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gf2bellamy · 10 days ago

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bet — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you and spencer have a bet on who is going to be the first to expose your relationship content warnings: mention of a victim a/n: when i tell you this took me ages omg i was struggling

You and Spencer had a bet.

A ridiculous, entirely unnecessary bet—but a bet nonetheless.

The stakes? Bragging rights, and the satisfaction of being able to tease the other endlessly.

The challenge? Who would be the first to slip up and accidentally reveal your secret relationship to the rest of the BAU team.

Both of you knew that secrecy wasn’t exactly your strong suit. Between Spencer’s tendency to ramble when nervous and your habit of wearing your emotions like a neon sign, it was only a matter of time before someone pieced it all together.

And that was what made the bet so much fun—because neither of you wanted to be the one to crack first.

Some mishaps had already happened, moments that came far too close to giving you both away.

Like the time Derek had caught Spencer staring at you during a team briefing. “Hey, Pretty Boy, you got something to add, or are you just lost in thought over there?” Derek had teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. Spencer, predictably, had flushed a deep shade of red and stumbled over a vague response.

And, of course, who could forget the case in Chicago when Hotch had walked into the room just as Spencer had brushed a strand of hair out of your face? The gesture had been so natural, so tender, that even Hotch had paused for a fraction of a second before continuing his sentence. You could’ve sworn he’d given you a knowing glance, though he hadn’t said a word.

Right now, you were sitting at your desk, trying (and failing) to focus on finishing your report on the case from two days ago.

“Spence, what was the address of the place where we found the second victim?” you asked, tapping your pen on the paper as you glanced up at your boyfriend sitting across from you at his desk.

“1375 Oakridge Drive,” he replied almost automatically, barely looking up from his own report.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, jotting it down and trying not to get distracted by the little curl of hair falling onto his forehead.

The bullpen was unusually quiet, save for the faint clacking of keyboards and the low hum of the coffee machine.

That peace didn’t last long, though, as Derek and Garcia burst into the room, engaged in what sounded like a very enthusiastic debate.

“Reid, listen to this!” Derek called out, cutting across the bullpen as Penelope trailed behind him, waving her arms dramatically. Both you and Spencer instinctively looked up from your work.

“Okay,” Derek began, leaning one arm casually on the divider of Spencer’s desk. “Do you think watching a rom-com with someone is romantic?”

“Specifically with a friend,” Penelope interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because apparently, Mr. ‘Romance Expert’ here thinks it is!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come on, Penelope. It can be romantic. I mean, think about it—it’s all cozy, emotional, and half the time someone ends up crying or sharing popcorn. You’re telling me that doesn’t create a vibe?”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. He sat up straighter, adjusting his tie slightly as he considered his answer.

“Well,” he began, his voice contemplative, “the concept of watching a romantic comedy doesn’t inherently equate to a romantic interaction. However, if the participants have underlying romantic feelings, the environment—such as sharing an intimate space or engaging in emotional dialogue—could certainly facilitate a sense of connection. For example, I—”

He froze mid-sentence, his brain catching up with his mouth as he realized where he was going.

Oh no.

Your eyes widened in panic as you watched Spencer flounder. His lips parted as though he might try to backtrack, but the damage was already done.

“For example…?” Derek prompted, his brows shooting up, clearly intrigued.

Spencer quickly cleared his throat, fumbling for a save. “Uh, hypothetically. I mean, generally speaking. Like, if two people…were, um, interested in each other—not me, of course—then maybe…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, knowing full well that he was treading dangerously close to losing the bet.

Derek narrowed his eyes, studying Spencer for a moment. “Hmm,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllable. “You’re acting a little weird there. Something you wanna share with the class?”

“Nope!” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so forcefully it made his curls bounce. “Absolutely nothing.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Spencer with suspicion. “Uh-huh. If you say so.”

You decided to intervene before they could dig any deeper. “Alright, Garcia, what’s your stance on the rom-com thing?” you asked, redirecting the conversation.

The distraction worked, and Penelope launched into an impassioned argument, effectively pulling Derek’s attention away from Spencer.

You shot Spencer a look across the desks, mouthing close call. He gave you an apologetic shrug, his cheeks still faintly pink.

Two days later, you made the mistake. The one that was ten times worse than the rom-com slip-up Spencer had made.

You were in the file room, buried in paperwork that Hotch had assigned to you earlier that morning. The hours had been long and draining, and you’d barely made a dent in the pile.

Derek was there too, flipping through some files, his eyes narrowing in concentration, while Garcia sat at the table, her usual flair of colorful banter filling the otherwise quiet room.

She wasn’t doing much work, but she was keeping the rest of you entertained with her gossip.

“This is tiring,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you stretched and yawned, your eyes heavy from exhaustion.

You handed Derek a file, trying to keep your energy up, though it was clear you weren’t succeeding.

Spencer, who had been quietly scanning through a set of documents, glanced up at you, and then took a step closer. “You should go take a break and grab a coffee,” he suggested, his voice warm and concerned. “I’ll take these off your hands.”

You spun around to face him, smiling at the sight of him standing there, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly tousled.

His expression was a mixture of concern and adoration, and you couldn’t help the little flutter in your chest.

You smiled at him, genuinely grateful for the offer. You’d been working for hours, and the fatigue was beginning to take its toll.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft with appreciation. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly and planted a quick kiss on Spencer's cheek, your hand instinctively resting on his face—something you'd done countless times without giving it much thought.

The moment your lips brushed his skin, time seemed to slow. You pulled back almost immediately, but not fast enough. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up into Spencer’s eyes, wide and shocked.

