•☆Sugar On My Tongue☆•
│Bellamy Blake ☆
Ring the Bell, It’s 12 Days of Christmas! Day 1
Bellamy Blake x fem reader
Prompt: Decorating for Christmas (AU)
Synopsis: Thanksgiving has finally passed and you get straight to decoration without waiting for Bellamy to get home. When he comes home he finds the house a mess and you extremely frustrated over some uncooperative decorations. He helps you in more ways than one.
Warnings: Smut, food play, piv, nsfw, MDNI 18+
Notes: Welcome to the first of 12 days of Christmas with Bellamy!! Im doing this challenge with my best friend @quicksilverbackshots who is doing 12 days of Buckmas (Bucky Barnes) with all the same prompts! Enjoy!
Word Count: 2.2k
Dividers: @issysh3ll , @iloveartfilm
Thanksgiving had barely ended. Your fridge was still packed to the brim with leftovers and the sink was littered with various glasses you swore that you would clean yesterday. You knew all of this, yet the cold morning air felt like permission to shift gears.
Christmas gears.
The kind of urge that made your fingers itch for garland and warm string lights was nagging at your mind. So, while the trash from yesterday’s chaos still waited to be taken out, you were already knee-deep in storage bins, pulling your room apart like a woman possessed.
The living room was overtaken within minutes, plastic tubs stacked like a miniature skyline, lids flipped open and half-emptied, wreaths and ornaments spilling out across the couch. The entry hallway wasn’t much better—boxes piled against the wall in a way that absolutely blocked the front door. You told yourself you’d move them before Bellamy got home.
That thought alone reminded you of the way you’d practically shoved him out of the house an hour ago with a grocery list and a kiss to the cheek, sending him to the store to grab the “few things” you absolutely needed before decorating could officially begin. He’d raised an eyebrow, muttering something about you being impossible, but he’d gone anyway, bundled in his jacket against the crisp post-Thanksgiving cold.
And in the time he’d been gone, you’d somehow managed to create a bigger mess than the one you started with.
But it didn’t matter. Because the bins were open, the music was playing, and you were on a mission.
Christmas was happening today.
You were balancing on the second rung of the step ladder, arms stretched as far as they could go, a stubborn strand of silver tinsel refusing to catch on the tiny hook you’d hammered into the kitchen wall. The tinsel slipped for the fourth time—curling, taunting—and you let out a sharp curse that echoed off the cabinets.
Of course, that was the exact moment you heard the front door open.
“I’m home—” Bellamy’s voice cut off abruptly, and you didn’t need to see him to picture the expression on his face. Something between awe, confusion, and the deep, suffering patience of a man who knew exactly who he was dating.
You cursed again, this time with a pathetic little whine as the string of lights in your other hand slid off the opposite wall. “Come on,” you hissed under your breath, reaching for it again.
Heavy footsteps crossed the living room, then paused in the kitchen doorway. “Alright,” Bellamy said slowly, “what’s going on in here?”
You didn’t even look down. “I had to decorate,” you said, as if it were obvious. “And I thought the tinsel would go up easy but it keeps—ugh!”
Bellamy stepped up behind you, warm hands settling firmly on your waist. “I can see that,” he murmured, already guiding you back and off the ladder.
You let him, melting into the touch even though you were annoyed at everything else. As soon as your feet hit the ground, he dipped down and kissed you, soft and amused. Then, without a word, he turned, grabbed the tinsel from your hand, and hooked it into place with one effortless motion.
You glared at his back like he’d personally offended you.
Annoyed and defeated, you stomped over to the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out the leftover pumpkin pie and a half-full can of whipped cream. You set the pie on the counter with a thud, stabbed a fork into it far more aggressively than necessary, and sprayed a mountain of whipped cream directly into your mouth on top of the bite.
Bellamy choked on a laugh. “Seriously?”
You shot him a look as you took the bite anyway.
A second later, he was behind you, arms sliding around your torso, chin dipping to your shoulder. His body was warm against your chilled skin. “You know,” he said gently, “you could’ve waited for me.”
You sighed, leaning back into him despite your annoyance. “I thought I could get a head start without you,” you grumbled. “But all I did was make a mess.”
His lips brushed your temple, smiling against your skin, “Well, I’m not disagreeing with that part…”
You groan, releasing yourself from his hold and turning around, your butt leaning against the counter.
He chuckles at your antics, a small adoring smirk on his face as me moves forward, his arms casing you in against the counter behind you. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
You let out a huff and reach for the whipped cream, dispensing a large mountain into your mouth, one that definitely didn’t make it all the way into your mouth. You swallow what you could of the huge portion of the sweet airy substance, the rest catching on the side of your mouth.
Bellamy smiles and leans impossibly close, swiping his tongue across the side of your mouth, cleaning up any of the excess cream. Warmth pooled in your lower stomach at the action, your annoyance quickly replaced with the feeling of warm desire.
He watched as your eyes darkened and you swung your arms to hang around his neck, bringing him in for a sweet kiss, your mouths slotting together like connecting puzzle pieces.
He puts his hands on your hips, forcing your body closer to him with a hum of approval. You deepen the kiss, dipping your tongue into his mouth only for it to quickly be overtaken by his as it explores the expanse of your mouth.
You break from his tongue for just a moment, sucking on his lip with bruising pressure and a bite. He grunts and swiftly picks you up by the tight grip he has on your hips, hoisting you up so that you’re sitting on top of the counter.
Pulling from his lips, you move to his neck, attacking it with a new sense of need to ravish him, the stress from the decorations quickly leaving your mind.
His breathing is loud and his grip moves to slide up and down your bare, short clad, thighs. “I thought you were mad, ” the statement came out airy, “about the decorations.”
