heart plummeted. Plummeted so far you could feel a heartbeat between your thighs as your panties remained soaked just from watching the scene unfold.

Gripping the railing even tighter, you bit your lip, feeling everything all at once—love, pride, amusement, and an undeniable heat curling deep within you. Oh, you were so in trouble.

The moment the final notes rang out and Harry took his last bow, you were already on the move. The stadium lights dimmed as the crowd's roaring applause echoed behind you, but your sole focus was on getting back to him—on being the first person he saw after stepping off that stage.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you hurried through the dimly lit backstage corridors, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The distant cheers from fans still pulsed through the walls, mixing with the hurried chatter of crew members and the occasional bursts of laughter from passing bandmates. But none of it mattered.

Because the only thing on your mind was him.

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, your body tense with anticipation, wound tight from watching him move the way he did. The way his body swayed and pulsed to the rhythm, how he played with the audience, how he laughed and winked and commanded the entire stadium like it was his playground. The sweat glistening on his golden skin, the way his shirt clung to his damp chest, the audacity of him drinking that beer with such effortless sensuality—it had all set your body ablaze.

By the time you pushed through the door to his dressing room, your breathing was shallow, and your fingers trembled with the need to touch. The space was dimly lit, the air still carrying remnants of his cologne, the warmth from the performance lingering as if the very walls had absorbed the night’s electricity. You paced the floor, your boots barely making a sound over the plush carpet, each passing second stretching unbearably.

Then—footsteps. Heavy, hurried.

The door swung open, and before you could even think, you were moving.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal, and he caught you effortlessly, strong arms locking around your waist like it was second nature. Your legs wrapped around his torso, the firm press of his hands digging into your thighs as he held you up, and you wasted no time—your lips immediately peppering kisses all over his flushed face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose—anywhere you could reach.

"You were incredible!" you gasped between kisses, feeling the warmth of his laughter vibrate against your lips. "You owned that stage, Harry—God!"

His chuckle was breathless, deep, still high on adrenaline. "That good, huh?"

"That good," you confirmed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to take him in—the damp curls sticking to his forehead, the glow of his skin, the way his eyes burned with something dark, something wanting.

Then, you kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that left no room for teasing, no room for patience. You pressed yourself into him, your fingers tangling into his damp curls, tugging him closer as his mouth opened beneath yours, eager and hungry. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that made your head spin, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

The sticky remnants of beer and sweat clung between you, his chest still damp, hot beneath your palms as they roamed, exploring, claiming. Your sequined top shimmered under the dressing room light, catching against the heat of his skin, the contrast of rough and soft making him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the sound barely audible between fevered kisses, his hands shifting to your ass, kneading, gripping. "This what had you running back here so fast?"

You whimpered against his lips, rolling your hips instinctively, needing more, needing him.

"You have no idea what you did to me out there," you admitted, voice breathless, lips grazing along the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. "The beer—the sweat—Harry..."

He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, head tipping back slightly as your lips trailed down his throat. "Mm. So you liked that, then?"

"Liked it?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers dragging down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "It ruined me."

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "That so?"

Before you could answer, he was moving. Turning with you in his arms, his pace quick and determined as he pressed you up against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched as your back met the cool surface, your thighs tightening around his waist, your skirt riding up even further.

Harry’s lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath warm against your mouth. "Tell me, love," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement but laced with hunger. "What exactly did I do that got you so worked up?"

You let out a soft whine from the back of your throat, the tone of his voice shooting straight to your core. “You know what you did,” you huffed.

The man had only chuckled in amusement as his fingers readjusted their hold on your thighs, squeezing into the plush flesh. “I believe I told you to tell me, Y/N.”

Your hands found the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through as you puffed out another breath. God, he smelled so good. His cologne still lingered, mixed with the tart scent of beer and sweat. You drew in a deep breath, feeling your back press firm against the wall as he shifted.

“The beer…,” you murmured, eyes scanning over the features of his face. Deep green eyes, perfect red lips.

“What about the beer, hm?”

You swallowed. “The… the way you drank it. How it spilt down your chin, your chest..” Your words trailed off as a hand left your boyfriend’s shoulder to slide over the firm curve of his chest, your thumb brushing down his sternum.

You rolled your hips down to meet him and whined softly. The black mini skirt you wore hitched up over your thighs, bunching up just below your hips. Harry’s lips found yours in a flash. The groan he let out was quickly swallowed in your mouth and you couldn’t help but feel content. Feeling his bulge pressed up against you sent a thrill up your spine to know he felt this way, right now, too. That he needed you as much as you needed him.

Harry's kiss was all-consuming, his lips pressing firmly against yours, demanding more as his hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs. The heat between you two was palpable, thickening the air in the dressing room, mingling with the remnants of his cologne, sweat, and beer. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, pulling just enough to elicit a low growl from his throat, the vibration traveling straight through your body.

His grip tightened on your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall, your chest molding against his as his vest gaped open, the sequins glimmering under the dim dressing room lights. The slight stickiness of his skin from the sweat and beer sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the intoxicating mixture of sensations.

His mouth left yours just long enough to ghost down the side of your jaw, lips brushing featherlight over your pulse before he licked a slow, deliberate path along the sensitive skin. The wet heat of his tongue, contrasted by the scrape of his stubble, sent a warm ache pooling in your lower stomach.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice husky, words fanning against your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, palms gliding over the bare expanse of your thighs before they gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, your hips instinctively rolling against his, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing along your nerve endings. He groaned at the movement, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment as his fingers flexed into your skin, grounding himself.

"You drive me mad, darling," he rasped, before tilting his head back up, his darkened green eyes locking onto yours. The hunger in them made your breath hitch.

"Standing there in the balcony, looking like that. Wearing this—" his fingers tugged teasingly at the hem of your sparkly top, his knuckles grazing your stomach "—knowing I couldn’t touch you. And then you look at me like that when I’m on stage?"

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as your hands smoothed down his chest, nails trailing lightly over his heated skin. "Couldn't help myself," you whispered.

"You looked so good, so in your element. The way you moved, how you drank that beer…" Your words trailed off as you slid your palms lower, fingers grazing over the faint definition of his abs.

Harry’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing uneven. He let out a shaky chuckle, his lips quirking up in a smirk even as his jaw clenched with restraint. “That did something to you, huh?”

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. His skin tasted of salt and something uniquely him, a flavor you could never tire of.

Your lips traveled downward, slow and deliberate, as your hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips pressing just enough to feel the taut muscles beneath.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as you let your tongue flick out against his sternum, tasting the remnants of the beer that had trickled down earlier. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, your expression coy as you dragged a slow, flat tongue down the center of his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your thighs before they slid further under your skirt, his grip possessive. “Fuck, love,” he exhaled, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, the green almost swallowed by blown-out pupils.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head, not to stop you, but to feel you, to remind himself that this was real.

As you slowly sank to your knees before him, his grip tightened in your hair, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. Your fingers smoothed over the front of his sequined vest, pushing it further apart, exposing more of the golden skin that shimmered under the dressing room lights.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire, his thumb tracing over your cheek before resting against your bottom lip. His eyes darkened as you let out a soft hum, hands sliding up his sparkly trousers to slip your fingers inside the band of his pants.

Your fingers slid inward under they worked the clasp undone, the sound of Harry’s zipper filling the air. Harry pressed his hands flat against the wall that held you between him and the surface while his green eyes pierced a look of need through you.

You let out a small, innocent giggle before tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers curling around the inside of his briefs and the outside of his slacks as she tugged both the materials down his toned legs.

The tattoos he had on his thighs were canvassed beautifully on his toned, tan legs. The tiger taunted her from its hold on his skin, a reminder from all the times she spent with her pussy attached to it. Your eyes, doe and tainted with something teasing, looked up at him as his cock sprang to life and slapped onto his lower abdomen. You giggled once more to yourself at the blissful sight.

Harry’s cock was big. Thick and wonderfully above the average that it took four sessions to fully get him inside of you. And the sex you two had that day? The bedroom was wrecked. You couldn’t stop begging for his ‘big, thick cock’ to rip you open, eyes rolling back at the feeling (finally) of his balls slapping against your clit with each giving thrust as you were bent over for him.

His tip was a roaring red, deep in color and a thick swole at the base of his tip. A cooler tone of that same color painted the rest of his dick. Your fingers fluttered down his toned thighs, your eyes too busy being wrapped around his beautiful cock to notice his stare. But you felt it.

After a few mutters of complaint from Harry from your featherlight teases, your dainty hand finally wrapped around the base of your cock. He was warm. Heavy in your hand as your thumb slipped along the underside of his cock to raise it to your lips. Your lips puckered and gave kitten-like kisses and licks from his fierce burnt tip down to his tightening balls.

“Baby, c’mon…” Harry spoke. His voice was tainted with rough edges, holding off using anything above a whisper since he had last spoken. The hand that remained in your hair carded through the soft locks, his nails slightly dragging along your scalp so he could get a soft hum from you when you tilted your head back.

You were under his control, the palms of his very hands. Anything he gave to you, you took like his good girl. “Good girl,” Harry then muttered as if on cue, fond but lust-filled eyes circling your face of content. His touch was always so welcoming, so soothing and it hit every right spot.

When you felt Harry’s hand tighten in your hair to form a proper grip, that's when your tongue gave a flat lick up the underside of his cock. You held his shaft upright, your eyes locked on his heavy green ones as your wet tongue glided over the vein and swirled around his tip.

When it came to sucking your boyfriend off, you got to work. It was pure bliss for you. You shifted on your knees and felt the wet squelch between your thighs. You were a soaking mess for him and had been since he got on that stage.

Lips engulfed around his cock, your jaw slacked as you pushed him further down. Once about halfway, you pulled up to wrap your hand around him, delivering strokes to his dick as your eyes scanned his face. Harry never really cared for head before. It was pish-posh to him, it wasn’t something he needed or wanted deeply with a woman.

But when you came along? When you took his cock so far down your throat that you both couldn’t breathe? Harry was whipped. He always voiced how lucky he was to have you on your knees for him, and you thrived on it. You thrived on being the only one he needed.

Your tongue found its place back over his tip, cradling the head of his shaft as your tongue swirled gracefully around. Harry’s brows were furrowed in pleasure, his plump lips wet with his spit from all the times he had licked over them.

“Y/n—”.

Your mouth fully engulfed him before another word left his lips. His dick was heavy on your tongue as it slid further back, hitting the back of your throat. His cock curved to slip down your throat and you moaned, the tip of your nose hitting the patch of hair Harry had kept.

With a deep inhale through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut. His musk mixed with his cologne made you let out a moan around him. He smelled so damn good.

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, pinching his brows together as he felt the way your throat molded to his cock with tight ease.

You continued to bob your head, tongue pressing along the vein on the underside of his cock while your hand worked the half that you didn’t take. Your eyes fluttered back up to him.

“Shit, baby,” The man moaned, shaking his head as his eyes shut in pleasure. His jaw was slack, you could tell by the way he tried to clench his teeth. His curls fell across his forehead and the hand at the back of your head encouraged you.

Removing your hand, your throat opened back up for Harry’s cock as he pushed your head further down. His hips stuttered slightly as a gasping moan left his mouth, jaw now completely slack as the tip of his cock felt your warm, fluttering throat.

Harry’s grip on your hair was firm as he yanked you off, pulling his hips back with a gasp. You let out a whine as your lips formed a pout.

“Fucking hell, Y/n,” The man licked his lips with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Harry’s hand left your hair to card through his and push curls back, hissing slightly as you kissed and licked along his tip.

He was so wrong to deprive you of his cock in your mouth. You just loved it so much. Who wouldn't? Especially when it came to Harry.

“You… fuck,” He hummed low, eyes closing and head tipping back as your hand cradled his balls and began slow massaging motions. Your tongue slipped between the slit at his tip and under the crown of his dick along with your motions. And just when you think you had him again…

Harry had to pull himself together, snapping his eyes open as he straightened back up. “No,” He hissed, yanking your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. Your lips were glossed with spit, eyes the same from the pressure in your throat, though a huff passed your lips.

“If you keep doing that, ‘M going to cum. And the only place I want to cum right now,” He grunted, a hand wrapping around your arm to lightly pull you up. As you rose to your feet, you kept your doe eyes on check.

His green eyes scanned your features for a moment before he cursed under his breath, continuing what he was saying. “Is inside ‘f you. Understood?”

You nodded and bit back a smile as your thighs clenched. Fuck, please? “Yes sir.”

With that, Harry turned you around in a sharp motion, turning you both. Harry walked you both towards the leather sofa in the middle of the dressing room, his hand landing flat on your back as he gave you an encouraging push.

Your knees hit the leather seat before your hands hit the back, fingers curling around the ledge as you felt your boyfriend press up behind you.

You loved it when he was like this. The manhandling, the telling you what to do. It drove you crazy. Your pussy pulsed between your clenched thighs. You needed him, his thick cock pounding you, bad.

Harry’s large hands landed on the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed his cock up against you over the material of your skirt. “Tell me, sugar,” his hands danced their way to your skirt’s hem around your hips and yanked them down to your thighs in one, swift motion. “You’re so wet.”

“Why?” You could feel Harry’s long fingers graze the inside of your thighs, feathering over where you needed them the most.

You swallowed, arching your back down against the sofa as you turned back to look at him. “You.”