His brown eyes were locked on yours, the same stunned expression mirroring your own.

It was like a slow-motion realization hit you both at the exact same time—you just kissed him.

Before either of you could process what had happened, a loud gasp echoed from behind you.

“Oh my god!” Garcia squealed, her voice thick with excitement.

You felt your face burn as you snapped your eyes shut, feeling a flush creep up your neck. You could practically hear Derek’s mischievous chuckle follow suit.

Spencer's back stiffened, and you knew exactly what was coming next.

“Well, well, well,” Derek's voice rang out, full of teasing amusement, “Look what we got here” His tone was almost dramatic as he clapped Spencer on the back.

“Way to go, my man! Getting the girl!” Derek cheered loudly.

You dropped your hand from Spencer’s face to his chest, your shoulders slumping as you sighed loudly.

It was out in the open now—so much for the bet.

Penelope’s voice cut through the air like a burst of confetti. “I knew it! I’ve been saying it for months, but nobody would listen to me!”

She was practically bouncing on her feet as she grinned at the both of you, clearly pleased with herself.

Spencer gave you a nervous but warm smile. You could tell he was about to say something, but before he could, you were swarmed by both Derek and Garcia.

“I knew you two were adorable,” Garcia squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh my god, you two are going to be so cute together.”

Derek, on the other hand, ruffled Spencer’s hair. “I’m proud of you, man.”

You could feel your pulse racing as you glanced at Spencer, who was doing his best to keep his usual composure, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

He gave you a look that could only be described as amused exasperation, as if asking, Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about hiding it anymore, do we?

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. Spencer’s smile softened as his hand reached for yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, leaning in a bit closer to him. “I didn’t mean for this to—”

He cut you off with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I think it’s about time they found out.”

Later that night, you and Spencer were lying in bed. Your head rested on his chest, and your fingers absentmindedly drew soft circles over his chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

His hand was gently resting around your waist, his thumb lightly brushing over the skin of your arm.

"Today was fun," you murmured into his chest, the sound muffled but sincere.

“A lot of fun,” he chuckled, the vibration of his laugh resonating through his chest.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering the teasing from Derek and Garcia, and the way everything had just spilled out into the open.

“I for sure thought you’d be the one to lose the bet,” you teased, your voice light and playful.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a soft smile. "I didn’t," he said, his voice playful but confident.

“Why is that?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to prop yourself up on your elbow. Spencer met your gaze, his smile never wavering.

He was looking down at you with that soft affection that always made your heart skip a beat, but there was something teasing behind his eyes now.

"You're more obvious than me," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with his fingers, the touch tender.

You immediately furrowed your brow, sitting up a little straighter. “No I’m not,” you said, a playful frown tugging at your lips.

But the moment his fingers gently brushed your hair again, any trace of the playful frown disappeared. A warm smile spread across your face, unable to resist the effect his touch had on you.

Spencer tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that teasing spark you knew so well. “Oh really?” he said, his voice laced with amusement, his gaze never leaving yours.

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “Okay, maybe,” you admitted with a mock sigh, before leaning back down onto his chest.

Spencer’s laughter rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

You snuggled closer to him, your face against his chest once more, feeling the beat of his heart beneath you.

"Goodnight, Spence," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Goodnight," he replied, his hand gently squeezing your waist as he kissed your forehead one last time.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid angst

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ingravinoveritas · 2 years ago

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No idea how I’ve never seen this before, but Michael is just so beautiful here...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #those curls though #god he is gorgeous here #is it even legal to look this handsome?#far too much attractiveness in one person #that peek of chest hair is a complete tease #love this so much #back on my Michael thirsting bullshit yet again #yes

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mickandmusings · 7 months ago

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you’re losing me

pairing: tyler owens x f! reader

word count: 5.2k

summary:

when tyler, yet again, forgets an important date while he's caught up in chasing, y/n is at her wits end. their relationship feels like it's dying, and he just might have dealt the final blow. after a series of rather unfortunate happenings, it's up to the rest of the wranglers to set them free from the disaster they created.

warnings: ANGST with a capital a; tyler is kind of an ass; halfway edited (sorry); forced proximity; not my most favorite thing i've ever written; sort of suggestive but not explicit

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall taunts her, reminding her that time was continuing to pass by. She taps her fingers against the table, her patience fleeting.

Y/N picks up her phone to check it for nearly the twentieth time in the past half hour. She had hoped to look down and see a missed call or an apologetic message from her boyfriend, who, at present, is an hour and a half late for their anniversary dinner. She had the table set for two some time ago: a home cooked meal in the oven, a bottle of white wine to split, and a candle lit in the center of the table. She sported a flowy sundress that tapered off mid-calf-Tyler's favorite dress on her-one that she just knew was going to end up on the floor of their bedroom by now.

Clearly, she'd been mistaken.

She presses the button on the side and the screen illuminates the dimly-lit room. The only thing that greets her is an empty lockscreen- a picture of Tyler smiling down at her as she looks up at him, taken over a year ago. She sighs in annoyance, putting the phone back down as the tear in her heart only grows bigger and bigger. She'd known this would happen, and despite all her efforts to avoid it, he had still forgotten.

She'd started two weeks beforehand, by telling him that she wanted to spend the night of their anniversary with him, alone. He'd agreed, claiming it was a great idea. That night, she put the reminder in his phone calendar and wrote it into the paper one that lived on his fridge. A week before, she'd mentioned it a thousand times: over dinner, during grocery shopping, and even during post-bliss pillow talk. He'd pull her into his arms and kiss her head, assuring her every time that he'd be there with bells on. Naively, she had believed him. Now, she was sitting alone at his dinner table in her prettiest sundress, feeling like a complete fool.