“I am,” you mumble, taking a break from his neck. Pulling your head back, you look into his eyes, yours clouded with the sudden urge to have him— now. You yank your shirt off from the bottom and pull it over your head quickly, disposing it across the already messy room. “I don’t want to think about the decorations right now.”
Your messaging was clear enough for Bellamy. His eyes shot down to your bare chest, a new drunken expression taking over his features as his tongue darted out, wetting his already swollen lips.
Wasting no time, Bellamy grunts, his mouth connecting with yours for another bruising kiss, your tongues gliding together, exchanging spit and panting breaths. He breaks apart, only to yank off his own shirt, adding it to the spot where yours resided, moving back to your mouth like it was attracted with magnetic force.
Your hands roamed the new expanse of skin on his chest, running over his hard stomach, contracting biceps, and shoulders.
By now, the sweetness from the whipped cream had vanished from the kiss and you found yourself missing the intoxicatingly delicious flavour.
Blindly, your hand reaches for the whipped cream can, your fingers wrapping around the cold aluminum. You bring the bottle up, letting it rest against Bellamy's arm. The sudden chill draws a sharp gasp from his lips, his body tensing momentarily.
He pulls back, confusion flickering in his eyes as he glances at the can. But before he can speak, you squirt more cream directly into your mouth, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.
Understanding dawns, and a new darkness sweeps across Bellamy's gaze. He takes the can from your hand, pulling you into another kiss. The cream still lingers on your tongue, mixing between your mouths in a sweet, heated exchange.
With deliberate slowness, he pours more cream into your mouth. But this time, he purposefully misses, letting the white foam spray down your chest, creating a messy trail between your breasts.
"What a mess," he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire.
"You should probably clean it up," you challenge, your breath catching.
His eyes lock with yours as he begins to lick, his tongue tracing every droplet until you’re clean. He takes his time, paying exquisite attention to your nipples, leaving marks on your skin that bloom like dark promises. Each touch and suck sends electricity racing through your body.
Swiftly, he pulls off your shorts, dropping them to the floor in a careless heap. Your hands immediately fall to his pants, fingers fumbling with the drawstring before yanking them off with urgent, desperate movements.
Bellamy's hands slide down, freeing his hard erection from his boxers. He pushes the fabric down his thick thighs, stepping out of them with deliberate slowness. The sight makes you moan involuntarily, the sound escaping before you can catch it.
Your breath catches in your throat, a familiar yet always electrifying reaction. Despite the countless times you've seen him like this, your body still responds with an intense, visceral hunger. You gulp, your mouth suddenly dry.
He slots himself up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your wet folds, pulling a gasp from your mouth at the contact. You slide your fingers into his hair, but both of your eyes are watching the spot where your bodies connected.
Bellamy pushes forward, your wet warmth enveloping his erection and a chorus of moans and gasps fall from your mouths, the newfound pressure making it impossible to keep your voices down. He slid himself all the way in, his balls resting against the soft skin of your ass.
His head drops to rest on your shoulder, his mouth leaving a wet kiss in the crook of your neck.
“Fuck Bell,” the whine leaves your lips as you wait for him to continue the movement, you needed some friction.
Slowly, he pulls out, stopping right before completely unsheathing himself before he pushes all the way back in. Guttural moans leave the both of you, the sensation of being filled with him having you see stars as the head of his tip brushes the tissue of your uterus.
Quickly he starts a building rhythm, in and out, fast, but slow enough to have you gasping and pleading for more. He obliges, quickening his pace until the only sounds heard are that of your slapping skin and exclaimed curses.
The bruising pace has you both moaning uncontrollably, broken curses tumbling from your lips in breathless succession. "Fuck—Bell—oh god—" you gasp, while he groans against your skin, his own voice rough and strained. "So fucking tight," he curses, his words punctuated by the relentless snap of his hips.
Your back arches involuntarily, lifting off the counter as the new angle shifts everything. The change is dizzying—suddenly he's hitting deeper, stroking against that perfect spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your thighs tremble. A strangled cry tears from your throat, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders.
Bellamy's calloused thumb finds your clit with practiced precision, pressing down before working it in tight, deliberate circles. The added stimulation is overwhelming, pleasure crashing through you in waves so intense you can barely breathe. "Bellamy!" His name rips from your lungs in a scream, echoing off the kitchen walls, raw and desperate.
His thrusts shift from quick to fast to absolutely punishing, each one driving you higher. But then his rhythm begins to falter, becoming erratic and stuttering as he chases his release alongside yours. You can feel him throbbing inside you, his control slipping with every thrust. "I'm—fuck—I'm close," he groans, his voice breaking.
His teeth sink into your shoulder without warning, the sharp bite of pain mixing with the overwhelming pleasure until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. The sensation pushes you over the edge, your body seizing as your orgasm crashes through you.
You cum together, your walls clenching around him as he buries himself deep, milking himself as he releases inside you. His hips stutter and jerk with each pulse, filling you with warmth as broken moans spill from both your mouths. His thrusts gradually slow, becoming shallow and uncoordinated before finally stopping altogether, his body pressed flush against yours.
A collective sigh leaves you both, completely blissed out from your respective releases. Bellamy comes back to your face, bringing a sweet, lazy kiss to your lips that told you that he loved you, the words not needing to be said with how obvious they were.
“I love you,” the words came from you as the kiss slowed to a stop. He smiles with a warm and loving expression, pressing another quick peck to your lips.
“I love you more.”
The both of you sat there just admiring one another, the sound of the Christmas music becoming audible again in the background. Bellamy moved his eyes to scan around the surrounding room, a smirk sliding onto his face as he flicked his vision back to you and where your bodies were still connected. A chuckle leaves his mouth.
“I don’t know about you, but I think we might have made more of a mess for us to clean up.”