Harry ‘tsk’ed, his green eyes looking up to meet yours as his pointer and middle finger slid between your folds. Thick and silky, wet and warm. You coated his fingers like your life depended on it. “Give me better than that, Peach.”

Peach. He tossed that nickname one random summer when you two went down to help your grandparents on their farm in Georgia. He held you on his shoulders almost the whole way until he collapsed (he says from the sun, you say it was from the two buckets of peaches in his hands) under a shady tree. You two spent the rest of the evening out there soaking in Georgia heat and feeding each other fruit until the sun went down. He carried you all the way back.

“Your cock,” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers. “I love having your cock in my mouth and—.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, cutting you off as he dipped a finger slowly into you. “You do love having m’cock in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded between a split moan, pussy swallowing his finger with greed. “I do. I do. I do. I love the way it feels, I love the way it tastes, oh—!”

Another finger inside now, pumping at a teasing pace and curling as they stuffed inside of you. It was your turn to moan filth now. You could hear Harry’s fingers inside of you, pumping and curling. That’s how wet you had been for him.

“You’re so wet,” Harry cursed under his breath as he scissored his fingers, his eyes flickering between your blissed look and his fingers that worked between your wetness.

He always loved how wet you got. Not needing to buy lube was fantastic, but the way you tasted and smelled is what got Harry going. He loved watching your thighs string with slick substance, and he loved diving tongue first into your pussy to swallow down as much as he could.

“Is this what you needed? My attention? You’ve been wanting it, hm?”

You nodded with a whine. “Mhm, mhm. Please,” you whimpered, wiggling your ass against him as his fingers curled inside of you once more.

“Been such a good girl during m’show. Waited for me, and then surprised me with a soaked pussy,” Harry grinned, shaking his head to his own amusement as he slipped his long, thick digits out of you.

That same hand of Harry’s returned to your cunt, his fingers collecting the pool of arousal before he wrapped a slick hand around his cock. “Need t’be fucked? I think you do, don’t you? My sweet little girl,” he sighed dramatically, slicking his cock with your wet in careful strokes.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry, just please.” You whimpered in need, wiggling your ass back. You could almost cry at the emptiness inside of you, just wanted to be full of Harry.

You gasped high when a hand came down to smack against your ass. It jiggled from the collision and Harry’s rings left a burn in their place.

“Try again.” Harry’s green eyes looked up through his lashes. “Not my name, doll.”

You huffed softly, shifting on your knees to spread your legs as you felt Harry’s tip graze along your pussylips. “Please give me your cock, Daddy. Please. I need it.” You begged, soft whimpers in your words as you batted doe eyes at him.

With one swift thrust, Harry’s tip broke past your tight entrance and paved way for his cock to fill you up. You both let out simultaneous gasps as he bottomed out, your ass pressed flush against his hips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Harry gritted through clenched cheeks while his large hands worked over your hips to get a firm grip.

He drew his hips back slowly, sinking back into you quickly. Your lips broke out in a moan as the burn of his cock melted into you. It took him three thrusts to balance out, pulling nearly all the way out of you before pounding back into you.

He was slow at first. Careful and deep. Your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut as your lips parted, his cock shooting thrills of pleasure to your body. Your clit ached with need under his grasp and cock.

Then his pace quickened. His head spun with thoughts of you, how tight you were and how perfect your pussy engulfed him. “Shit,” Harry groaned as he grinded his hips into you, allowing his cock to shift inside before he went back to his quick, even, and hard thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Take this fucking cock, jus’ like you were made for.”

You were over the moon. Behind your shut eyes were visions of Harry and that beer spilling down his chest over and over and over again.

“Oh,” you whined, your toes curling in your heels as his fingers connected with your clit. “Oh my god, fuck, please, please.”

His two fingers worked your clit at a fast matched pace to his thrusts. Your stomach coiled as each rub and thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Harry’s thrusts turned relentless. The moment he got you up and pressed against his chest, his other hand was reaching down to hook around the back of your knee and pull your leg up.

“Oh my fuck!,” you cried out in a moan, the new angle allowing his cock to reach deeper.

“Yeah? Jesus,” Harry grunted as he shifted his hips and replanted his feet. “So damn tight, so wet. Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“It was,” you whined and nodded quickly, your hands placed over his arm that had you pulled flush against his chest. “Was made just for you,” you slurred, eyes drooping in pleasure as you broke into another whiny moan.

“That's right,” the man panted, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “Perfect fucking cunt, takes my cock so well— fuck!”

Harry’s jaw fell slack against your shoulder, curls brushing along the side of your neck when he felt your pussy contract around him. Harry’s fingers circled around your clit, pinching and rubbing in all of your wetness.

The both of you couldn’t stop the rush of moans. You weren’t even sure if the door was locked, but all you could think about right now was Harry.

His eyes broke open, staring down at your chest as your breasts spilled from your loose top. Harry’s hand slid from your waist to the bottom of your tit, cupping the fleshy mound in his hand. “The most perfect fucking body,” he groaned, squeezing your breast as he dug his fingers into your leg from the open hold.

Harry continued to pound your pussy until you were a screaming, soaked mess. Your chest rose and fell in quick and uneven breaths in between moans and begs. “Please let me cum, please, please, fuck. Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, swallowing thick as his fingers brushed along your nipple.

Harry groaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh as he continued his deep thrusts inside of you. You could tell he was getting close with the way his thrusts went uneven.

“Yeah? Need t’cum?” Harry taunted, squeezing at your nipple once again before his fingers mound your clit to rub at a quick pace. “Cum f’me, pretty girl.”

His permission was all you needed before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. You squirted into the open air, the filthy sounds of your liquid splattering onto the brown leather beneath you two.

Harry choked out a moan at the sight, jaw falling slack and eyes pinching shut. His own orgasm hit him like a train three thrusts after, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of his cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” the man gasped, whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you as he pumped the final spurts of his release inside of you.

Your body trembled as aftershocks rippled through you, every nerve alight with pleasure and exhaustion. Harry's hands were slow and reverent as they traced over your skin, smoothing over your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingertips pressing gently into your overheated flesh. His touch grounded you, brought you back from the blissful haze that had left you weak-limbed and breathless.

"Good girl," he murmured again, voice deep and rough with the remnants of pleasure, lips grazing the damp skin of your shoulder as he let his forehead rest against your back for a fleeting moment.

The warmth of his breath fanned across your spine, making you shiver despite the heat still radiating between you.

With a soft groan, Harry straightened, slipping away just long enough to grab a few tissues from the nearby table. He moved with that signature confidence, even in his post-high daze, but there was a new tenderness in his actions as he carefully cleaned you both up. His hands, so capable of bringing you to ruin, were equally skilled in their gentleness now—warm, patient, and familiar.

Once satisfied, he tossed the used tissues aside and reached for his duffel bag near the couch, unzipping it to pull out a pair of his soft, worn-in sweats and a shirt for you. The fabric was well-loved, carrying his scent—fresh cedarwood and the faintest trace of lingering cologne, something comforting and inherently him.

He passed them to you before grabbing his own spare clothes, rummaging until he found a plain black T-shirt and another pair of joggers.

Rolling his shoulders, he started removing the sequin suit still clinging to his skin, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m sweaty as hell now,” he groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic grimace. “S’like I ran a bloody marathon.” (wink wink.)

You snorted, tugging his T-shirt over your head and shimmying into his sweatpants. They hung loose on your frame, but that only made them all the more comforting. “You were putting in some serious work there, Styles,” you teased, watching as he peeled off the glitzy fabric and tossed it onto the couch.

Harry scoffed but shot you a smug grin. “’Course I was. Can’t have my girl unsatisfied, now can I?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes to play off the effect he still had on you. “Yeah, yeah. Get dressed, loverboy.”

He huffed a small laugh but did as told, slipping into his fresh set of clothes before collapsing onto the couch with a content sigh. His curls were a mess, damp at the edges where sweat had gathered, and there was still a faint flush to his cheeks. He looked comfortable, utterly relaxed—and, as always, completely unfair in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

You stepped closer, nudging his thigh with your knee. “Scoot over.”

Harry cracked one eye open and grinned. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Harry.”

Chuckling, he lifted his arm in invitation. “C’mere, then.”

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against his chest as he pulled you in securely, arms looping around your waist with ease. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat filled your ears, a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your back, the heat of his palm seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, wrapped in the afterglow of shared intimacy and the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to move just yet. Outside the dressing room, the distant hum of activity from the crew still breaking down the concert setup could be heard, but it felt like another world entirely.

After a moment, Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Y’good?” he murmured, voice thick with lingering exhaustion.

You hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. “Mhm. Perfect.”

He smiled against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “Good.”

“Harry?” You spoke.

“Mhm?”

“When we get back to the hotel,” you started, your finger tracing little circles into his shirt, “I want to be the next thing dripping down your chest.”

“Fucking hell, babe.”

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hivemuthur · 29 days ago

Text

Hi Anons! Happy Freakday! Taking this amazing opportunity to mingle two into one:

Lips Where Lips Were

viktorxfemale!reader explicit. What's in here? Perverted yearning, panty theft and face sitting :v I'm sure the day was stressful for him :< Never lose sight of your laundry, folks!

word count: 3K

author’s note: I listened to Smoke City Underwater Love. @rennethen beta-read and she was sick doing it so double thank-yous! And as per schedule, I name Fridays Freakdays, and on most of those you can expect some Freaktor action.

—

It wasn’t planned at all when you stepped into the laundry room with a basket full of clothes. Pure coincidence—or call it fate, if Viktor dared to entertain such grand notions when it came to something so utterly embarrassing.

He had just been loading the washing machine, half full with his meagre three white shirts and a few undershirts, when the door swung open. You entered backwards, nudging it open with your ass, your face obscured by the tall basket cradled in your arms. But he recognised you instantly—by the back of your head, the curve of your neck, your ankles. Again, utterly embarrassing.

“Oh my God, are you washing whites? Please tell me you are washing whites,” you asked, not bothering with a hello.

Viktor eyed the laundry in your arms, picking up what you were putting down, but simply replied, “Yes, I’m washing whites.”

"Mind if I invade?" you asked, already shifting your weight forward, basket pressing into your stomach. "I’ve mostly got darks, but I’m running out of underwear."

Viktor swallowed, considering. Having your underwear washed with his—pretty good. You having no underwear to wear? Significantly better. Being unable to come up with explanation to denying you, he forced a nod, stepping back from his machine as if giving you space might help untangle the sudden knot in his throat.

"Be my guest," he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse stuttered.

You wasted no time, setting your basket down and beginning to sort through your clothes. Viktor watched as you moved, as your hands fished out a bundle of whites and dropped them in beside his. Then, with the ease of someone used to efficiency, you loaded a second machine with your darker clothes.

It should have been a nothing moment—mundane, forgettable. But when you leaned forward, he caught sight of a bra slipping from the heap in your arms, a delicate thing edged with lace, straps tangled. His mouth went dry.

A thought, insistent and utterly filthy, flashed across his mind—quick, scorching, and impossible to ignore. He almost turned away, almost shut the machine door to spare himself from his own treacherous imagination. But then, right there, in the tangle of fabric, were your knickers.

White as snow. Thin as paper. A tiny, pretty bow crowning the hem.

His fingers twitched. Good with his hands as he was, before he could think better of it, before his brain could catch up to his body, he snagged them—swift, seamless, a movement so smooth it almost convinced him it hadn’t happened at all. But the fabric in his pocket was real as day whenever he reached to check if it’s still there.

And now, Viktor has a problem.

He’s thought about returning them—washing them by hand and slipping them in with the rest of your white clothes. He’s also considered getting rid of them: throwing them away, tossing them out the window, burning them—anything that might make him stop. But whenever he comes close, he falters.

At first, just the thought of having a piece of fabric that was so intimately close to you is enough. Clutching onto the last ounces of self-respect he has, Viktor does nothing beyond tucking the knickers into his chest pocket, carrying them close to his heart whenever he feels like it.

The idea nearly backfires when Jayce asks him for a pen—the little metal loop catches on the fabric, almost pulling them out and exposing him for the depraved pervert he is.

From that point forward, Viktor says goodbye to your underwear every time he leaves his dorm. They lay splayed flat on his bed when he returns, and his mind instantly drifts to which parts of you they clung to. The curve of your ass, hugged tightly as you pulled them on. The waistband, with its little bow resting just beneath your belly button. And his favourite part—the delicate pouch fabric kissed by your sweet lips.

Then it happens again that his body overrides his mind’s restraint, compulsive in its betrayal. It’s a compulsion, yes, when his fingers unbuckle the belt, his hand palming his aching cock. It’s compulsive yet again when he undoes his fly, rubbing himself through his boxers, thinking of you. It’s compulsive when he pulls himself out and smears the precum pearling at the tip, pretending it’s your gentle fingers touching his heated skin.

And it’s utterly deranged when he reaches for your panties and brings them to his face. If he could snort it all up, he would. Instead, he holds it against his nose, inhaling deeply, greedily. It’s dizzying—the smell of you, sweet and intimate, proof that this was yours.

His fingers tease the head first, gliding over the aching spot just beneath, and he twitches in his own hand. His mind, corrupt and rotten, throws him the worst of images for this occasion—or the best, depending on how he looks at it. You, bending over, the seam of your underwear glaring at him from beneath your skirt. Your mouth, speaking his name. Then moaning his name as his hand is buried between your thighs.