Her phone dings, and she feels the rip in her heart stitch itself back together for a slight moment. When she notices it's not Tyler, her shoulders slump.

The Tornado Wranglers are LIVE! Click here to watch now!

She's quick to click it, watching as it loads before she sees Boone's face in the frame, the top of Tyler's hat visible. Her heart shatters, watching as her boyfriend smiles and hollers for the camera, chasing a storm. She'd known there was a big storm forming for the past few days: when Tyler went out on a chase, she watched the weather as if it were a nail-biting thriller. Hearing him on the livestream had been the first time she'd seen or heard from him all day, despite his promises to be next to her this very moment.

She exits the live and stands from the dinner table, already knowing her boyfriend wouldn't be home any time soon. She blows out the candle and puts the unopened wine back in the kitchen, wrapping the dinner she'd made in tin foil and tossing it into the fridge. Despite her simmering anger, she knew Tyler would come home drenched, so she set out a dry change of clothes and a towel on the washing machine for him to see. Shaking her head, she bit her lip and swallowed thickly as she moved to the en suite bathroom and changed out of the dress, her perfectly curled hair wasted. She throws on her pajamas and her (intentionally not Tyler's) hoodie, climbing into her side of their shared bed. She plugs her phone into the charger and switches on the silent function, not wanting to be bothered as she wallows. Finally, she plops down onto her pillow and curls under the blankets, her annoyance slowly fading into disappointment. She tries to push the tears back, feeling stupid for crying over something so trivial, but it had hurt that he'd forgotten something that was supposed to be important to both of them. She feels asinine, like a dog with a bird at his door, only to be shut out. A choked sob slips past her lips, and she's done for. She curls in on herself, legs to her chest as she cries until her body could no longer take it, and lets her eyes shut for sleep.

Hours later, Tyler stumbles into his house, plopping off his soaking wet boots on the rug at the garage door. He's slightly dry from his ride home, but his clothes still cling to his skin, making him shiver when he walks into the house. He turns to lock the door behind him, shuffling into the laundry room that connected the garage and the house. He puts his wet hat on the hook, peeling out of his sopping shirt and jeans, finding a change of clothes and towel set out for him. He smiled, knowing he'd likely find his girlfriend passed out on the couch with the weather forecast still playing on the screen. He changed quickly, hands itching to pull her into his hold and fall into a deep sleep. As he leaves the laundry room and heads to the kitchen, he notes the dinner table set with placemats and silverware next to them. He gives the set up a confused look before shrugging, tossing back a glass of water before walking towards the living room.

The empty room stops him in his tracks completely. The TV had been shut off, only a black screen staring back at him. There had been no indication that Y/N had been here at all-the blankets were folded neatly into the basket, pillows still upright and straight. He looked for anything-a charger plugged into the wall, her current read on the coffee table, an empty mug-but found no signs of the girl he loved. 'Maybe she had an early night,' his mind tried to grasp an explanation of why she wasn't where she always was when he was out on a chase.

Tyler's hand wipes his face, rubbing his tired eyes as he stomps up the stairs to their shared bedroom. The hallway is cloaked in darkness, and he has to use his phone's flashlight just to make his way to the door. He turns it off when he turns the knob and pushes the door open, not wanting the blinding light to disturb her. He makes out her figure curled into her side of the bed, looking small. He frowns again, it was always guaranteed she'd be curled into his pillow if he was gone, often wrapped in some article of his clothing, if not completely dressed in only his clothes.

Wordlessly, he comes to her side of the bed to kiss her head, checking in to make sure she was okay. Moonlight from the window illuminates her face, and he finds his chest tightening as he looks at her. Tears had dried to her skin, and a frown was etched onto her face, even in her slumber. He pushes hair from her face, finding the strand curled, and kisses her forehead lightly. He pulls the covers over her more, making sure she was entirely tucked in. With a worried frown now marking his own face, he shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He opens the door and flicks on the light, the sight in front of him bringing his confusion to new heights.

A white sundress stares back at him, sitting crumpled on the counter. The puffy sleeves are deflated, and the slit on the leg had flopped over, exposing the other side of the fabric. This dress only made an appearance for special occasions, mainly because he couldn't keep his hands off of her when she wore it. She'd talked about it for weeks, she was going to wear it on their anniver-he stills-no. Tyler's heart sinks to his feet, hammering against his chest so loudly it rattles his eardrums. There is no way he'd forgotten. The unusual things in his home began to add up, and, with shaking hands, he reaches for his phone and stares down at the photo of her smiling back at him. She's standing in a poncho, drenched, but smiling as she uses her hand to point towards a barreling storm in the distance. Sure enough, in the slew of notifications he'd ignored, sits a calendar reminder:

'Our anniversary date ;) <3'

He plops down on the side of the tub and scrolls through the messages and calls Y/N had left, clicking on the voicemail she'd left, her sweet voice filling his ears:

'Hey Ty, it's almost nine, I just...um, just checking on you. I-I don't know if you're just running late or you forgot, but...I love you, see you soon. Be careful, please. Call me when you get this.'

He pieces it together quickly-the table set up for two, his favorite dress she'd been wearing, her hair curled just to look nice for him-the realization guts him. He had been stupid, so caught up in the thrill of the chase he completely forgot about the one thing that always brought him home. His brain recalls her excitement over the dinner she would cook, and he had planned on bringing flowers and her favorite sweets from that bakery downtown, hoping to charm that dress right off of her. He pushes his damp hair back with his hands, he had fucked up, and royally. The reason she hadn't done the things she normally did when he was gone was because he wasn't supposed to be gone at all.