His grip tightens around his cock. At first, slow, as he breathes in the remnants of you. He strokes himself languidly, knees bent over the bed’s edge, feet pressing hard into the floor. His hips thrust up, chasing more—more of anything to quell the ache inside him, the iron grip that coils low in his belly.

Your name spills from his mouth, ragged and desperate. He imagines you here, above him, thighs caging his head as you press down onto his waiting tongue. The thought alone has his cock twitching in his hand again, and he lets out a filthy groan, gripping himself harder.

And even though shame still lingers somewhere in the periphery of his thoughts, he cannot help himself. He splays the fabric over his face and licks where your lips have been cradled. And kisses there. And takes it into his mouth, sucking on it—the poor substitute for your soft pussy.

“Ah—fuck—” His breath stutters, muscles winding tight as he fucks into his own hand now. Fast and hard. His imagination runs wild—your taste on his tongue, your fingers tugging his hair, the way you’d roll your hips to use his mouth like you need it. He lets himself drown in the fantasy, slutty moans spilling from his mouth so loud he doesn’t hear the knocking. Or the door to his dorm room creaking open. Or the soft sound of feet shuffling on the floor.

You do knock. And you do call out, until you mistake a noise coming from his bedroom for one of pain. You rush in, clutching a shirt he mistakenly gave you with your batch of white laundry to your chest. And then you freeze by the door, when you hear the sound of your own name stumbling from Viktor’s lips in the filthiest, most sultry tone you’ve ever heard from him. Oh—the door is ajar.

Not that you haven’t imagined him doing it. Many times, possibly too many to count. But to imagine it and to hear it—raw and real, seeping into your ears so sweetly—is a completely different thing.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut before holding your breath and stepping in carefully. Viktor is writhing on the bed, unaware, unseeing, his trousers slipped down his thighs, and his face covered with—oh. One hand pushes the fabric into his nose and mouth, and the mere sight has your thighs clenching under your skirt as you step closer, transfixed.

Heat floods your cheeks when your gaze drops to his other hand, to his cock—hard and flushed at the tip, sliding in and out of his grip as his hips thrust helplessly. He looks so absolutely, utterly hot like this, you almost want to let him finish—just to see the vulgar act of him cumming all over his stomach. Until, again—oh. You notice it—the panties are yours.

"Viktor," you whisper, bewildered.

He freezes. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, loud and raw as he throws the underwear away from him like it burned, rolling onto his stomach with light speed. "Fuck." Again, muffled against the mattress. Then your name, a plea. "I'm so... so sorry."

You step closer, gaze flicking to where the discarded fabric landed. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up between two fingers, holding it up as you muse, "I thought I was missing a pair."

Viktor drops his forehead to the mattress and groans, frustration and shame bleeding into the sound. "I can't believe this is happening, I—"

"For how long have you had them?" you ask. There’s no accusation, only curiosity.

He says nothing. You bite your lower lip, eyes drawn helplessly to the curve of his bare ass, the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body seems locked in mortification.

"Viktor," you try again, softer this time. "Look at me. Turn over."

"I beg you, spare me," he rasps. "I promise I will apologize properly, but please, please, leave."

But you don’t. You see it now—clearly, undeniably. Viktor has been pining for you as much as you’ve pined for him. And so you dare, your mind stunted with the sight conjuring ideas beyond the realm of reason, as you crawl onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight and you settle beside him, sitting on the balls of your feet. Viktor presses his face harder into the sheets, as if willing either himself or you to disappear. "Please," he mutters, your name a breathless sigh, "this is mortifying."

You reach out, running a hand up his leg, fingertips tracing along the muscle, up to the swell of his ass in a gentle caress. Where you touch goosebumps prickle on his skin and you really, really have to resist the urge to bite on his pale cheek. "Viktor," you murmur, voice coaxing, "please look at me. I beg you."

He sighs into the bed, then slowly turns his head to face you, though he avoids your eyes. His face flushed all the way up to his cheeks, shame bleeding into skin. Swallowing hard, he says, “I am so sorry. I wasn’t… This is not—”

"Hey," you say softly, brushing the hair off his forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the touch. You shift closer, lying on your belly beside him, and blow gently on his face. A breathy chuckle forces its way out of him, and finally—finally—he opens his eyes.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi yourself," Viktor murmurs, calmer now.

"I, uh—" you start, then bite your lip. "Can I… see you?" The words come out shyly, your breath held as you wait for his reaction.

"W-what?" Viktor turns, startled—only his torso, though. His hips remain stubbornly pressed to the mattress, much to your disappointment. His brows knit together as he waits for an explanation.

But you have no idea what to say, so you let your body speak for you. You exhale, closing the last bit of distance between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper, "you looked so… hot."

Your cheeks scald as you wait for his reaction, but disappointment and fear flee the moment Viktor's tongue swipes over his lips and—oh—he rolls over, revealing his pretty cock to you. It had been trapped in the crease of his thigh, held there by the dampness of his skin, still achingly hard.

You reach for him slowly, and he moans—his brows knitting—before you even touch him. Your fingers, palm facing down, trace over his balls before gliding up, the heel of your hand pressing along his length, your thumb circling beneath the head.

“Your cock is so pretty,” you whisper a quiet praise, and he shudders, pressing his nose into your cheek, his lips brushing yours, mouths hanging open. As your hand moves in tender strokes, Viktor can’t help himself, it’s invitation enough. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he presses his tongue between your lips, kissing you sloppily, desperately. "Oh God, yes," he mutters into your mouth.

The sound alone makes you moan, spurring you to move with more intent. In no time, you have him so worked up that the neglected dampness between your legs almost doesn’t bother you—but then Viktor’s tongue grows more insistent, his hands roam your body, and your hips buck involuntarily. He clocks it immediately, rasping into your mouth, “Sit on my face. Please.”

You choke on a sound between a gasp and a moan, barely having time to process his words before Viktor’s hands find your hips, guiding you forward. He shifts beneath you, pressing his back flat against the mattress, and tugs at you again, insistent and needy. His breath is hot against your skin as he urges, “Come here, please.”

Your legs tremble as you move, suddenly all shy and hesitant. You come to straddle his chest first, but oh, Viktor’s shame has melted into impatience once encouraged—his hands slide up, gripping your thighs to pull you the rest of the way until you hover above his face. His parted lips are so close that you can feel the ghost of his breath and it’s so unbearably warm you barely resist the urge to sink into him.

What’s in front of you, is his cock, still flushed and leaking, laying thick on his navel. Swallowing your nerves, you lean forward, bracing your hands on his sharp hips as you lower your mouth to him, wrapping your fingers around the base. Viktor groans beneath you, the vibration rippling against your skin and you can feel yourself leaking obscenely when he whines out his famous last words—“Fuck, you are so wet,” and his hot mouth meets your sex.

It's a sinful swipe, that first one. Has you gasping and gripping his cock tighter, before you remember what is it that you are holding. Your eyes widen, mouth huffing warm air over his length as you try to regain your bearings. But Viktor is relentless, thorough, as if he’s intent on devouring the very essence of you, memorising every crevice. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you down, grinding you against his mouth, burying himself in you.

It’s a thousand times better than a mouthful of your underwear—no comparison, really. Not that Viktor can think straight enough to measure the difference, not when his tongue finds its rhythm, plunging in and out of your hole. His head wrenches back into the mattress, chin teasing your clit, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. And then—he groans, a loud, wrecked sound, because your mouth has just wrapped itself around his cock.

Your lips part around the head, tongue flicking over the slit as your hand works the base, thumb pressing along the thick vein running underneath. He twitches so beautifully under your touch that you pause, pulling off with a quiet pop. Watching him glisten in your palm, this time it’s you who can’t help yourself—you glue your torso to his stomach, bury your face against his cock, and inhale long and deep through your mouth and nose.

Viktor shudders beneath you, a deep, broken groan muffled against your cunt. As if this were a conversation, you moan back, the vibration sending a shudder rolling through his muscles. Emboldened, he buries himself deeper, rubbing his chin against your sweet spot, fucking you with his tongue until your hips begin to move on their own, grinding down onto his face. And you—oh, you take him back into the warmth of your mouth, sinking down past the barrier of your throat. Drool spills down his length, slicking the ridges with every bob of your head.

What was merely an ember when you walked in on him now burns bright and hot in his loins. He snorts up whatever air you grant him between your movements, bracing himself for the blinding twist in his stomach that he knows is imminent. His muscles flex under your hands, and for a moment, he loses rhythm, parts his lips from you—and then he cums with a throat-wrenching moan, hard and heavy, spilling thick white into your mouth. You lick it all up, gulp on it, letting him make as many sounds as he likes, lifting your hips just enough so that your clit stays pressed against his chin.

When his cock begins to border on overstimulated, his hand finds your hair, and he tugs you gently, guiding you back to where you were—pressing you down onto his tongue. And you are so, so close. You straighten, brace yourself on his chest, and rut against him without restraint, dragging yourself over the flat of his tongue.

Viktor groans into you, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you where he wants you, letting you use him, consume him. Heat gathers and pools over in waves, tipping you beyond that edge—your body seizing as a raw, broken moan tears from your throat. With the sight of his pretty softening cock in front of you, his name spills from your lips, over and over, as you tremble and grind against his mouth. He holds you through it, drinking in every last shudder and cry until you finally collapse against him, spent and trembling.

Your ass slides off his face, splayed in front of his very eyes and Viktor suddenly realises something—all this time you’ve had no knickers on. “Why are you not wearing any underwear?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Hmm, I thought I miscalculated, but turns out you took my last pair,” you smirk against his hip where your cheek is cradled. You place a soft kiss there to the peak of his bone and whisper, “You can keep it.”

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #requests

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sombrashe · 5 months ago

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period pains

includes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ vi, viktor, sevika

content 𐙚˙⋆.˚ gender neutral reader, chubby reader, your period is putting you through the ringer

note 𐙚˙⋆.˚ i started my period and have been suffering and all i want is to be pampered

Vi inexplicably started her period at the same time.

The only time growing up near the fissures has been a blessing and it's when she can hear your curses from the bathroom. She simply sat still on the sofa, barely spotting. Her eyebrows furrow as she watches the door handle. Once it starts jiggling she jumps up and bundles a blanket into her arms. Acting casually she medium speed turns and feigns surprise at you being in front of her.

"Wow, peach. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

You frown and shake a box at her, two loose tampons shake around. You needed tampons.

"Say please."

"No. You used them for your fucking nosebleeds. I told you only light but you just had to stuff your nose with my supers. How do they even fit up there."

Her face instantaneously falls as she clears her throat. Yeah, she definitely meant to replace those. Apologizing she immediately starts making her way towards the front door. Giving you a wide berth, she maintains eye contact the entire way. Narrowing your eyes, you watch in silent wrath as she grabs her jacket off the hook. Hurrying out the front door she doesn't come back until she's stopped and gotten you more than you need. Kicking open the door, it bounces off the doorstop and closes with a click behind her.

"P, peach?"

She straightens her back and tries to wave the lingering fear at the base of her neck. She watches you come around the corner, your gaze somehow angrier. You were able to shower in the time it took for her to shop which left you bleeding and alone. Walking towards her, you tear your eyes away slowly before settling them on the mini haul she got for you. Opening the bags she explains why she chose each item.

"So first, I got those tampons. I bought myself two packs of that nose stuffing that that academy student created. The one who always got into fights. I don't know how he didn't get kicked out. Next, I got you something from Jericho. You haven't eaten today. I also went to that shop you're always going to. The one that you buy all the face masks from. Yeah, I stopped there and got you one of each flavor. Watermelon said it helps with hydration. I also chose this banana one, good for dull skin. Not that you have dull skin. I think your skin looks great, just a little acne. Wait."

Your eyebrows soften as you listen to her go on. Once she pulls out those masks your face softens completely and you take a tentative step to your left. She continues on. You simply listen to her speak about the twenty or so masks she bought, you stopped counting after strawberry. Reaching forward you grab two masks at random and hand her one of them.

"Thank you."

She smiles a slings an arm over your shoulder. Her smile is wide as she gives you a sloppy temple kiss. You huff and shoulder yourself against her, her laugh infectious.

Viktor was always working.

You storm out, your moisturized hands clutching another ruined pair of underwear. Kicking out your leg, you make contact with the door frame. The noise echoes down the hallway and your partner peaks around the corner. Getting up from his desk, he makes his way towards you. His speed slows as he assesses your anger.

"Can you make a machine that tears my ovaries from my body?"

Poor thing. He closes the space between you and gently takes the blood-soaked underwear from your hands and mumbles to himself. Moving around the dorm he mixes and matches things until he throws them onto the bathroom curtain to dry. You watch him once again move around the kitchen. Washing hands, peeling fruit, boiling water. All steps in his plan of taking care of you. You curl into the armchair taking up a corner of the room. It was worn by nights fallen asleep in it waiting for Viktor to come home. Pulling a fluffy blanket over your lap you get comfortable as you wait. He comes over a little while later holding a plate out for you. Mangos and strawberries litter the place and you happily take the plate from him. Next is a cup of hot tea that he gently sets to the side of you. Thanking him ever so sweetly, you start munching on the fruit as he goes to retrieve more items. A warm water bottle is positioned against your lower back and you blink lazily as heat overtakes the pain. While finishing off the last of your fruit, you get to work sipping on your tea. He offers to spend time with you in the living room, but you shake your head.