He breaths deeply before brushing his teeth, sliding into the bed next to her and pulling her close. He'd hold her while he could, because he'd spend the next few days groveling for her forgiveness. He'd wake up early-clean up the dishes from last night, cook her breakfast, do the laundry, pick up groceries for the week. Hell, he'd kiss her fucking feet if it meant she'd forgive him. His eyes shut closed with sleep, and night quickly fades into morning.

Y/N is the first to wake, her skin burning under Tyler's touch. She immediately rolls away from his grasp, and the content look on his sleeping face makes her flame with anger. She rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room, purposefully slamming the door to the bedroom enough to rattle the frames on the walls. The noise jostles Tyler from his sleep, and he sits up in his bed, allowing himself only a minute of solitude before he realizes he's under the dog house.

Quietly, he stomps down the stairs, finding Y/N already standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up as she scrubs at a pot hastily. Her face is drawn into an angry frown, and the air is thick with tension. There's none of her music filtering through the tiny speaker in the window, none of her humming as she works. She's angry, she's hurt, and all she really wants is an apology.

"Mornin'," his voice is raspy, and he awkwardly hovers behind her, watching from a distance as she ignores him. He comes over and lightly grabs her arm, attempting to take over the task. "I can do that, darlin', you go sit at the bar and I'll cook you breakfast, yeah?"

She snatches her arm from his grasp and gives him an unpleasant look, only returning to the dishes in front of her as she shakes her head. He gives a deep sigh, stepping away from her to give her space.

Her silent treatment was always the worst.

"Baby, please, I-I know I fucked up, I'm just trying to make it up to you, let me-"

She lets out an angry laugh, dropping the pot back into the soapy sink with a shake of her head. Her veins fill with a fury she can't control, and she's almost blinded by her rage.

"Fucked up is an understatement, Tyler."

Her angry words were piercing, but at least she was talking.

"Y/N/N, I know, I'm going to make this up to you. I'll-"

"I don't want to hear your lies that I hear every time you mess up, Tyler. You're not going to take time away from chasing, so you can stop feeding me that same lie."

Her honesty stops him in his tracks. He starts to feel defensive, his own anger rising to the surface.

"Just listen-"

The bowl she's cleaning clamors against the other dishes in a loud fashion, making him jump slightly as she turns to face him. Fury is written across her face completely.

"No! You listen! I planned this for weeks, Tyler, weeks! I did everything, the cooking, the cleaning, the waiting around for four fucking hours! All you had to do was show up, and you couldn't even do that."

She swallows thickly, the anger beginning to fester into the sadness she'd been shoving down. Her chest moves in short breaths, and she tries to control her breathing as she looks up at him. He notes her teary eyes-she's not really angry, she's hurting.

"It would've been fine if this was a one off thing, but it isn't. You and I both know that." Her voice is lacking the fire it once had, replaced with a wave of vulnerability she rarely lets show. She pauses and wipes her hands with the kitchen towel in her hands. Her eyes dart across the room in thought, never meeting his. "First it was my birthday, and then not just one, but two dates, and now this. Every other time I just let it go, not wanting to start anything, but I can't anymore, because it just keeps happening. Tyler, I love you, but you're breaking my heart."

Her bottom lip wobbles as she takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, trying to have a conversation with the man she was begging to love her the way she loved him.

"I'm not asking you to give it up, I'm just asking for one day, maybe every couple weeks? I feel like I sleep next to you but I never see you, and-," her eyebrows furrow before she takes a defensive step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just don't want to have to beg you to want to spend time with me."

Tyler's heart shatters. He fumbles to come up with the right words, knowing the wrong ones could ruin everything. He loved her immeasurably, and he'd been so goddamn blind. His mind raced with the dozens of things she does for him without being asked-making sure he had dry clothes after chasing, ensuring he had a decent meal every time he came home, tens upon hundreds of tiny actions that he had taken for granted. When was the last time he'd done something like that for her? The one time she had asked him, weeks in advance, to save a day for her, he had neglected it completely, unintentionally or not.

She looks down at her feet, feeling so incredibly small, invisible, like the man in front of her can't see her at all. She was tired of trying to keep their relationship alive all on her own. She wasn't in denial that Tyler loved her, she knew he did, but the last few months had felt as if he hardly remembered she was there. Her anxiety spirals-did he really love her, or was she just convenient for him?

"I know that chasing is important to you, and I love seeing you do it, but it always comes before me. I just want to know, will I ever come first?" Her voice is so, so hurt, and the girl he knows has withered away. The only thing that remains is the shell of her in front of him, pleading for him to just notice her. "It's okay if not, I-I just need to know. Because I can't keep having this fight, just tell me the truth so if the answer is no, I can move on."

Tyler's heart hammers, his own insecurity flaring.

"W-What? No, no, chasin' doesn't come before you, ever. Y-You know that."

She gives him a doubtful look.

"You do know that right?"

"Tyler, name one time that you've dropped everything from chasing a storm to do something for me?"

She stands leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of her. His mind cannot conjure one situation, and he knows she's right, he'd never put her first. Not once. He had missed her birthday party just last month for a big storm over in Kansas, on his own. The rest of the Wranglers had even cancelled to be there for her. Both Boone and Lilly both had called him from the party to reprimand him, and he'd stayed anyways. Then he'd done it again, twice, just two weeks later. Each time, she'd forgiven him with open arms, never fighting him on it, simply accepting his lie that he'd never do it again.