"I'm getting tired, anyways. You can go back to work."

Giving him a tired smile he leans down and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. Squeezing his bicep softly, you let him go with a yawn before settling down to the sounds of pencil against paper.

Sevika was never around when you needed her.

Tears break over your waterline and drip down the fullness of your cheeks. Cramps rack your body in pain as you stay curled on the couch. She never came home last night, council meetings taking over most of her time. A low groan is ripped from your throat as a particularly tight feeling squeezes your abdomen. Hugging a pillow close to your chest, you bury your face into it and hope that the pain reliever takes over soon. Not soon enough you feel your limbs relax as the pain slowly lessens until it finally stops. The sudden relief has your mind stuttering and it takes mere seconds before you're lulled into sleep.

"Rabbit?"

The low drawl of your girlfriend's voice wakes you from your hazy sleep. Blinking, you raise your head and look around. Your eyes land on her and you waste no time in rising to your feet. Letting the blanket fall halfway on the floor you gather yourself into her arm.

"I started."

You're muffled against her chest, feeling comfortable between the raised flesh. She clicks her tongue and soothes her hand down your back.

"You took something? Did you eat?"

You nod into her chest, you had a sandwich and that was more than enough with pain taking over most of the space in your stomach. Now you stand there stomach growling, pain having left to make room for your appetite to come crawling back. Looking up she gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Go lay down, I'll make you something."

You squeeze her waist before pulling away and padding back onto the couch. Curling up, you take some more pain medicine and watch from your warm nest as she gets to work making you something hearty. You can feel yourself start to doze off and before long you're being shaken awake. Blinking you take in the bowl in her hands. Steam wafts in the air and the smell of meat and cream fills your nose. With a watering mouth, you thank her and greedily take the bowl from her. Wasting no time you gulp down some of the broth despite the insane burn that overtakes the grooves of your mouth.

#arcane #arcane writing #arcane x reader #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #jinx writes

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saltnsugarbear · 4 months ago

Text

and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)

summary: winter in DC is cold! but you have a loving girlfriend to warm you up

title from: "my tears ricochet" by Taylor Swift

word count: 0.7k

content warnings: none! soft, warm day today!

side note: starting a small collection of gifts with Emily Prentiss and my beloved Ruby! I'm so delighted to call you my friend, you're soso sweet <3 this one is for you, my beloved

divider from @/tsunami-of-tears! who did the original one that I use but I'm using her winter themed ones for today!

Living so close to the water in winter is a nightmare. Winter in D.C. can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the weather.

That's why you're so glad Emily's apartment has heating.

How she manages such a nice place on a government salary in downtown D.C. is a mystery to you. But she manages. A place to the both of you.

And Sergio...

Sergio is a blessing of his own, a miniature heater that can be carried from room to room. Despite Emily's willingness, you're incredibly conscious of heating in the house. Favoring blankets, bundling and Sergio over turning on the heater.

Georgetown prices were not something you favored.

However, Emily knew this habit of yours, setting the heating to go on when she needed. She was more willing to make the apartment comfortable instead of nesting in one spot all night. You supposed it was easier for her to rationalize as the person who paid the bills for the apartment.

But Emily also had a habit of keeping her windows open at night. Except for the obvious safety hazard it caused, the cold from the waterfront sneaking in.

Maybe she did it on purpose. So that you had no option but to cuddle up next to her. Face buried in her sleep shirt, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach under your sweater. Sergio is tucked in the notch of her legs, cozying up to both his parents.

A blessing from the cold air is it makes Emily sleep like a log. She's hard to wake after a cold night.

That makes it easier for you to sneak out of bed. Replacing your body with a pillow under her arm before slipping away.

Your rustling, however, wakes Sergio. He's a silent cat, following you out of the bedroom like a second shadow. You're both silent as you pad into the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing the sugar from the pantry.

Emily's started this bad habit of feeding Sergio on the counter top, causing you to conform to this habit. Grabbing his food bowl from the dish rack and the container of wet food from the fridge. He's graceful in his jump onto the counter, sitting politely in his designated spot on the counter. You put his breakfast in his dish before serving it to him.

The machine is done by the time Serge is fed, coffee carafe ready for you to pour. You collect your and Emily's mugs from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring them. You know how Emily likes her coffee so you're quick to prepare both cups and stirring them thoroughly.

Sergio chirps at you when he's done and you know it's time to set out his water for him. Once he's set up again on the counter you collect your cups, walk steady back to the bedroom.

Emily is still asleep when you enter the room, setting your cups down on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The bed is cold when you climb under the covers, wriggling you way over to Emily. She stirs when you slip cold fingers against her skin.

"Y're cold.." She mutters, face half squished against her pillow. You can't help but grin as you kiss her cheek, then her shoulder, then her nose, teasing her until she glares at you for avoiding her lips.

"Good morning.." You say softly before appeasing her, kissing her gently. She's pliable in the mornings, melting into your touch, a much different version of her than the one you see after work.

"Good morning," she sighs before pushing herself up. You're quick to follow, reaching for her mug and giving it to her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It snowed last night.." You tell her, nodding your head towards her windows. You can't see it from the bed, with how high up her apartment is, but the reflection is obvious.

"And I have the day off.." Emily reminds you quietly, watching as your face lights up. "So we can stay in bed all day.."

She's teasing you, leaning in close enough that it would be easy to close the gap.

"I like the sound of that..." You whisper and she smiles.

"Me too.."

#saltnsugarbear #not enough sugar #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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wcnderlnds · 4 months ago

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baby it's cold outside | peter maximoff

CHRISTMAS ADVENT - DAY FOUR

・❥・summary: its snowing so you and peter build a snowman・❥・warnings: none!・❥・word count: 1.3k・❥・authors note: there'll be a second part to this! i had to split it up because the second part is smutty and i want the christmas fics to be fluffy. you can join my taglist here!

Peter Maximoff wasn’t someone who enjoyed being outside. He’d much rather stay indoors playing on his arcade machines or watching one of his favourite movies. It was how he’d always been. Growing up, he’d never had many friends so there had been no need to even bother spending time outside like normal kids would. The only times he really went out were when he wanted to steal something for himself or when he had a mission with the other X-Men. His mom had begged him to get outside more - to go make friends, see something other than the four walls of his basement but he never listened. The only person he’d go out for most of the time was you but even then sometimes it was a struggle trying to even get him out of the front door. He always caved in eventually. Peter had a soft spot for you – anyone could see it from a mile away apart from you apparently.

Peter had been your best friend since the moment you had met him the day he’d saved everyone at the mansion. Unfortunately, you had been one of the people trapped inside but the speedster had come to the rescue. You hadn't appreciated getting thrown into a huge blanket though, chewing him out the second you saw him. That was how the friendship had started. Peter had often found himself seeking you out and vice versa. Most of the time it was him telling you to come hang out with him which you’d happily oblige. His basement was where you spent most of your time together but very occasionally you’d persuade him to come and hang out at the X-Mansion with you.

Today was one of those days. Peter had stayed over the night and being ever the gentleman he was, he had slept on the floor. Every time he stayed over you practically begged him to sleep in the bed with you but he refused. The thought of him being uncomfortable on the floor never sat right with you. His excuse was that he respected you too much but you trusted him. You knew Peter would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. The thing was Peter didn’t trust himself. Being in the same bed as you, your body so close to him? Yeah, there was no way he’d be able to keep his feelings in check and his hands to himself. The friendship would be ruined immediately. Maybe he was crazy about you but he was so certain you didn’t feel the same way. That was fine. Or that’s what he told himself anyway. He could cope with that.

“Peter!” Your cheerful voice snapped him out of his daydreams, his eyes shooting over in your direction. There you were, leaning out of the window with your hand outstretched.

“I told you before that if you want to jump, at least give me a warning so I can get a snack to watch,” he snickered, making his way over to you. His hand rested on the small of your back as he approached, instantly seeing what you were so excited about.

Snow. There must have been a blizzard during the night and now the whole of the mansion grounds were covered in a white blanket, crystal like snowflakes still falling from the sky. If Peter knew anything, he knew that you loved snow. It was your favourite part of Winter. The way you’d always light up the second you knew it was snowing made his heart do a funny little flip. As he looked at you right now, the biggest smile on your face as you caught snowflakes in your hand, he could feel his heart soaring.

He really had it bad.

“We have to go build a snowman,” You clapped your hands together excitedly, facing Peter. “Please.”

Peter groaned. “Fine, okay. Go get bundled up and I’ll meet you out there.”

He barely had time to register what was happening when you let out an excited squee, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. His hand instantly went up to his cheek as you skipped out of the room. All he could think about was the press of your soft lips against the skin of his cheek. Why did you have to go and do that? Now he wasn't going to be able to think straight all day.

With a hefty sigh, he pulled himself together. All he had to do was get through the day then he could go home and get lost in his thoughts of self pity that the person he was crazy about probably wasn’t into him. Peter pulled on his jacket, grabbing a beanie out of the pocket. Thanks to his mutation he didn’t really feel the cold like other people did. His blood seemed to run faster and warmer so while you would probably be freezing after ten minutes, he’d only feel a slight chill. As he stepped outside, a fond smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You were already rolling snow up into a ball – the start of a snowman taking a place. Your cheeks were rosy with the bitter cold hitting your skin, hands covered with fluffy mittens. You were the cutest person on the planet – that was a fact that Peter would argue with anyone over.

“Yay! You actually left the house,” you grinned, momentarily halting your work on the snow ball. “You must really love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved her off. “Bit slow, aren’t you?”

“Not all of us can have super speed, Quickie. You do the base, I’ll do the head.” Before you even finished your sentence, Peter was running around in a blur of silver as he gathered the snow, rolling it around to create a big ball for the base of the snowman. “That’s cheating!”

“Nuh-uh, that’s called thinking smart, babe,” Peter laughed, the tip of his nose turning red with the cold.

“Okay, Rudolph.” You grabbed the ball of snow you’d been working on, lifting it up to place on top of Peter’s. The scarf around your neck was pulled off so you could wrap it around the snowman. “We just need to find some stones and get a ca-”

In the blink of an eye Peter was stood in front of you – carrot and stones in hand, a confident smirk on his face. “You were saying?” He placed them on the snowman you’d built together, taking a step back to admire your work. His arm was thrown casually around your shoulder. It was then he noticed your chattering teeth, your body shaking slightly as the cold took over your body. Without saying a word, he scooped you up into his arms and ran you back into the mansion. He found one of the living rooms, the fire luckily already on as he placed you down in front of it. “Be back in a second.”

You shrugged out of your wet jacket that was covered in snow, the mittens on your hands discarded as you held your palms out in front of the fire to warm yourself up. Snow was amazing, you loved it but you didn’t love the cold. Why couldn’t you be like Peter and have some mutation that made you barely feel it? Instead, you had to sit here feeling like you’d been trapped in the Antarctic for hours. Peter appeared at your side. He threw a blanket over your shoulder, handing you a cup of hot cocoa. He threw himself down beside you, his beanie now in his hand as he shook his head of messy silver hair. “Let's get you warmed up.”

His hands rubbed up and down your arms hoping the friction would create some heat for your poor, cold body. You leaned into his touch which in turn made Peter scoot closer to you. Maybe his body heat would help. He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Thanks, Peter,” you smiled, leaning back to look up into his brown eyes.

Peter swallowed, his palms suddenly feeling sweaty. The intensity in your eyes, the absolute fondness he saw in them made him more nervous than he wanted to admit. “Anything for you.”

taglist: @marchsfreakshow @ldydeath @evansroses @mistysconcilium @strawb3rrystar @decaf-mother @lacucarachapisser @bohnerrific69 @honeymoon8 @urmomsg1rlfreind @violetharmon1994 @melsimps @flowersforbucky

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #evan peters #my fics #christmas advent

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em1i2a3 · 4 months ago

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Pieces of You (Bjorn One Shot)

Bjorn x fem!reader

Summary: After a night of confessions you and Bjorn stopped speaking to one another, but during one fateful get together when the both of you reunite things change significantly for the both of you, for better or for worse.

Author’s Note: Hey peeps. I am finally finished college, and thankfully I am going to be taking a bit of a break before going back and continuing my education, meaning I’m going to have so much more time to write! As a celebration I made this One Shot extra long. It was supposed to be out yesterday but I wanted to add more to it, and evidently it got out of hand lol. I hope that everyone enjoys this!

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, DNI if you’re a minor! There’s dirty dancing in this, smoking of the devils lettuce (weed), P in V sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it though, this is all fantasy here), swearing, oral sex (female receiving), and a little bit of best friends to lovers tropes but not really, you’ll get what I mean when you read it. Hopefully I didn’t miss anything.

A p.s from the author: Fucking love 070 Shake, and this song was so fucking good in setting the tone for the writing of this one shot! Such an underrated song.

Word Count: 8,734 (told you it was a big one….That’s what she said btw lol)

The club was electric that night. The smell of sweat, perfume, and cigarettes intermixed, and the air was thick with heat, combining with the hypnotic bass that shook the core of your chest as you nursed a drink at the bar. You stirred the ice around in your glass, taking a sip, allowing the sweet and bitter liquid to burn down your throat, watching the crowd of bodies move rhythmically to the music. The lights strobed in sync with the beat, pulsating streaks of neon blues, pinks, and greens bounced off the mirrors surrounding the dancefloor. The DJ had turned on the smoke machine, which caused the entire scene to have this haze over it, so all you could see was the shadows of the people who moved against one another, and the sporadic arms that popped above the crowd once in a while. A finger tapped on your shoulder, interrupting your observations, your eyes shooting over to your side where Tyler was standing, a smile draped across his lips as he leaned in.

“Sorry, we’re late! Got caught up!” He yelled over the music, motioning behind him. You peeked over his shoulder, seeing Navarro, Rain, Kay and Andy looking around at the crowd, enamoured by the action that was happening, and the buzz that was palpable in the space.

“It’s alright! I’m only one drink in!” You responded loudly holding up your glass and using the step on the stool you were sitting on to give yourself a little bit of height. He was looking down at your outfit, taken aback by what you had worn tonight. The top you had chosen was skin-tight, black and strapless with sheer lace detailing that left nothing to the imagination. The material hugged you in all the right places, showing off the figure that you hid under your work clothes most of the time, and it didn’t end there. The bottoms you chose were a pair of leather shorts that had silver zippers going down the sides and the front, with leather buckles along your thighs to simulate a harness effect. It was an interesting look, to say the least, and it was certainly eye-catching.

“You didn’t give me the memo that we were wearing BDSM stuff tonight, I would’ve busted out my assless chaps.” Tyler joked, causing you to playfully slap his arm, laughing loudly at his comment.

“Just wanted to try something different, that's all.” Tyler raised his eyebrows at the comment.

”Well this is definitely different, a good kind of different, but still a bit surprising coming from someone who bundles into those oversized sweaters all the time.” He responded, glancing down one more time at you with a little smile. He liked when you let yourself go, typically you weren’t one to be the life of the party, not one bit, ever since you guys were preteens you were this rule follower who didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but this change was definitely welcoming. Too bad your upbeat mood was going to change. You were about to say something, when suddenly a pair of familiar hands grabbed Tyler’s shoulders, the ring on the person's pointer finger that you had a matching one of gave it away, and your stomach lurched just at the sight. It was Bjorn. Your face fell, as all the joy was sucked out of the room, you didn’t want to see that guy, and you were going to make sure it wasn’t going to happen.

“For fuck sake.” Was all that came out of your mouth before you grabbed your drink and walked towards the smoking patio. You pushed open the door, and joined the small crowd of people who were leaning against the wall either getting some air or actually having a cigarette. You downed the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol now nonexistent at this point, a sigh escaping your throat as you put the glass down on the ledge beside you. The door opened again, revealing Tyler, his hands deep in the pockets of his straight cut pants, a remorseful look gleaming in his eyes. You were about to say something, but he raised a finger up, causing you to pause.

”I know you told me not to bring him…I get it. But y/n…We couldn’t possibly leave him at the trailer. It’s unfair what he’s been doing but we also live with the guy, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

”It’s more than unfair Tyler. I know I said some hurtful things but he fucking ripped my heart out and then decided to ignore me when I tried to make amends. Now he gets to intrude on plans and pick and choose when he wants to bite his tongue and come along with you guys?” You questioned, your throat tightening slightly “How is that right, and how the fuck is that fair to me when he refused to be honest with me?” You added, remembering the last time you spoke to him.

————

You had sat beside Bjorn on the couch as the both of you were watching some weird action movie he had chosen from the little collection he had built over the past few years. You weren’t really into it, you were just there because you wanted to be around Bjorn, that was the motivation for hanging out around him. You liked being in his presence, the way he made you feel, and of course the way he held your hand out of comfort, he used to always pay you a compliment on how warm or soft they were before intertwining his fingers between yours and it always made your stomach turn.

The both of you had been friends for so long that you knew everything about each other, if someone asked you to name off any fun facts about Bjorn you would have a never ending list. There were so many things people didn’t know about him, and if it wasn’t for how close you were to him, you would’ve never been able to see what he was truly like beneath the hard exterior he put on.

That night though you were determined to talk to him. Your feelings had been eating away at you bit by bit, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were starting to think about him throughout the day, and every time you did you could feel your palms become sweaty and you visually looked flushed with a permanent blush red plastered on your cheeks. It was hard to power through your feelings, and you had high hopes that once things were out in the open it would allow the both of you to move forward together hopefully, that was not the case though, and you would come to regret the decision you made in telling him.

The credits rolled and he leaned back against the cushions with a sigh, one arm draped over the edge of the couch, looking over at you, seeing that you were deep in thought. He reached over, and grabbed your hand, running his calloused thumb over the smooth skin, over the little blemishes that were barely noticeable without feeling, which drew your attention to him.

“You alright?” He asked, shifting closer to you, “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” He added, his thumb drawing ovals around the skin on the back of your hand now, the heat slowly creeping up your chest. You took in a shaky breath.

”I…I need to tell you something.” His relaxed expression shifted, his eyes filling with concern, making your heart squeeze. He sat up a little bit more, his whole body now turned to you.

”You’re worrying me y/n…What’s going on?” Your stomach was churning. Yes, you had planned to tell him everything tonight, but now you were starting to grow anxious under his gaze, your throat feeling like it was closing around a giant lump that was beginning to form, pulling your eyes from his for a moment, letting them go down to his hand. You looked at the ring on his pointer finger, the engravement of Roman numerals of the day you guys had your first scavenging trip together glistening in the dim light,

“I…I like you…More than this.” You hesitated, feeling the air being sucked out of the room when the words left your mouth. A few minutes passed, until you decided to look at the frozen and unreadable expression that was plastered on Bjorn’s face. “I thought I could ignore it or that I would get over the feelings, but I can’t. It just kept getting more and more intense.” He looked down at your hands, there was a hint of hesitation that flashed from behind his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. The silence was overtaking the both of you again, every second breaking down the remaining composure you had.

“Can you please say something…” You pleaded, your voice cracking, feeling the warmth of his hands leave yours. There was a pang in your heart, realizing that this was not going the way you expected. You watched him closely, seeing the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to choose his words carefully. His voice was quiet when he replied.

”I don’t feel the same way.” It felt like a blow straight to your chest, your gaze tore away from his, trying to process his response as level headed as possible.

”You don’t?” Your volume was just above a whisper, as tears began to brim your eyes, looking back at him, now focusing on his expressions.

”No,” He replied quickly, his bottom lip shaking a bit, not because of any overwhelming emotions, but because that was one of his tells. You knew him well enough, there were just things that he couldn’t control and that was the way his body involuntarily reacted when he was lying to someone. It made your heart break even more, knowing that he wasn’t telling you the truth, you thought you were friends, and friends don’t lie to each other.

”You’re lying…” Your voice was steady, and somewhat stern. It surprised you that even though you were going through your own set of feelings you still chased for answers. Bjorn’s brows furrowed.

”What?” His tone was laced with disbelief.

”You’re lying.” You repeated, you were hurting, and you could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach, burning in your chest, begging to be released. “You do feel the same way, you’re just too scared to admit it.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, scoffing at your accusation, standing up from the couch, now growing defensive. You raised to your feet as well, wanting to even up the playing field.

”I can see it in your fucking facial expressions. You can’t even look at me Bjorn!” You saw his fists clench at his sides, you could see the way all the emotions in him began to converge, brewing a storm over his face.

“I said I don’t feel the same way.” He repeated, his voice now cracking, another betrayal gifted from his own body.

“Bjorn…Why are you lying to me…Why can’t you just be honest with yourself and tell me the truth.” Your voice trembled, gulping, trying to get rid of the lump that still resided in your throat.

“Because it doesn’t matter y/n!” He shouted, the aggression making you jump in your own skin, flinching at the frustration, “What the fuck do you want me to say? That I fucking care about you? That I’ve thought about being with you? Fine. I have. But it doesn’t change the situation y/n.” The tears now welled up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall down your cheeks, your heart fracturing into a thousand cracks.

”You thought about it,” You echoed his words with bitterness lacing your voice, “And decided what? That I’m not worth it? That I wouldn’t stick with you? We’ve been friends for years Bjorn.” He watched as you brought your hand up to your puffy eyes, pressing against the corners to wipe the tears that were forming.

”You d-don’t understand-“

“No, I don’t,” You interrupted, “I don’t understand why you’re running away, and I don’t understand why you’re fucking lying to me.” Bjorn didn’t continue with what he was going to say, his silence was louder than any excuse he was going to offer at that point. You shook your head at him.

”You’re a coward,” You said quietly, watching his face twist, guilt flashing in his eyes, as he watched you collect your things, stuffing them into your backpack, before pushing past him. By the time you reached the door tears were gushing down your cheeks, and as you opened it to leave you could hear Bjorn sniffle.

“I’m sorry y/n.” Was all he could say, but it wasn’t enough for you at that point, you slammed the door behind you, and he let you go.

———-

Tyler grabbed your shoulders, tilting your head up so he was in your line of sight.

”I know he hurt you, and I’m sorry y/n…I really am, but you can’t let this get you down, you have been so tough, you’ve been recovering and putting yourself back out there, and hey, look at where you are right now and how you’re dressed! Ignore that moron for the night, okay? Go have fun.” His words were encouraging, Tyler always had that sort of energy to him, he would take situations like this and make it easier to handle, and you were thankful for his words at that point. You leaned against him, wrapping your arms around his torso to give him a hug. He returned the gesture.

”Thanks Tyler.” You mumbled against his shirt, his hand giving you a gentle pat on your back as he pulled away.

”Now let’s get back in there huh?” He suggested, with you nodding in agreement. Tyler held the door open for you, allowing you to go back into the club first, letting the deep, chest thumping bass surround you again. The both of you walked back to the bar, and Tyler ordered you another drink as you slipped a few greetings to the group, avoiding Bjorn all together even though you could feel his eyes on you, watching you closely. He was shocked that you didn’t leave the building, apart from the little scene you had pulled just a few moments ago, but there was something in him that was glad you didn’t bail on everyone. He wanted to see you, it had been too long, and he needed this opportunity to try to mend the burned bridges.

For those two months of not talking you were diligent in following your plan of not being around him, and you had pulled away from the friend group because of that choice. Tyler was the only one who reached out and stuck around, but he did pass on the information to the rest of the group so they understood that it wasn’t something they did that caused the rift, you didn’t want them blaming themselves on the account of Bjorn’s lack of communication. You missed the dynamic though and you were glad that they accepted the invite you gave them even on such short notice.

”You’re looking really good tonight!” Kay yelled over the music, “It’s very…Different!” She exclaimed, looking down at your outfit. You smiled at her compliment, a blush forming on your cheeks as you took a sip of your drink.

”I thought I’d try out a new look.” You responded, “I’m glad it’s a hit.” You could see her laugh but you couldn’t hear it through all the bass that was drowning the high pitched noises out of the room.

“Well maybe you should test it out on the dance floor, I’m sure there’s a lot of guys here that are wanting to take you home tonight.” Your goal wasn’t to hookup with anyone but you were willing to step out of the box and see where the night took you, so you tilted your head back, and guzzled the remnants of your drink, wiping your wet lips with the back of your hand and shuddering at the sheer intensity of the alcohol that burned down your throat. Everyone was looking at you at this point, shocked by the way you had downed the filled glass that quickly, aware that tonight a different version of you was coming out to play.

“Guess there’s no harm in trying hmm?” You shot back, putting the glass down onto the bar, the person behind the counter taking it away quickly. You felt nervous staring out into the packed crowd, the way the women moved, and swayed, how they let themselves go, the rhythm overtaking them and their bodies. You took in a deep breath, before moving towards the sea of bodies, stepping down the set of stairs and sewing through the crowd to find a spot that was barely visible to your set of friends. You felt like you were swallowed whole as the people took you in, a mix of sweat, spilled drinks and sweet smelling perfume surrounding you like a warm hug, the bass a throbbing pulse against your chest.

You started off by swaying your hips to the music, your head rolling back exposing the sheer lining of sweat that was already glistening on your skin, as you moved your hands up the lace top letting them go above your head, like you were trying to seduce yourself in a way, twisting your torso to the beat. On the floor you didn’t blend into the crowd, you painted yourself into existence, and the people around you welcomed that willingly. Your back arched, and your hair caught the colours of the strobing light, like it was a spotlight on you. In those moments you didn’t feel eyes on you, you just felt alive.

Then you felt the presence of someone behind you, a faint brush of warmth running over your back, they didn’t touch you at first, they were taking caution, which was something you were surprised about. You smirked at the thought of being so tempting to someone that they wanted to be careful not to scare you off, and in turn you didn’t glance back at them, you wanted them to be sucked into your orbit, as you continued to sway your hips. The figure moved in sync with you, mirroring your rhythm, you could see the movements in the shadows the strobe lights caused, noting the build of the person.

He now stepped closer to you, the heat from his body practically radiating against your bare shoulders, the subtle pressure of his presence being felt as he continued to match the pace your hips moved at. His hands still didn’t touch you, but the close proximity was making your skin tingle, you felt electrified, and you couldn’t deny the energy that was flowing between the both of you.

The stranger brushed up against you, it was a subtle move, but you could tell it was deliberate, regardless of the intention it made you inhale sharply, a gasp escaping your throat. You were happy that the music was deafening at this point so they wouldn’t be able to hear your reaction. You leaned back against him, allowing your bodies to close the space the both of you had purposely left, arching your body against the sturdy figure.