She simply nods, waiting to see how long it would take Tyler to realize just how miserable this had been for her. He grows defensive, trying to make excuses for his actions.

"That storm in Kansas, w-we haven't seen a storm that scale since-"

"Tyler, save it," she starts, her voice growing an edge. "You answered my question, that's all I needed to know."

He watches as she literally and metaphorically throws in the towel, a somber look written across her face.

“I-I need some air.”

She says nothing else, only sliding on her shoes and slipping out the garage door. He expects to hear the jangling of her keys and then the roar of her car’s engine, but neither come-she’d taken out on foot.

Tyler ignores the rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind his eyes, his chest so full of guilt it feels like he might combust from one single sob. He stews in his emotions as he resumes the task she'd started-at least when she got back, the dishes would be one less thing for her to worry about. As his hands scrubbed at various pots and pans, he thought about the thousands of things he wanted to do to show her that he was serious. He wanted to run after her, to pull her back into his house, but he knew she needed her space, time away from him to think. Tyler wrestles with his emotions, knowing this could very well be the end of them, and it'd be his fault entirely. He'd let the best thing in his life slip entirely out of his grasp, all because he'd had his head in the clouds. It had been obvious to everyone around him, except him. How had he been so blind to her anguish?

He moves around the kitchen in complete silence, only the rattle of the dishes he's putting away filling his ears. He ponders over the dark hue forming across the sky, wishing Y/N had taken a jacket or an umbrella with her. He wonders if he should call her, just to tell her that he could leave while she stayed here, he didn't want her in the rain. He doesn't overthink it and pulls up her contact, letting it ring before he hears vibrating. His eyes turn to the direction of the noise.

Shit.

She'd left her phone here.

He turns his attention to the slew of missed messages on his own phone. Just twenty minutes ago, Dexter had texted him about a storm forming just miles from his home. The messages after were from Dani, Boone, and Lilly, all asking if he and Y/N were okay. His eyebrows pinched and he frowned, about to respond with a question mark before he heard the shrill ring of the tornado siren outside his window. His eyes glance up to see a darkening sky, heavy clouds sitting low in the sky.

He tosses his phone into his pocket before he's pulling on his still-wet boots and bolting out his garage door. A tornado was minutes from hitting here, and his girlfriend was wandering around aimlessly. She couldn't have gone far, his house sat miles from town, the only neighbors being a relatively empty home the next street over-the family only visited during the winter months, they paid him handsomely to keep their grass cut when they weren't in town-so he knew that she wouldn't have anyone to look out for her. His boots clicked on asphalt, his voice hoarse as he yelled after her, her name falling desperately from his lips as the wind whipped around his face.

With no signs of her appearing, his heart began to hammer against his chest. Rain began to pelt his clothes and it only urged his aching legs to move faster. His mind conjures images he fears-her stuck under a collapsed tree or shed, left for dead because he'd been stupid. They urged him to the neighbor's house, chest searing with anxiety as he heaved, still not seeing anything-no flashes of the simple dress she'd been wearing, or the cardigan she'd wore over it tossed somewhere. Before his brain could stop him, he was pulling the spare key from under the mat, all but trespassing into his neighbor's home, shouting her name. Nothing.

He slams the door, running a hand through his hair as he begins to panic. His chest feels tight, his mind growing fuzzy with the thought of her being out in this storm alone. The air only grows more thick, and a crack of lightning startles him. It sends him into taking off on foot in their backyard, even slinging open the door of the storm shelter to see if she'd hid there. It was empty, making him let out a string of curses to the sky.

Then, he hears her voice. He almost thinks he's imagining it, her tone is sweet and gentle, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

"Hey, it's okay little guy."

It's the voice he knows well-the voice she uses for animals and babies. His jade eyes turn to see her hair blowing in the wind, her dress wet from the weather. She's crouched down and attempting to move a stack of firewood from the neighbors yard, her eyes on alert she hears Tyler's footsteps crunch the ground behind her. She whips around, looking at him.

"Tyler, help me, there's a rabbit, he's stuck."

Tyler looks at her with wide eyes. His voice is loud over the sirens blaring in the air and the wind whipping.

"Darlin', there's a big ass storm coming right for us! Leave it! We gotta get down, now!"

Her eyes are fiery when she turns back to look at him.

"Then leave, but I'm not leaving him here!"

Her hands hastily moved large pieces of firewood, getting more and more drenched. She lifts a particularly heavy one and throws it across the grass.

"If you're just going to stand there and not help, then go! I don't need you hovering because you care all of a sudden!"

Tyler's heart shatters, she thought he didn't care? Of course he cared, but he was more concerned with keeping her safe. He sighs at her stubbornness, moving to help lift the firewood at a faster pace. She lifts a particularly stubborn piece, drawing her hand back quickly with a soft 'fuck!' He tosses her a concerned look but moves on working to get the firewood moved. His muscle flexes as Tyler throws the piece caging the animal in and watches as it bolts towards the treeline. He slings an arm around her shoulder as the roar of the storm grows closer, all but manhandling her into the storm shelter he'd just looked in. It wasn't shabby by any means, well stocked and clean, but small. He shuts the door with a grunt, turning to face her and watching as she digs through a first aid kit.

"What're you doin'?"

She says nothing, only sticking out her right hand for him to see. It's bleeding from a cut, tiny pieces of wood protruding from around it.

"Shit, baby," he moves to grab the kit from her. "Stop, just stop tryin' to do it on your own, it's only going to get worse."