Your hips rolled with the beat, teasingly slow, your bottom dragging against the front of his pants with a friction that made your breath catch in your throat. Finally, he placed his hands on your hips, the delicate touch searing its memory onto your skin, his thumbs brushing slow circles into your clothed flesh, the tips of his fingers teasing just beneath the hem of your top, testing how far you’d let him go until you pulled back. To the strangers surprise you leaned into the touch, allowing his fingers to ghost over your belly button without hiking the top up too much, your head tilted to the side inviting him to get even closer, feeling his hot breath against your exposed shoulders. He took the chance, sliding his hands up higher, his fingertips brushing against your waist, the touch sending shivers racing down your spine. In that moment, the both of you moved together, perfectly in sync, and you could’ve sworn you were one entity at that point.

The sway of your hips matched the grind of his, the connection between the both of you becoming electric as the dance floor went completely dark, the only thing lighting the room being the bar, but that was so far away by this point you were practically blind. The man’s arms wrapped around you loosely, continuing to feel your skin beneath the top, his hot breath ragged against your neck now, the faint smell of whiskey hitting your nose. You took the chance to reach your hands up behind you, tangling your fingers through the mysterious figures' hair. The length was short from what you could feel, but it was dense, good enough to pull, you thought to yourself, continuing your intoxicating movements against him as his fingers explored the curve of your ribs. The way he touched you wasn’t hurried, not in the slightest, it was like he wanted to memorize every inch of your skin like a map.

Neither of you spoke, afraid that words would ruin the moment, as the heat of him pressed into every inch of your skin. Your breathing was shallow, and you could tell the both of you were getting worked up. There was no denying that there was tension building, your stomach felt like a jar of butterflies had been crushed within it, and mixed with the alcohol you could feel your head spinning.

He unraveled his arms from around you but kept your body close, as the tips of his fingers ran down your stomach, trailing to the front of your thighs, his hands having a slight tremor while doing so, the touch stopping just above the harnesses on your legs. He settled them there for a second, your chest rising and falling at an irregular pace, his breath sticking to the curve of your neck as your hips rolled against him, earning a groan from his lips, his chest vibrating against your back. He dragged his fingers up your thighs again, settling one hand between them as the other went back to the waistband of your shorts.

You wanted him to take advantage of the darkness of the dance floor, nobody would see, nobody would even know, but you could sense there was some sort of hesitation behind his actions, and you didn’t want to pressure him, so you allowed him to be in control instead. His fingers traced just below your belly button, drawing circles gently, as you felt a pair of wet lips graze over your shoulder, eliciting a gasp from you. It was so soft you could barely feel it but the fire that it lit on your flesh almost brought you close to passing out, it was too intimate, but you couldn’t help but love the feeling it brought you.

The hand that was caressing your stomach slid around your waist, slipping into the back pocket of your shorts, as the other hand trailed up the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, not travelling up any higher, even though you were tempted to shift yourself down onto his touch. You were going to allow him to do anything to you at that point, there was no denying you would go home with him once the lights turned on. Then suddenly after one more open mouthed kiss against your neck, his touch disappeared from you, breaking the heat that was pooling between your bodies. You spun around on your heel, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the crowd had eaten him up and the darkness wasn’t helping at that point either. Your body was still burning from his touch, but the feeling of disappointment was beginning to cool everything down, the memory of his hands on you fleeting. You reached up, pushing your sweaty hair out of your face, realizing how hot you had become from the interaction.

The quick escape had ruined everything, so just like the stranger you decided to retreat from the dancefloor, seeing Tyler, Navarro, Andy, Kay, and Rain sitting at the bar, a look of concern plastered on their faces as they yelled to each other over the music.

“We can check on him afterwards!” You caught Tyler’s words, now joining their confusion.

”Check on who?” You yelled, catching their attention. They glanced over at you, and Navarro replied.

”Bjorn, he just ran out of the place, I don’t know what’s going on with him tonight.” Your eyebrows knitted together, pulling up one of the stools between Tyler and Navarro.

“He probably saw me dancing with that guy out there and ran off.” You commented, sitting down on the seat, immediately feeling something in your back pocket. You pressed your feet against the bar, standing up momentarily to remove whatever was causing the discomfort, pulling out the all too familiar silver engraved ring with the roman numerals.

You could feel your heart stop. The stranger, the one on the dancefloor was Bjorn. You didn’t know if you should feel sick, or angry. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you hadn’t thought to look at who it was behind you, but at the same time you couldn’t believe the audacity he had to do such things to you after months of ignoring you.

“Isn’t that Bjorn’s?” Tyler asked, snapping you out of your trance, as you put it into your palm, folding your hand into a fist.

”Yeah. I better go return it to him. I’ll see you guys later.” Before Tyler could say anything in protest you left the club.

————

You walked to the trailer from the club, it wasn’t that far thankfully, but by the time you had made it to the front door you had your anger from the two months built up inside you, ready to explode. You used the side of your hand to bang on the hard metal of the door, standing on the steps with your arms folded over your chest. It took a few minutes for Bjorn to open the door, surprisingly he looked calm, cool and collected, as if he was ready for this confrontation. He had a joint hanging out of the corner of his mouth, the tip of it glowing a hazy orange while he took a deep breath, removing it from between his lips to blow the smoke out towards you, a smirk appearing on his face.

”Well, if it isn’t my favorite person, come to thank me for that dance?” You pushed by him, entering the trailer with such fury that you could imagine a string of smoke following you, not waiting for an invitation from him to come in.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You snapped, hearing Bjorn close the door behind him.

”What? No ‘hi’, no ‘how have you been Bjorn’? That’s not nice.” He mocked, as you spun around to race him, the ring tightly clenched between your fingers, holding it up to show him.

”Two months Bjorn. Two fucking months of silence, of you ignoring me, and you think now is the time to fuck around and make jokes? You’re un-fucking-believable.” His gaze stared at the ring, bringing his joint back up to his lips, taking a slow, calculated drag, his expressions unreadable. He crossed one arm over his torso, leaning against the wall behind him as he breathed out the smoke.

”I’m not joking.” He said lightly, “You looked like you needed a good time…I thought I’d oblige.” Your mouth dropped open.

”Oblige?” Your voice rising with incredulity. “You danced with me like-like-.” You gestured wildly, trying to find words to express your thoughts, as heat rushed to your cheeks, “And then! Then you just walked away and disappeared and left me to find this fucking thing.” You raised the ring at him, your hand now trembling with nerves.

”You kept it…How sweet.” You could feel the rage pumping through your veins at this point, searing your blood, making it boil.

”I didn’t keep it,” You snapped, “I came here to give it back and to ask what the fuck is wrong with you.” He scoffed.

”Wrong with me?” He pushed off the wall, pointing to himself while he stepped closer to you. “How about you? You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine when you were grinding up against me.” Your breath hitched in your throat as he moved into your space, his familiar scent of smoke wrapping around you.

“I didn’t know it was you.” You hissed through gritted teeth, trying to restrain your anger, looking up at him, shooting daggers, his body leaning closer to you.

“You didn’t stop me though, did you?” His tone was teasing and dark, he was baiting you, and all you could do was bite, blinded by the rage.

”That’s not the point!” You shot back, throwing the ring at him, his reflexes allowing him to catch it in midair, “You don’t get to waltz back into my life, play your stupid little mind games, and then pretend like nothing fucking happened!” For a moment Bjorn’s smirk fell from his lips, his mask slipping just a little bit, a hint of sensitivity flicking through the cracks.

”Nothing happened huh?” He said quietly, “Funny…It felt like something to me.” You could feel your heart thumping against your chest, your palms growing sweaty.

”Stop trying to twist this around. You ignored me for months, Bjorn. Months. And now you think you can just…Just-”

”Just what?” He interrupted, his voice raising, the space between the both of you closing even more as he took another step towards you, putting his joint out in the process. His breath could be felt against your body at this point he was so close, “Just touch you? Just kiss your neck? Just tell you what I’ve been trying to bury within me since we’ve become friends?” His words hung heavy in the air, your eyes widening at his confession.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered, your voice barely audible to him. Bjorn ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated grunt escaping his throat.

”I’m talking about you, about how you’re always on my fucking mind…In my body…How you’re in everything I fucking see. About how I’ve tried to push it all down, ignore it, because…I don’t want to fucking lose you y/n, it scares the hell out of me. But it doesn’t matter at this point does it? Because even when I’m trying to do the right thing by trying to let you go…I can’t fucking stop thinking about you.” Your anger extinguished at his confession, and disbelief overtook you.

”Why did you lie to me then…Why did you act like you didn’t care?” Your voice was trembling at this point, as your heart raced in your chest.

”Cause like you said…I’m a coward.” He admitted, his voice rough “I shouldn’t have let you leave that night.” You looked up at him, feeling bad for what you had said to him, but still unsure of where to go from there.

”Bjorn I-“ Your words faltered, as Bjorn’s calloused hands reached out to cradle your face, holding it as if you might vanish if he were to let go. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger that was all consuming, it sent a jolt of electricity through your bodies. Your gasp was swallowed by him, the searing heat of his mouth moving against yours in such a way that you could feel every inch of your skin light ablaze. The kiss wasn’t soft nor hesitant, it was devastating, Bjorn kissed you like a person starved for touch and attention. His hands slid down your jaw and held your neck, feeling the pulse points that thumped against his thumbs.

Your hands went to his shirt, feeling the steady thrumming of his heart against your palms, as your hands fisted the fabric of the top he was wearing, pulling him even closer, kissing him back with equal fervor. One of his hands travelled down your side to hold your waist, as his lips moved with a desperation that made your knees weak, you were shocked you were still able to stand at that point. Your fingers laced into his hair, mirroring what you had done on the dancefloor, earning a groan that vibrated through you. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, a soft, involuntary sound escaping from you, igniting something even more hungry in him. He pulled away briefly, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“God I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” His voice was strained, like he was barely holding himself together. You shivered, feeling his light stubble brushing against the skin of your neck.

“Bjorn…” You managed to squeak out, your voice a breathy mix of plea and protest, as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your throat, his tongue trailing across the sensitive flesh, tasting your sweat. The air between the both of you grew heavy, your breath intermingling with his, fighting to get closer, to consume each other. His hands slipped under your shirt, holding onto your sides, his lips returning to yours, hungrier than the first kiss that he had given you, a need so overwhelming that it was lighting the both of you ablaze. He pulled back, breathless, resting his forehead against yours. His lips were swollen, and his pale skin was a crimson red.

“You made me feel like I meant nothing to you.” You whispered, “And then you came at me with something like this…And made it so hard to resist you.” Your fingers gripped his hair lightly.

“It killed me every second I chose to stay away, and it hurt me as much as it hurt you.” He replied, his hands coming up again to cup your face, his thumb brushing up against your cheeks, looking into your eyes, searching them for answers. “Tell me to stop y/n…Tell me to stop and I will.” His voice was barely audible at this point, almost pleading with you in a way to not tell him such things. You could feel your heart pounding in your head as you surged forward, crashing your lips into his once again, giving him the answer without words, melting into him again, getting sucked into the black hole that was your love for Bjorn. You pulled back.

”I don’t want you to stop…Please don’t stop.” He shook his head, thumb trailing under your eyes.

”I won’t stop until you tell me to.” He replied, sliding one hand down to intertwine your fingers with his, “Come with me?” He asked, his eyebrows raising, his blue eyes glazed over, the weed beginning to run through him. You squeezed his hand and nodded, untangling yourself from him as he led you down the hallway where the bedrooms were. You hadn’t been in Bjorn’s bedroom, but you assumed that’s where he was taking you. His strides were unhurried but there was intent behind every step, his thumb running over the back of your hand trying to ease his own nerves. When the both of you stopped in front of his bedroom door he took a moment to breathe, before pushing it open.

Your eyes roamed over the dimly lit disarray. A large unmade bed was in the center of the room, it’s dark grey sheets half-tangled and rumpled, you assumed he was a restless sleeper just from the status of the linen. He had a wall of photos on a corkboard near his bed, all his memories pinned randomly, you could see a few of the two of you taken candidly by Kay. The scent of him lingered faintly in the air - warm, smoky, leathery, with a light cedarwood combining everything together in a musk that was distinctly Bjorn. A pile of laundry sat in the corner of the room, not overflowing but teetering on the edge of being chaotic for one person. A mirror leaned against the far wall, tall, and rectangular, it’s frame matching the dark wood of the headboard his bed had, it seemed out of place, but it was fitting for Bjorn. All in all you could say the room looked lived in, and every detail of it carried a hint of his character - uncomplicated, rough around the edges, but magnetic.

You moved into the room more hearing Bjorn close the door behind the both of you, locking it so there would be no interruptions. You turned on your heel, looking over at him, his hands slipping into his pocket as he kicked off his boots, pushing them to the side with his foot. You did the same, your eyes staying on his, watching him step closer to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you could feel his hands begin to work on the latches that held your top together, his trained fingers figuring out the mechanism without even looking.

“Do you trust me?” His breath hitting the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice low. You tilted your head to the side, looking up at him, your hand pushing his hair out from his face, cupping his cheek as you nodded. He gave you a soft kiss on your swollen lips, his hands splitting the back of your shirt apart so he could ease it off of your body. Your skin prickled in the cool air of his room, as he threw the lacy fabric to the side, his eyes roaming over the expanse of your bare flesh, taking in every detail, every blemish, every mark that your skin had displayed.

“You’re so beautiful.” You could feel your heart seize for a moment, his head leaning down to gently kiss the crook of your neck, “So so beautiful.” His lips return to yours for a brief moment, your nipples pebbling against his chest as the cool air begins to nip at your exposed skin, “Go lay on the bed.” He whispers against your ear, his fingertips ghosting along your hips, your cheeks turning hot at the instructions. You glanced over your shoulder at the bed, making your way over to it, letting yourself fall onto the memory foam, the sheets puffing around you. Your arms extended out over your head, your gaze trailing over to Bjorn, watching him remove his shirt, throwing it to the side to allow you to take in his pale skin under the yellow hue of the room. He walked around the bed, kneeling down on it, his hands sliding up your bare smooth legs, over the harnesses on your thighs, up to the waistband of your shorts.

“Move back a bit more…I want you to be able to watch me in the mirror.” He commented, helping you move yourself up towards the edge of the bed, your head hanging off slightly so your gaze met your own reflection. The angle gave you a perfect view of yourself and Bjorn, as his fingers hooked under the waistband of the shorts, tugging them down your legs, his knuckles dragging down the skin of your thighs. You helped him out by lifting your bum off the mattress, showing off the little flexibility you had, as the fabric was removed and thrown over his shoulder, “I want you to see everything I’m going to do to you.” He murmured, his body settling between your open legs. Your stomach tightened at his words, your eyes darting to the reflection, seeing his body atop yours. His lips brushed along your neck, trailing over your collarbones, his hands moving with such ease, sliding up the back of your legs, and up your thighs, tracing along the skin of your hips, goosebumps chasing the touch. His fingers hooked under the thin waistband of your black lacy panties, pulling them down slowly, looking at the skin that became exposed to him, his mouth watering at the sight, leaning down to kiss the soft skin of your hip, crumpling the underwear in his hand, his touch returning to your thighs moments later, holding them gently.

”God look at you.” He whispered, his lips trailing lower, peppering wet kisses down your thigh savoring each gasp you took. You arched into him, spreading your legs a little wider for him, your eyes locking in on the reflection, seeing Bjorn’s gaze shift to the mirror so he could look back at you, a smile coming up onto his face.

”Bjorn…” Your voice was trembling, surrendering yourself to him, feeling his hot breath fanning over your skin, his mouth brushing against your inner thigh, your hands running across his shoulders, trying to find something to ground yourself as he got closer and closer to your hot core. The image of him between your legs reflected back at you, a gasp escaping your throat as his tongue ran up between your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, your fingers grasping his hair. His mouth worked expertly against you, his hands gripping your body as if you might disappear, your hips writhing beneath him, grinding yourself on his face, craving more pressure. He obliged, pressing his tongue harder against your soaking core, both of his hands reaching up to hold onto your wrists gently. You could see your skin begin to flush red in the dim lighting, the blood rushing to your head. The room was filled with your breathy gasps intermixing with Bjorn’s deep vibrating moans, sucking gently on your sensitive clit, moving his mouth down to lap at your soaked core, collecting your juices on his tongue, his eyes now looking up at you. His pupils were blown out, his face beet red as he watched you chant his name like a prayer, your body bucking up against him, chasing the release that was beginning to coil inside you. He intertwined his fingers between yours, holding your hands at your sides so he could continue to watch you in the reflection, his nose bumping against your clit with the way he pushed his face into you, slipping his tongue in your fluttering entrance fucking it with the firm muscle. You squeezed his hands, now bending upwards to look at him, amazed by the way he knew your body already without even exploring it, your gasps now growing in volume as your hips began to move involuntarily, your thighs twitching against his neck. His gaze met yours, lust, hunger, and passion burning behind his eyes.

”Please…Please Bjorn.” Was all you managed to get out, as you let your neck hang off the side of the bed again, giving yourself a headrush, the begging encouraging his assertive and meticulous movements, the wetness of his tongue moving in and out of you. Heat crawled up your skin, as your thighs involuntarily closed around his head tightly, your hands squeezing his, the warmth crashing down on you, leaving your entire body trembling. He kept his face against you wanting to get every last drop from you, every bit that you were willing to give over. You relaxed against the mattress moments later, out of breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your hands untangling from his, as Bjorn lifted his head, placing one final set of kisses against the inside of your thighs. He made his way up the bed slowly, his lips trailing along your body - your stomach, the slight curve of your ribs, the delicate line of your sternum, his rough hands never leaving your skin.

”You’re so beautiful,” He said, his voice a hoarse whisper, his face hovering above yours, your breaths mingling together. His expression was so soft you melted into it, his blue eyes searching yours slowly, your hands coming up to cradle his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

”Bjorn…” You murmured, your voice trembling, still trying to bring your heart rate down. Your hooded eyes looked at him. You didn’t know what you wanted to say - a thank you, an I love you, something to encourage him to continue to ravage you- nothing felt enough at that point. He leaned down, kissing you slowly, letting the connection deepen as if he was pouring the unspoken words into the intimate moment, your body arching towards him, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, wanting to explore more of his skin.

”Are you okay?” He breathes against your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to draw him in closer.

”I’m okay.” You whispered, tilting your chin up to kiss him again, as your hands slid down the front of his chest, feeling the faint line of hair below his belly button that led to the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, you undid his belt, teasing him.

”You’re so patient.” You giggled, a smile playing on your lips as you unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged the zipper down.

“And you…” He countered softly, leaning in towards you, breathing against your mouth “Drive me insane.” He shifted back onto his knees, pushing his jeans and boxer shorts down, kicking them off the side of the bed to join the rest of the abandoned clothes. In the golden light your eyes roamed over him, looking at his already erect cock, the tip red and glistening from the precum. He was huge, there was no denying that, and you were shocked to find out the rumors were actually true.

“Y/n…” He called, drawing your attention back up to his face, a grin appearing on his lips, catching you in the act of admiring him, “See something you like?” He added, his hands on your knees, rubbing them gently with his rough palms. You nodded, spreading your legs for him, his jaw clenching at the sight.

”Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his fingers pressing into your skin, heat pooling behind his ice blue eyes.

“Come here.” You instructed, and without hesitation he leaned down, pressing his palms against the mattress on either side of your head, his body folding over yours. His weight was warm and solid, as his mouth found yours again. The pressure of him made you sigh against his lips, as your hands glided down his back, feeling the tension in the muscles that held him up, his hips grinding towards yours, his cock twitching against the wetness between your legs.

“Fuck I don’t have condoms…” He groaned, realizing he had not restocked on them. You shook your head, pointing to a scar on the back of your arm.

”I have an implant, don’t worry about the condom situation.” The thought of being inside you with no barriers, the feeling of your velvety wet walls gripping his cock almost made him cum right then and there. The fact you trusted him enough to allow him to do that turned him on even more. He leaned forward, taking your bottom lip between his, tangling himself up in you, pulling away.

”Look,” His fingers pressed against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head back so you could look at the reflection, your eyes watching as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, nibbling on your collarbone, the overwhelming stimulation making your heart race. “So perfect.” His breath was hot, and it stuck to your skin, as one hand began to trace the curve of your waist. You reached down between the both of you, your hand wrapping around his cock, feeling desperation as you slid the tip up and down the slick your cunt had produced, gasping as his hips moved forward. In the reflection you could see his head dipping lower, his eyes closing briefly, savoring the moment he slipped between your folds, trying to keep himself steady so you could adjust to his size.

“Bjorn.” You whined, “Please…” Was all you could get out, his focus coming up to you, his free hand cupping your cheek.

”I’ve got you…” He whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your heart clenched at the softness of his voice, the hand on your waist trailing down to hold your thigh up against his torso. You swallowed hard, your hands sliding up his chest, his heart beating against your palm, “Look at how good you take me.” He complimented, his hips moving slowly towards yours. In the reflection it was as if you were seeing yourself through his eyes, watching the way you writhed beneath him as he stretched you out slowly. He slid his thumb into your mouth, dragging the saliva down your chin, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy, heated kiss, your tongues battling for dominance, taking the opportunity to swallow your gasps as he pushed fully into you, bottoming out, your nails scraping down his back at the stretch. Bjorn hissed softly at the sensation, but the look in his eyes was welcoming. The both of you stilled for a moment, wanting to adjust to the new feeling of being so close together.

”Breathe with me.” He instructed, his forehead resting against yours, his hand finding yours, threading your fingers together. You did as you were told, breathing deeply, relaxing into him. Slowly, he began to move his hips, watching your reaction to gauge what made you feel good, trying to memorize it.

”Every part of you….Feels so good.” You whimper, arching into the thrusts. Your words sunk deep into him as his hips snapped forward rhythmically, finding a pace that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. He held your neck, helping you shift down the bed so you had more support for your head, so the both of you can look into each other's eyes. The quiet groans he made mingled with the sounds that escaped your lips filling the air between you, his forehead meeting yours.

“You’re so fucking perfect y/n.” Your cheeks burned at his words, his tone stealing the breath from your lungs as he held you closely, his body moving with such a gentle force it made your head spin. His arm slid behind your neck, propping you up, his lips pressing against your temple, his thrusts slowing down and getting deeper. A knot coiled low in your stomach, another orgasm building in you, the wetness now audible in the room. Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing your body to give into him, his urgent and tender movements burning for you.

”Bjorn…I-.” He held your cheek,

”I know, I got you…Let yourself go.” He continued to thrust into you, your walls tightening around him, whimpering at the overstimulation, his forehead meeting yours as his movements and breathing became ragged, his cock sinking into you just a little more deeper before he stilled above you, warmth filling your tight pussy, his hand squeezing yours. The world outside of his room felt far away in that moment- absolutely insignificant to what you had both done. All that mattered was being with him, entangled on top of the sheets, holding each other as you came down from the high. He pressed a kiss on your forehead, the both of you letting out a content sigh together, savoring the afterglow. He looked down at you, a quiet affection playing behind his blown out pupils.

”You’re incredible.” He whispered softly, his voice was tender, “I never want to forget this.” You smiled at his words.

”I don’t think I could forget it even if I tried.” You replied back, the both of you giggling together, settling down a bit, legs entwining together, feeling him soften inside you, but keeping him inside.

”Stay the night?” He asked, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

”I was planning to.” You responded, a lazy smile engraved on your lips, letting your body relax against his, your hands still tracing along every inch of his skin, knowing that it was just the start of something new.

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notecountingmachine · 3 days ago

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hindvanture · 8 months ago

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python333 · 1 year ago

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since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems.

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times.

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh.

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected.

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking.

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance.

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine.

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets.

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up.

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk.

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine.

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf.

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away.

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move.

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster.

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring.

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight.

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it.

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them.

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—”

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades.

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard.

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle.

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades.

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process.

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you.

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers.

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine.

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened.

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?”

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings.

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words.

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned.

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?”

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs.

“Who?”

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent.

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you.

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do.

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare.

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these.

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?”

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.”

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him.

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent.

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours.

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in.

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher.

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you.

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.”

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s.

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open.

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance.

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again.

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force.

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

213 notes · View notes

gremlin-girly · 4 months ago

Text

It's a Wonderful Life

A Bucky Barnes Christmas fic

Tags/warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, mentions of suicide/depression/abuse/ptsd, post end game, Steve went back, generally depressing stuff but it's a happy ending :)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

Summary: based upon the film of the same name. On Christmas Eve, Bucky takes a walk and meets a stranger who assures him life is worth living.

Word count : 2.9k (2977)

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! ☺️ sorry to make it so sad - I may come back amd edit parts but I dont know yet! I apologise for any mistakes etc etc. And there's another note at the very end! - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Bucky Barnes Collection | Navigation

Christmas Eve in New York was always cold and today was no exception. Bucky wasn't sure how far he'd walked, but he was at a bridge not far from the city, watching the lights wink in the distance.

Leaning on the stone ledge, breathing into his gloved hands to (at the very least) keep his flesh hand warm, he did what he had been doing since the moment he blipped back; think about his entire existence and the lead up to this point, here on the bridge, on Christmas Eve.

The water below whooshed by quickly although you couldn't see the inky mass below. It was loud, almost too loud to hear himself think. He sighed, dropping his hands to the metal railing stuck into the stones.

What was the point of it all?

Bucky wondered, staring into the black void below, if he'd ever truly be free of HYDRA. Sure, his brain was apparently brainwashing-free but, and not to insult Shuri, he was with HYDRA for almost a century.

Almost a century.

Almost a century of abuse. Seven decades worth of scars. Seven decades of murders deserved and not. Seven decades of being frozen and defrosted to the point his body sometimes makes him sick because he shouldn't be out of cryo so long. Seven decades of torture, mental and physical, on top of losing Nat, Tony and... Steve.

End of the line.

What a joke.

What was the point of dragging the Winter soldier kicking and screaming to fix him, to put your life and others' on the line for him; a man who tried to kill you and your friends multiple times, only to leave him once he was back to his old self?

Well, old self was a bit of an exaggeration.

Bucky's grip on the railing tightened, creaking under his strength as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He hated, hated, hated to admit that he was angry at Steve. Resentful. If Bucky was in Steve's position he would have put a bullet in his brain.

He tells himself, night after night, that Steve had good intentions. Bringing him back, fixing him but... leaving him? Bucky knew very few people, and very few (rightfully) didn't trust him. The only connections he had to most people were Steve and with him gone, it was like people stopped having to pretend to tolerate Bucky and left him alone.