She stills, looking up at him with dagger-like eyes.

"Look, you did your job. I'm safe here, you can go."

Go? Where the hell did she think he was going?

"I know you're itching to go chase it, it's probably going to be a big one."

Oh.

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone to go chase this thing?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time."

It's his turn to look offended, even though he shouldn't be. She was only speaking the truth. He knows he would be quick to defend himself, but he doesn't, knowing the hurt he'd bestowed upon her just hours beforehand. He lightly tugs the kit away from her, giving the soft, sympathetic eyes that had her hardened heart melting. He makes quiet work of removing the shards of wood, and moves to clean it with the tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. She winces when it makes contact with the open wound, but a sweet kiss to her temple has her distracted as he finishes bandaging it. When he looks down at her, he finds her eyes already looking up at him. The look she gives him begs him to say something, to just apologize and say he'd do better, and actually mean it this time. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's cut off by a boisterous slam to the shelter door, one that startles Y/N, and she slides into his hold without thinking.

"What the hell was that?!" Her voice trembles.

"I don't know." He doesn't want to move her from his arms, but he needs to see what's going on. He kisses her temple again, setting her on the twin sized mattress that sat on the ground. He makes his way up the stairs of the shelter, moving to push the door open. He knows it's a stupid, risky move, but he does it anyway.

He pushes it forward, the door not even budging. He frowns, moving positions to put his entire body weight on the door, and the door remains shut. He pushes with his entire strength multiple times, before his mind draws a conclusion.

"It's probably a tree or somethin'," He sighs as he steps away from the door. "Probably got knocked down by the wind, fell over on top of the door."

"So we're trapped here?"

"For the time being, yes," He starts, coming to sit down next to her, her head resting on his shoulder. "But I'll get in touch with Dexter and Dani, maybe Boone too. See if one of them can get a truck out here and move it. We'll have to wait for this storm to pass though."

He fishes out his phone and begins to type, his eyes darting across the screen before Dexter's typing bubble finally forms into a message.

'We'll be there as soon as this storm settles!'

Y/N nods when he shows her the message, moving to rest her head on his chest, her heart racing. Without a word, he pulls her into his lap, his eyes now focused on her bandaged hand. She notes his concern quickly.

"It's fine, doesn't even really hurt. Just stings."

He shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. You got hurt, again, because I did somethin' dumb as hell. Seems like all I've done for the past few months is hurt you. M'sorry, I really am. I fucked up, and I'm prepared to grovel for it."

She nods, biting her lip as she pushes a section of wet hair out of his face.

"You did, but that doesn't mean you can't fix it. Just, this time, promise you'll actually do what you say you will. Don't let it be empty words."

He makes an 'X' motion over the center of his chest-cross my heart-and watches as a small smile forms across her face. He notes it's genuine nature and it forms a smile of his own across his face.

He pulls her head softly under his chin, moving his face to where he's whispering directly into her ear. She leans into his warmth, still shivering from her damp clothes.

"I love you," his voice is a sincere whisper, laced with every ounce of emotion he can muster. She kisses the underside of his jaw, making him close his eyes and sigh.

"I know. I love you too, even when you really piss me off."

He lets out a chuckle, kissing behind her ear, a spot that makes her entire frame stiffen in his hold. He places another one just under it, making her pull away for a moment.

"You're playing with fire, Owens. What are you gonna do, take me on this twin mattress on the floor?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm and humor, completely joking. One look in his now emerald green irises tells her he wasn't joking, not one ounce of him thought it was a joke.

"Well, might as well start my grovelin' as quickly as possible, got a lot to catch up on." He kisses the spot again, making her hand fly to his damp hair. "And I haven't done this in far too long."

His hands come to her hips, pulling her in even closer in his lap. His calloused hands land on her ass, and she yelps.

“Ty, you can’t be serious.”

He sends her a raised eyebrow. His hand squeezes the supple skin of her bottom.

“Baby,” his voice is just above a whisper, deathly serious, his gaze darkening. “When have I ever joked about taking you any time, any place?"

Y/N shudders. "Never."

"That's what I thought."

His lips connect with hers in a rough manner, effectively shutting her up.

A few hours later, as Y/N lies across Tyler's chest, her dress tossed somewhere, she's awoken by a sharp knock at the shelter door.

"T? Y/N/N? Hey, we're here. We're gonna get this tree off of y'all!" Boone's voice fills her ears and she all but scrambles up, face flushed red with embarrassment at the thought of them walking into the shelter to see her and Tyler both bare. Tyler only snoozes and turns over, and she rolls her eyes, he'd sleep through a hurricane-literally. She grabs his shirt and lightly pops him with it.

"Tyler!" She whispers-shouts, quickly buttoning up the front of her dress she'd found on the floor. His jade eyes pop open, shuffling off the blanket that had been draped across him for his modesty.

"Hm, what?" His voice comes out groggy.

"Get up, get dressed, they're here!" She throws her cardigan back on her shoulders as she tosses his jeans over to him, his belt buckle just missing his head. Tyler rubs his eyes tiredly, not quite awake enough for him to care about being completely naked.

Y/N turns to him to fuss, but she's cut off at the creaking of the storm shelter's door opening. She stills, face burning from a hot blush. From above ground, Boone, Dani and Dexter look down at them, the latter two jaws dropping and darting their eyes away. Boone clocks Tyler and swallows thickly.

"Ty, man, I am seein' entirely way too much of you right now."