And Steve... after the blip, he'd changed. But coming back after five years, five blissful years where there was no fighting, no pain, just nothing... for Steve to vanish like that made Bucky think he had done something wrong.

Bucky didn't know when he had started crying. He wiped his eyes roughly with his hands and sniffed. He was also a man out of time. He didn't understand modern slang, modern music (which was awful), modern romance or any of that texting stuff or Facebook. Or whatever the bird app was. Or was it as letter now? God. Everything was confusing.

There was a sick comfort in knowing what he was good at with HYDRA.

What was the point of it all?

Even if he threw himself over the railing, by some sick cosmic joke he'd probably live; if not by losing another limb.

"Excuse me?" A voice calls. Bucky ignores it. "Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky blinks and looks over in the direction of the voice. It's not one he recognises and neither is the person.

Before him is an old woman, bundled in thick coats and scarves. She has thin, short white curly hair that's almost translucent and an angled face with chubby, rosy cheeks and eyes that glitter with a playful wit. She's somebody's grandma, with that half-stern eyebrow raise, matronly and motherly look rolled into one.

"Hi?" Bucky blinks at her trying to place her. He still doesn't recognise her.

She approaches a little closer and peeks over the bridge where Bucky had been staring and whistles, cutting through the rush of water in the darkness. "I hope you weren't thinking of jumping."

"No." Bucky lies, still confused.

"Ah, clever boy. It would do you no good. Plenty left to do."

"Do I know you?" Bucky asks, staring at her.

"Oh! No. You don't know me." The old lady says cryptically. "But I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. I know everyone."

Bucky stands up to his full height, towering above the old lady, who watches him unphased. He tilts his head at her, narrowing his eyes, trying to decipher who or possibly what she is and what she could possibly want with him.

"I'm guessing you know me from the news? Or from history books?"

"I know you as James Buchanan Barnes, born March tenth, nineteen-seventeen. I know you as the Winter Soldier. I know you as White Wolf and now I know you as just Bucky."

Bucky reels. Civilians didn't know about his time in Wakanda and he was certain that not many people just knew him as Bucky outside of SHIELD.

"How...?"

"Nevermind how." She snips, adjusting her handbag on her forearm. "What brings you to the bridge tonight, Bucky?"

It sounds like a loaded question. It is a loaded question. The old lady seems to be goading him into admitting something he didn't want to admit.

"I...Just out for a walk." He falters, looking down at his feet.

"Perfect. Walk with me?" The old lady offers her arm out to him, and for some reason Bucky is compelled to take it. Walking arm in arm, they slowly make their way back into the thrum of the city centre.

There are people everywhere.

Pretty standard for New York on Christmas Eve. There are kids, carolers, couples and Christmas-everything along the streets. There's music playing Here Comes Santa Claus somewhere, lights flashing and a giant tree decorated to the nines every few blocks.

"Look at them," The old lady murmurs looking out into the crowd with a warm smile. "Aren't they just the sweetest?"

Bucky follows her gaze. There's plenty of laughing kids, couples walking hand in hand and making gooey eyes at one another but Bucky knows there's more beneath the surface; abusers, pick pockets and murderers walk amongst them. He would know.

"Yeah." Bucky says gruffly. "I guess."

The old lady's gaze pierces him with a stern look. "You don't believe me."

"There are just as many bad people as there are good." Bucky huffs. "No matter what, it hardly makes a difference."

"Now, now," The old lady tuts with a small, patient smile. "That's just not true. Look at where we are."

Bucky frowns down at her. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to stay and argue with some random old lady on Christmas Eve, but he does.

"We're in New York, lady." Bucky grumbles. The old lady jerks her head upwards towards the street name etched into the side of a tall concrete building. Time had worn most of the wording away but Bucky could still just about make it out.

"Worthing Street?"

"Worthing Street." The old lady confirms. And glances up at Bucky. "This is where you first met Steven Grant Rogers all those years ago."

"How in the hell-"

"Language." The old lady huffs and then smiles. "I told you. I know you."

Bucky frowns.

"A little bit of good always makes a big difference. It's all about perspective." She chuckles happily. "This is where James Buchanan Barnes met his best friend; protecting him from bullies. Do you know he could've died that day?"

She gives Bucky a sideways glance as memories spill from Bucky's brain. Steve hacking up a lung and trying to stand, his face and knuckles bloody, struggling to catch his breath.

"I remember." Bucky says quietly.

The lady continues. "Had you not stepped in and saved him, your lives would have been very different. Without you, there would be no Steve Rogers, no Captain America as we know him."

"But there'd be no Wonter Soldier either." Bucky counters and is surprised when the old woman cackles at him.

"There would always be a Winter Soldier. Always a Captain America. Whether or not they were you or Steven is another school of fish entirely."

Bucky ponders her words but thinks that maybe discussing alternate realities would melt his brain. Clint had tried when he'd explained the time travel stuff in the search for infinity stones but it gave Bucky a headache. He was from the 40s for God's sake.

"Your small act of kindness, your selflessness, made Steve aspire to be who he was." The old lady says after a moment. "As difficult as it was, Steve felt that he owed it to you to give you back your life. He deemed you worthy of saving above all else."

Bucky's chest tightened. He could feel the sting of tears again and forced them back.

"Probably because I saved his ass more than once," Bucky tries to chuckle, but the lump in his throat is too thick.

"Because you were his brother." The old woman says simply. She looks back out into the crowd once more before tugging on Bucky’s stiff arm. "Come on. We're not done."

"If you know everyone," Bucky begins, walking alongside the old woman. "Why did Steve leave?"

"Love." The old woman sighs. "He had sacrificed so much and so many. He knew you'd be okay."

"Did he?"

The old woman grins wickedly at Bucky. "Of course. You now have Sam."

Bucky scoffs.

"And Sarah. AJ. Cass. Yelena. Alexei. Shuri. Okoye. T'challa. The list goes on." The old woman reaches into her handbag, scouring it for a moment before producing a mint humbug and offering to Bucky who awkwardly accepts it. She finds one for herself and they continue on down the street.

"And there's those you haven't met yet." She says after her humbug has melted enough for her to speak.

Bucky frowns again. "Oh yeah? Like, I don't know, a partner or something?"

The Old Woman's eyes twinkle. "Or something."

Bucky harumphs, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't let himself think about that; a future. How could someone love him? After everything he'd done? He was beyond damaged goods.

But the way the Old Woman speaks, as if she knows, makes a small part of him jump for joy. If even he was worthy of love and affection...

"Must you always do that?"

Bucky gives the Old Woman a sideways glance. "Do what?"

"Scrunching up your face like that." She mimicks Bucky's expression, brows furrowing deeply adding extra wrinkles to her skin and pouting her lips comically. "You look like a sad little basset hound."

Bucky throws up his hands. "Its my face!"

"Well, make it smile more." The Old Woman argues back.

"I'm one hundred and six, lady, you can't tell me what to do!" Bucky's lips twitch upwards when he catches her small smirk. "Where are you taking me now, anyway?"

"We're going to see a friend of mine."

Horizon Resedential Care was one of the more impressive care homes in New York. Set within a small block with a park for residents to mull about in, the care home boasted glowing reviews from family members who adored seeing their loved ones sociable, active and well cared for.

The small, wrought iron gate was shut; locked tight to ensure no residents went walk about in the ice and snow. Only the intercom button glowed red, begging to be pressed, to allow family visits.

"No." Bucky said, standing outside the gate. His feet couldn't move. He felt sick. He wanted to run. "I'm not going in there."

The Old Woman looked at him sadly, heartache etched all over her face. "She'd love to see you, you know."

"I - would she? Surely she thinks..." Bucky swallows thickly.

Surely she thinks I'm dead?

"You don't give the woman enough credit." The Old Woman chuckles with a shake of her head. "They watch documentaries in there all the time. The latest one was that Netflix special on the Winter Soldier."

"Oh my God." Bucky murmurs.

"Language." The Old Woman puffs. "Rebecca is more upset that you haven't come to visit her."

Bucky's heart clenches uncomfortably. "She is?"

"Of course. And you clearly know she's in there." The Old Woman gives him another annoying, knowing look. "You’ve known she was alive and haven't visited. Why?"

"Why?" Bucky growls, irritation and a sense of overwhelm crashing over his nerves like a tsunami. "My baby sister is old. I am a killer. How could I show my face to her after everything?"

The Old Woman only shrugs, turning away and beginning to walk down the street again. "You'd be surprised at how much love can forgive, Bucky. But remember, you have her back. You ought to make the most of the time you have together. Perhaps you should not let her think that you have forgotten her."

Bucky's flesh hand is fisted to hard he can feel his bones ache. He grinds his teeth as he fights down his temper. Who was this woman? And how did she know so much about him?

Jogging to catch up to her, Bucky hangs his head falling into step beside her.

"Im sorry for snapping." He grumbles. "Its just-"

"No need to apologise." She holds up a hand and still wears that kind, grandmotherly smile. "However, I do have one more person I'd like you to meet. She should be up this next street."

She?

The alleyway the Old Woman stopped in was... well, exactly how you would imagine an alleyway at the busiest time of year to look like. Trash cans scattered, rotting food mixed with debris and cardboard neatly lining each side of the alley.

"She's supposed to be here." The Old Woman comments, looking down at a thin gold watch around her wrist.

Bucky watches as a rat dives into a trash can and grimaces. "Who?"

"Ah!" The lady throws up her hands and waves at someone past Bucky. "There she is!"

Bucky turns but there's nobody there. He's about to argue with the old lady when a soft meow draw his attention to the ground. At his feet, sitting daintily with wide blue eyes, is the scruffiest white kitten he'd ever seen.

"Alpine."The Old Woman beams. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."

Bucky looks at the rosy cheeked old lady; cherub-like with her dimpled smile and then down at the kitten, who chirps at him. There's something about the Old Woman that's strangely familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"Bucky, Alpine. Alpine, Bucky." She nods and the kitten, Alpine, looks back to Bucky. Bucky stares back. This is entirely surreal.

"What the hell is-"

"She's your companion." She says matter of factly. "I had to pull a few strings to get her a little sooner but-"

"I don't know the first goddamn thing about looking after a cat!"

"Language!" The Old Woman snaps before adding spritely, "You'll learn."

Alpine toddles over to Bucky, circling around his legs and purring loudly. Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. This wasn't a dream. All of this, the wandering was real and not some sort of fucked up nightmare like he was used to having.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when Alpine's giant jeweled eyes meet his and she meows quietly; looking up at him with adoration that said I trust you.

"She needs you as much as you need her." The Old Woman says softly. "Take good care of eachother, you two."

He squats down and offers his flesh hand to Alpine, who sniffs it gingerly before bumping her tiny head against it. Bucky had never been one to say whether he was a dog or cat person, he never had either growing up, and then with the war and HYDRA.... But looking at this kitten before him, his heart was already a puddle at his feet.

Bundling Alpine into his leather jacket, Bucky turned to find the space the Old Woman had occupied was empty. Bucky whipped his head up and down the alleyway and peeked out onto the street. She'd disappeared.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at Alpine snuggled against him.

"This has got to be the weirdest Christmas Eve ever." He mutters, stepping into the street and heading back to his apartment.

Bucky's apartment was a lot noisier than when he'd left it over three hours ago. And far more brightly coloured with tinsel and fairy lights.

AJ and Cass are playing some video game on his sofa, Sarah is making something that smells delicious and Sam was in the middle of finishing up the decorations.

"I know you said you didn't want anyone around," Sam starts nervously, already holding his hands in surrender as Bucky opens the door. "But no one should be alone on Christmas. Sarah and I-"

Sam stops and looks at Bucky's jacket as Alpine pokes her head out. "Is that a cat?"

"Uh, yeah." Bucky looks down at Alpine who meows loudly. "This is Alpine."

"Right. Sorry." Sam shakes his head before continuing. "Sarah and I brought some food and snacks and the boys are gonna watch Christmas movies. I'd love it if you'd join us, Buck."

"I... yeah." Bucky nods and swallows thickly, smiling over at Sam. "Thanks, pal. Although... you're in my house."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam waves a hand dismissively but his grin is wide. "Come on. You hungry? We've got plenty of snacks. No cat friendly ones though."

Alpine puffs in annoyance making Bucky chuckle as he joins Sam and Sarah in his small kitchenette. Warmth blossoms in his tight chest as the ice begins to thaw. He tries not to let it show, when tears prickle his eyes again in the warm, flashing lights.

The Old Woman was right; there was plenty left to do.

~ END ~

A/N: Nadolig Llawen! Or happy holidays wherever you are. I hope you're having a good time!

I've been writing and editing this all damn day in between work and cooking.

Originally I played with a few ideas but ultimately decided that I wanted to keep it as non-complex as possible (but if you are curious, yes Old Woman was an angel - specifically I chose Gamaliel Angel of protection and strength, Angel of Cherubs, "recompense of God" - thanks Wiki for that one). I'm not Christian, but a big supernatural fan (hence why I loved this fic idea). I thought if anyone was to be thrown into an old school movie (Like It's a Wonderful Life) it would be Bucky.

And don't worry, he visited Rebecca the next day.

I hope you enjoyed if you've read this far! And once again, happy holidays

- Love, Grem x

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #fluff #angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes christmas fic #bucky barnes xmas fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #Bucky christmas fic #christmas fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters

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