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

@rebel-ezra

@fanboysfangirl

@mbioooo0000

#tyler owens x you #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens x reader #tyler twisters #tyler owens #twisters #request #glen powell x reader #glen powell #glen powell x you

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moremaybank · 4 months ago

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EDIBLE , jj maybank

── KINKTOBER: OVERSTIM. + DACRYPHILIA

"touchin' on my body, i can't help but feel impeccable." ─ flo milli, edible.

jj maybank x bratty!reader

(18+) unprotected sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, mean!jj, mentions of breeding (barely)

you mouth off, and your favourite pogue puts you in your place. with ease.

KINKTOBER , OBX MASTERLIST

your legs quivered terribly at the work jj had been doing on you. he impaled you with his thick cock, over and over like he was desperate to steal the air from your lungs. you tried to crawl away, just a little bit to escape the overstimulation. but you should've known not to.

"where d'you think you're goin', huh? you're gonna take this fuckin' cock." his hand surges his hand through your hair, gripping it harshly and jerking your head up. "actin' like this ain't what you got on your knees 'n begged me for."

the hand he had clinging to your hip held you tighter, thick fingertips and blunt nails biting into your skin. his hips seemed to work harder, like a well-oiled machine as he speared his cock deeper inside of you. he made you take every single inch, each thrust landing him balls deep inside the cunt that never failed to fit nice and snug around him like a glove. he grunted at you as he fucked you, muttering how this kind of hard fucking was what you deserved for pissing him off.

just like you always did.

no matter how much you two got on each other's nerves, you'd always fucked it out like champions. you crawled back to each other every time, despite the difference in status. that's just how things were.

you mouthed off, and your favourite pogue put you in your place. with ease.

a single hand of yours flew backward, pressing against the upper part of his pelvis. your nails scratched at his skin pleadingly in an effort to get him to take it easy on you. it was so damn good, but it was so damn much. you weren't sure how much longer you'd be lucid or even able to breathe with how deep he was pressing into you.

"nah, nah, nah. don’t run from this," he chided, smacking your hand away. in a flash, he was pulling you up by the hair and curling his arm around your throat. he used his chokehold on you to bring your back flush to his chest, all while maintaining the unforgiving drilling he was giving you. "always talkin’ shit, runnin’ that pretty mouth." his other arm snaked around your hips, calloused fingertips finding your clit and prodding at it harshly. "tellin' me i don’t fuck you hard enough. like you haven't had dick in days. now, look at you. can't even handle me."

"please, daddy! c-can't take it!" you gasped your words out, like you could barely pull yourself together to beg for mercy. jj fucking loved it.

but he keeps his act up, scoffing like you'd just insulted him. "you think a please, daddy'll work on me?" his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, and his arm tightened around your neck. "'m sorry. y'got me all wrong, princess."

he slammed you back down against your mattress, your cheek smushed into the high thread-count sheets. you could feel his hand pressing down on the back of your head, asserting dominance while his other hand pulled you back to meet his thrusts. he was primal and downright mean with the way he was fucking you, and though your skin was buzzing, you wouldn't have it, or him, any other way.

you started to cry, tears breaking free from the border of your waterlines and flowing down your cheeks. they sank into the cotton bedding, and your sobs dide against it as well. you were bawling out a weak and tortured daddy as best as you could, but to jj, it just sounded like babbling.

good, he thought. just how he liked you.

"look at those tears. cryin' like it'll make me stop 'n be nice." the laugh he let out next was almost psychopathic. but it was so fucking hot, you were losing your mind. "you're jus' makin' me wanna nut in you."

you looked at him from your peripheral vision. his sharktooth necklace bounced against his sternum with each movement. his teeth were nearly engraved into his bottom lip. those signature blue eyes were trained solely on you. on how fucked out you were beneath him.

"yeah. that's it. cry for it, baby. cry for it," he gritted out with a clenched jaw. "'member earlier? you were sayin' i was scared to lose you? think you're scared of losin' me, sweetheart. scared of losin' this good dick, right?"

you hiccuped almost miserably, fingers roaming the mattress until they found chunks of your comforter to hold onto. "gonna cum! 'm gonna cum!"

"yeah...know you are. this pussy always cums for me, like that's its job. such a good fuckin' pussy."

you clenched around him, sucking him in tighter. your walls trembled, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

"the only reason i keep comin’ back is 'cause she loves me so damn much."

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rqnarok · 2 months ago

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old man!logan is in denial

fem!reader. fluffy-angsty. suggestive themes.

old man logan can't be gentle. how could he possibly be something that was killed out of him after almost 200 years of living?

every time you lay down, you don't get soft fingers grazing lightly along your scalp as you sleep on his lap, no. you get a large, calloused hand brushing back your hair so he can see your pretty beautiful features better because it was annoying him. he can't hold your hand—don't be stupid—he'll crack your smaller bones in half. that being the sole reason to stop himself from fucking thinking about playing with your dainty fingers and pressing soft little kisses to them.

he is not soft! he’s a killing machine! he knows nothing except anger and fury and hatred. so what is this strange warm fluttering sensation in the hole in his chest that's bothering him? why does it feel good? why is it making him crack a fucking smile underneath his scruffy beard?

when he curls his weight around your sleeping body, don't be mistaken. he doesn't want to feel the way you fit perfectly against him. logan’s just.. trying to eat you whole. he is not trying to get closer to you at all, no nope he's actually attempting to steal your happiness.

every single time he kisses you and doesn't suck your blood out from your lips, he reasons that he's merely practicing self-control. which ‘forces’ him to leave featherlight kisses that make you giggle oh so sweetly. knows deep down that he'd tear his chest with his own claws if one even dared pick at your skin.

logan’s not a soft man. he’s killed countless with the hands that you play with, with the claws you curiously trace. he tells himself that you mean nothing to him, that he could walk away and forget you any moment now.

but he knew it was all a lie that he planted within himself.

because he wishes that his fingers were softer so that they may be more pleasant upon your skin. and because he wishes that his lips were less chapped so that you may kiss him more more and more.

or because when you lower yourself to hump against his obvious erection, logan would stop your movements by grasping your hips—ever so gently, of course—and slightly lovingly at you, “slow, princess. want t’make love to ya’ tonight.”

logan knows he lost

and won at the same time.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett smut #old man logan x reader #old man logan #wolverine smut #old man!logan #logan by nina <3

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vunblr · 2 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 crisp December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, 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. Sawdust floated like golden confetti in the beams of light streaming 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 carrying over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, a pencil tucked behind his ear, his sleeves rolled up to reveal 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 unmistakable 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, the tension in his shoulders easing 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, the word weighted with longing.

Her chest tightened, 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, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as the flavors hit him.

“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 hum of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a quiet 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, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that made her heart squeeze.

“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, his fingers brushing 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, his expression 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 tightened 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 crisp 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, 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 quiet way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, her heart skipping 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, just 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, 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, the sharp crack 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 him, 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, 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, her grin widening 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, tightening his jaw. “Not happening.”

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

“About that,” he interjected, straightening 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 shoulders 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, his eyes flicking to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing 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, the faint flicker of warmth disappearing 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, 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, her lips brushing 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, his hands tightening on her hips as his head dipped forward, his forehead brushing hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, her lips curving 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, lingering this time. “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, 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 packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, his jaw tightening 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 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, her voice cutting through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, her eyes sparkling 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, his brow raising slightly. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased into a steady rhythm, 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, his broad frame disappearing toward 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, carrying himself with the kind of 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, the comment earning a quick quirk of 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 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, carried 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, his arm tightening just a bit around her waist.

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

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, his jaw tightening 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, his eyes flicking 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 lingered 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, the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, her fingers curling into the coarsed knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, his brows furrowing 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, his gaze searching hers. “What-”

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

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

Bucky stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice 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, her fingers laced with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, his long strides matching her quick steps. 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 quiet finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking 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, her fingers brushing the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, her voice low and sweet 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 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, warm breath fanning 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, her fingers brushing against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, his head tilting 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, her lips curling into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, her tone teasing but unwavering.

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

She knew what he meant, knew the unspoken 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 it feeling 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, her voice firm as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath 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, his voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, her teeth grazing 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, her fingers giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, her hands sliding up his thighs as she looked up at him, her gaze locking 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, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

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

She smiled, her lips curving 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, her thumb brushing along the tip, spreading the bead of precum glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, his head falling 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, her tongue tracing along the underside of his length, 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. His eyes dropped to her, and the sight of her there, so confident and focused on him, sent heat pooling low in his belly.

She took him deeper, her lips stretching around him as she sank down, her tongue swirling with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, his 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, her touch 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, his free hand gripping 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, his voice thick with need. “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, her fingers brushing lightly over his thighs before she leaned forward, 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, his grip firm as he stroked quickly, the tension snapping 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, 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, 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, his eyes focused on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her with quiet care.

“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 softened into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering 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 hum 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, the warmth of the gathering lulling 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, his gaze flicking 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, the crowd beginning to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm as the soft glow of the string lights bathed the space. 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. His eyes were steady and intent, and when their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture 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, the rough warmth of his fingers squeezing 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, his gaze 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 tightened, 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, the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The crisp 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, his broad frame 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 easily 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, his chest brushing against her back, his body pressing against hers just a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his body 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, his expression unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks flushed as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the intimacy 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, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the coarsed knit of the sweater. His lips moved gentle 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, his chest rising and falling 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, fingers skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low hum 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, her teeth grazing the faint stubble there. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, her lips brushing 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, his voice rough and strained, “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, her lips curving into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, his hands sliding to her back to unhook her bra with practiced ease. He pushed it aside, his mouth descending to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, his tongue tracing lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, his teeth grazing her 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, her nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, 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, 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, his eyes locked intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks flushed 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, the cool sensation making her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, her body twisting slightly at the sensation.

His hands settled on her thighs, steadying her as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips curving 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 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, her body jerking in response, her thighs trying to close instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he steadied her, 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, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turned her breathing erratic.

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

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

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, his tongue and fingers driving 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, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly satisfied.

“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, her breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

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

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing her temple 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, the sound of the metal clinking making 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, her fingers curling 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, his voice commanding but tinged with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, 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.”

Her blush deepened 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, the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the hum 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, his smirk as wicked as the flush 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, her body jerking slightly in response.

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

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

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

Her hands flew to his back, her nails lightly digging into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, her legs wrapping 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 intensity escalated quickly, 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, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, the shift in position driving 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 ground herself, her fingers 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 instead 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, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing 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, the friction sending 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, his grip tightening 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, her nails dragged down his back again, her thighs trembling as she mewled his name, her voice breathless and broken.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush of it 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, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. 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, a soft chuckle escaping her 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, 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, her gaze holding his. “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, the flush creeping 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, the corner of his mouth quirking 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, his smirk widening. “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, his hands settling 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, 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, her lips curving 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 with an affectionate hum of mock contempt. Her body fit against his perfectly, her head resting on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, the flakes swirling 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, brushing her fingers along his jawline, tracing 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

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